To Sing Frogs Chapter 12c

One of the boys who swarmed me when I got out the video camera.

“Mamashka! Papashka!” Katya screamed as she ran through the playroom tripping over toys and bouncing off peers. Marina remained near the corner where the two of them had been playing. The child stood up and placed a doll on the bench. She did it softly, quietly, and without much interest. A hasty action would have meant the child wasn’t Marina. The little girl watched through her beautiful deep dark eyes with intent observation. Oddly, she didn’t display any noticeable jealousy as Katya rushed to meet us. The focus of all in the room was on the reunion. I was equally absorbed in our moment, but I couldn’t tear myself away from watching the little Asian doll. Finally I accepted the handoff from Amy and traded kisses with both dimples.

I couldn’t imagine why Marina wasn’t hostile toward us. It must have been evident we were there to take away her best friend. Rather than anger, there almost seemed to be eagerness as she closely observed the reactions between Katya and us. It was as if she were taking mental notes and filing them away in her brain for future reference.

Amy asked Anya if we could have a few minutes with only the translators and Katya. It was quickly arranged. The workers were getting ready to take the children out for afternoon playtime so we found a distant corner of the room. The others put on their mismatched snow clothes and rushed into the hallway.

I sat on a wooden chair with Katya on my lap while Amy fumbled in her oversized purse. Stass had gone out to play with the others and Anya sat across from me. Soon Amy found what she was searching for and sat in the chair next to Katya. She opened the viewfinder on the video camera, pushed a sequence of buttons, and leaned toward me while placing the screen of the camera in Katya’s view. At first Katya was intrigued with the electronic thingamajig and kept reaching out to push buttons and handle it. Amy fought her hands back and told the child to watch the screen. When Anya translated it was all Katya could do to follow the instructions and not grab at the contraption.

“Luba!” Katya screamed. “Eta Luba! Mama, eta Luba! Anya, eta Luba!”

Anya softly laughed and explained to Katya we had just come from visiting with Luba. Of course a thousand questions bounced off Anya and redirected to us.

“Is Baby Luba alright?” Katya asked through Anya.

“Of course,” Amy replied. “Luba is fine.”

“Is Olga taking care of Baby Luba?”

“Yes. We just came from there. Olga is taking very good care of her.”

“Is Baby Luba coming to Amérika with us?”

“Yes. Of course she is. We wouldn’t leave either one of you behind.”

Katya paused and took a deep breath as if gathering courage. “Does Olga help Baby Luba with her burn?”

Amy looked at Anya curiously. The coordinator shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure if Luba had a burn Olga would help her,” the mother responded.

“Is Baby Luba’s burn ugly, like mine?” Katya pulled the neck to her shirt down slightly exposing the top of where the melted skin began.

“Oh Sweetheart!” Amy said while leaning toward me to embrace Katya. “There is nothing ugly about you. There is nothing ugly about Luba.”

Katya began to cry. It was a deep sobbing cry that shook her entire body. Anya sat silently and didn’t interfere by translating while my wife cooed soft comforting words in English. After a few moments Katya released Amy and sat back against my chest. She looked at Amy and repeated the predominant question one more time.

“Katya is asking again if Luba is alright.”

“Yes,” Amy responded. “She’s just fine.”

“She asked it again,” Anya said. “She keeps talking about a burn.”

Amy put the camera away and took Katya from me, placing the child on her lap. “Luba isn’t hurt. Luba doesn’t have a burn. Luba is fine.” She held the somber little girl close and stroked her head and back while rocking her. Finally they remained motionless in a tight embrace with Amy’s cheek against the child’s head. Katya blended together with the mother as if they were carved from the same stone.

We left before the other children returned. Katya didn’t cry again. I guess she had cried herself out. Anya told her we had some errands to run the next day and wouldn’t be able to visit. The little girl promised to wait until we could return to play with her and her friends on Friday.

Our daughter-to-be hugged and kissed us each goodbye. Then she was quiet. Her exhaustion displayed itself as a drooping wilted sunflower, in desperate need of water.

 

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