To Sing Frogs Chapter 18d

Amy and Katya taking a “selfie” right after they got back together.

There was another round of hugs and small talk with Katya. Then Stass told us we would be taking her with us to visit Luba. Our time was tight and we needed to reserve the next day for a visit with Kirrill, in Ussuriysk. Mama Olga had agreed to host the visit at the Partizansk Baby Hospital. That way we could spend time with the sisters together. This would be the first time they had seen each other since they were split up the summer before. Amy and I were both excited to get the girls together. We weren’t nearly as anxious as Katya was. She couldn’t believe the wait was over. The time had actually come where she would see her baby sister again.

            First things first. “Did you ask them about seeing Marina?” I drilled Stass as we all walked down the hall together.

“I think you have a saying in the States,” he replied. “Ask forgiveness not permission.”

“O—kay…”

“I heard them saying the children were going out to play. If we go out the front door instead of the back, we’ll be at the playground. I’m sure nobody would think anything of it if you wanted to say hello to Marina.”

We stepped through the doorway and down several crumbling concrete steps onto dirt. The grass had looked greener when we drove past. Grass. Not hardly. It was patches of green amid dirt. Most of the green would become weeds as spring progressed. At least it looked better than the dirt, if only at the present. There were even splotches of dandelions, none of which showed any color but green. Lucky for that. A dab of yellow could have changed everything. One individual bloom would have spoiled the unintended promise Amy made to Katya.

Seconds later we were swarmed by children from four to fifteen who recklessly fluttered and bumped around with hopes to meet Katya’s anticipated mother and father. It was obvious that interaction with adopting parents of other children was not customary. The teens giggled at the strange words Stass and Anya translated for them. Several made attempts to see if the one or two English words they learned from TV would work. They craved attention in the worst way. The most obnoxious forced their way forward so they would have a chance to talk with the weird Americans. The ones we would have most enjoyed talking to, shyly remained where they had been shuffled to the back, with Marina.

“Marina!” I called, forcing my way to where she stood timidly behind the crowd.

She looked up and smiled, obviously relieved that her polite mannerisms had not cost her the chance to say hello. I swooped her up in my arms and she continued to grin. She didn’t speak. There wasn’t a hug, either. I wanted to embrace her but it was as if she knew I was to be Katya’s papa, not hers. She didn’t want to initiate anything that might cross a boundary. She still didn’t seem jealous. I couldn’t understand why she never did. Her smile and warmth were sincere.

“Kuhk de la?” I asked. How are you?

She answered in Russian. I don’t know what she said. Maybe she said she was doing well. Maybe she was cold. Or hungry. Or lonely. Maybe she asked me when a mama and papa were coming for her. I’ll never know. Stass and Anya were still with the other children translating for Amy and Bill. Marina’s celebrity status had now peaked along with Katya’s. We were swarmed with orphans speaking to Marina while I held her on my arm.

“John, come here,” Amy almost shouted over the commotion.

I swam through the crowd without releasing Marina. She didn’t struggle or even act as if she wanted to get down. She seemed content with whatever I chose our relationship to be. “What’s up?”

Dyehdushka Bill was now carrying Katya while Amy held a little girl—about Katya’s age—with short blonde hair and a lazy eye turned inward. “John, I’d like you to meet Yula; Katya’s other best friend.” I was enamored.

Amy and I traded while Katya rattled on in Russian telling us all about her two best friends. Anya rapidly translated. We visited for about five minutes before Stass became nervous. It was one thing to ask forgiveness, another to request absolution, still more to beg for a pardon. “We are very limited on time. Olga is expecting us. We need to go.”

I gave Yula a quick embrace and traded Amy back. I pulled little Marina in close and softly hugged the beautiful butterfly. The child nestled in and hugged me back lightly. Her warm dark hair softly pressed against my cheek. She applied the perfect amount of pressure so I knew she was as comfortable in the embrace as I was, even if not as longing.

I wanted to keep holding her. I didn’t want to put her down. I wanted to ask her to come home with us.

I knew I had to go.

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