To Sing Frogs Chapter 21a

It was the Russian Red and White armies that fought in the Russian Revolution. “Red and White held together by an azure strip”

Chapter 21

 

No Defense

 

White and red were separated, held together by an azure strip of equal width. Russian red and white were brought together for the first time since the October Revolution of 1917. Horizontally placed, the colors waved in the gentle breeze high above the ground. Only a decade and a half earlier a yellow hammer and sickle were anchored in the same place. Tools of industry and agriculture were symbols of an experiment in government that took less than 75 years to fail. When the masses, “those-who-had-not,” waged war against God and “those-who-had,” redistribution resulted in poverty rather than wealth.

The court’s building was proof for the rule that followed the revolution. Redistribution was marketed as equal. It turned out that government and those who ran it were more “equal” than “the people.” The five-story brown brick edifice—backdrop for the flag—was much more intricate than most Far-East Russian structures. The bricklayers had gradually stepped their work into and out of the windows, giving the building architectural complexity unusual for the area. The protruding entrance into the building—an afterthought—was situated beneath where the flag was mounted. It was vanilla. The smooth unpainted concrete of its construction was beginning to show signs of weathering. A large orange crack on one corner displayed corroded brown iron underneath.

Fourteen years had passed since the curtain rusted away. Many things in Russia had changed. Still, as a wit once said: “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

 

 

            “I still don’t get it. A prosecutor at an adoption hearing?” I asked as I looked at the woman in the brass-buttoned royal blue uniform. She sat at a desk before the bench. “Who are the defendants? Us, or the children?”

“You shouldn’t think of it that way,” Anya said. “It’s just a title.”

We were the defendants. The children weren’t even there. It was Russia. No defense attorney was required.

We all observed Amy bent over in her chair, nervously digging through her bag like a five-year old looking for a lost toy in a sandbox. My wife was trying to memorize the location of every document that might hold the answer to a potential question.

“You brought copies of the soft books?” Anya asked.

“Yes. I don’t know why. I brought copies of everything.”

“May I borrow them?”

“Yes. Sure. Of course.” Amy pulled out the two books and handed them off without looking up. Then she continued to mutilate the contents of her bag.

Anya carefully approached the prosecutor’s desk. It ran perpendicular to the bench and was a mirror image to the recorder’s desk.

“You see lots of adoptions,” Anya said after the prosecutor looked up at her inquisitively, though not unkindly. “I thought you might be interested in what these parents did to help the children. It’s quite unique.”

Anya handed the two soft books to the prosecutor. She placed one on her desk and curiously opened the other. The coordinator returned to her place—behind the table—with us.

A statement in Russian was posed with surprise and Anya stood up to answer. Habit. The judge had not entered and the bench was empty. Court was not yet in session. What was transpiring with the woman in royal blue was completely informal. Still, Anya couldn’t help but stand when responding to a prosecutor when the two of them were in their customary places. The prosecutor turned through several pages making quick observations. Then she addressed the recorder, a young attractive dark haired woman in a lime-green sweater. The recorder left her desk and walked over to stand behind the prosecutor. Soon they were pointing at items in the book and moving through the pages. The two women became quite animated in their reviews. Eventually the first soft book was replaced with the other. The two staunch women had become almost giddy, pointing and giggling like little girls.

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