To Sing Frogs Chapter 22b

I was shocked. “No way.” The little green plants outside the door had been progressing every day. I knew they had to bloom sometime. What were the odds it would happen today? There were more than a dozen bright yellow blossoms scattered throughout the flowerbed. How many coincidences can line up in a row?

Finally Amy was able to form words. “First our tulips for Jack… now this, for Katya. Isn’t God amazing?”

It would be nice to live my life believing a Supreme Being wandered around rolling out red carpets for his gazillion children.“It’s unbelievable.”

“Look, Bill,” Amy said with a faltering voice. “The flowers bloomed.”

“What an amazing day,” he replied while smiling and shaking his head.

Yeah, the perfect day for rescuing two orphans and leaving the rest to rot. Oh Happy Day.

 

 

“There are some teenaged girls who would like to tell Katya goodbye,” the director said after answering a tap at her office door.

I just wanted to leave. I had forgotten we brought going away presents for Katya’s two best friends. While I had been confident I could avoid seeing Marina on this last trip to the orphanage, that wasn’t the case. The director took us to the dormitory where the children had just been put down for naps.

A bright cartoon sun clung to the wall. Each separate ray angled down spreading light on a storybook setting. Several turtles in descending sizes walked in a line. A monkey sat under a palm tree. All did their best to replace feelings of abandonment and hopelessness with merriment. The worn gray vinyl flooring beneath our feet felt more appropriate.

Katya’s bed—the one she had used only the night before—was now filled with another unfortunate soul. My new daughter stopped at the one before it where Marina sat up in bed. The beautiful yellow Monarch was dressed only in a long white sleeveless nightshirt. She flung the teddy bear to the side as soon as Katya handed it to her. They threw their arms around each other for a long embrace and repeated whispered promises I wouldn’t come to know or understand for years. The two sisters-of-circumstance would be so no more. It was time to force the necessary but unwanted divorce. One of the workers approached Katya, put her hand on her shoulder and gently led her away.

Yula was already asleep when Katya walked to her bed. Worse yet, she only flopped from side to side as the orphanage worker tried to wake her. It wouldn’t happen. Yula was out cold. The worker promised to present her with the gift and an explanation of where it had come from as soon as she woke up. Katya nodded in agreement and sighed as she began her final march out of the room.

She and Marina exchanged waves as Katya passed the bed. They were the short cute signals kindergarten girls exchange many times a day. The gestures seemed to say: “see you at recess”rather than what should have been expressed.

They just didn’t get it. Grandpa Bill recorded the scene on the video recorder. I knew I’d never be able to watch it. I wanted to run from the room.

Jenya—one of the boys we played with at the winter camp—waved at me. I tried to ignore him while walking past. He waved more and more feverishly the further I got. Alas, I couldn’t help myself. I masked who I was, smiled and waved back. Then I abandoned him along with the rest.

While most of the children had been awake during our brief intrusion, the room was all but silent. The orphans knew talking was forbidden during naptime. None of them dared risk violation of the rule for fear of punishment. None of them that was, but Jenya.

“Dasvidanya Katya!” he called in his outdoor voice as we reached the door. About half of the other children followed his example though in softer voices and whispers.

“Dasvidanya.” “Dasvidanya.”

That little boy had always been brave. It was Jenya who did the ski jump off of the slide on our first visit. Courage would suit him well if only he could retain such a quality in the life that surely awaited him.

“Dasvidanya,” we all whispered just before they shut the door between us. Until we meet. None of us had the courage to speak the truth by voicing the appropriate word. Прощайте. Prashaityea. Farewell.

Now as I sat in the director’s office I didn’t want to face more orphans. I only wanted to leave the godforsaken place. I couldn’t continue to watch innocent children who waited until a random few were whisked away to Heaven while their friends were thrust down to Hell.

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