To Sing Frogs Chapter 23b

Typical Russian village

“What, now?” Amy asked in frustration.

“Boy’s bathroom is bushes on left side of the road. Girl’s bathroom is bushes on right side of the road,” Stass responded as he exited the car and jogged across the asphalt. I don’t think he needed to go to the boys bathroom as much as he just needed a break.

Katya would be fine by herself. Luba needed help. Stass had come back to show Amy the Russian way of helping a little girl without the use of a toilet or chamber pot.

Then he headed back to the boys bathroom while my wife held Luba. A hand clutched under each thigh while the child hung between Amy’s legs. It was like the little girl was sitting in an infant swing. There they waited until the dry white line turned wet and yellow. So much for the girl’s bathroom being a bush.

Katya was bored to pieces. We were two thirds of our way into what was supposed to be a three hour trip—with four hours already invested—when she figured out a solution. A request to pee or a threat of spewing projectiles always stopped the car for a walk along the road. Soon we couldn’t drive for five minutes without stopping. All of us were tired and cranky. Poor Stass was at his wit’s end. When we got to the point where we should have been able to reach the hotel within a half-hour, he told the older girl this would be her last stop until we reached the hotel; no matter what. “If you have to pee, pee. If you have to vomit, vomit. If you have to walk, walk. No more stops until we get to the hotel.”

Katya agreed and the car stopped. Ten minutes further down the road she forgot the deal. Too bad. Ten minutes from the hotel, she really needed to throw up. She wasn’t just saying it this time. Nothing doing. Five minutes from the hotel and she knew she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Silence saturated the car. Then another bullfrog croak did the same.

Another round of Russian words came from the driver’s seat. Stass might have been praying this time because I was sure I recognized the Russian word for deity.

We jerked to a stop in the parking lot of the hotel and removed the dripping forms of our children and ourselves. Amy stood with the girls and I helped Stass muck out the car.

After scooping out the big chunks, Stass told me not to worry, he’d take care of it later. I pulled two hundred dollar bills out of my pocket and told him to take the car in for detailing. He flatly refused to take it.

“Please,” I begged, “I’d feel a lot less guilty. A professional can get it clean. I can afford it. I’m sure we haven’t paid for anything like this because I reviewed the item list before leaving home and there was nothing about charges of cleaning out cars with fire hoses.”

Stass just smiled. “If you think your daughters were the first to throw up in my car you are very mistaken, my friend.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still, that was a lot of vomit.”

Stass smiled again. “Yes, I think we set a new record for distance and quantity. Tomorrow is Saturday, though. I’ll clean the car. Please keep the money and do something fun with the girls.”

Stass was far too much like an American. Being Russian, I still can’t believe he didn’t take the money, particularly where it was well deserved.

“Come on,” he said. “Amy told me about the flowers from this morning. We need to spend a few minutes with Katya.”

I retracted my extended hand and put the money back in my pocket after Stass walked away, effectively ending the argument. Amy picked up Luba and I tried to hold Katya’s hand. She insisted on being carried. I felt her squish against me as I took her in my arms. What a daddy-daughter moment.

We soon reached Stass who stood near the entrance of the hotel. I put Katya down and traded for Luba. Amy took the older girl by the hand and led her to a nearby flowerbed.

The mother knelt in the damp dirt next to her daughter and extended her open palm toward the yellow buttercup blooms. Her other arm held the child close while she looked longingly into the curious face. There the two remained, frozen.

My wife was too choked up to talk so Stass stooped and took over. “You see the flowers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Katya responded.

“Do you remember what Mama told you about when she would come back?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me when the snow went away and the flowers came up she would come back.”

“Yes,” he responded. “And the flowers bloomed only this morning. What do you think about that?”

Katya’s face glowed and her smile filled it. Still, she didn’t speak.

“Do you know what I think?” Stass asked her.

“What?”

“I think this mama can be trusted. You already know some mamas can’t. You now have a mama who can be trusted. This is proof. Never forget that.”

Wonderment filled Katya’s face and she looked up at Stass in amazement.

“I think such a mama deserves a big hug,” the coordinator concluded. He stood and walked a short distance away while Katya threw her arms around her kneeling mother’s neck. Then she shut her eyes.

The mother embraced the child tightly. Closed eyelids could not hold back the tears. They clung to her cheeks refusing to fall, as if they were carved in white marble. The child’s face had no room for tears. There was only wonderment, joy and fulfillment. Katya gained a new perspective. Not only was this mother trustworthy, there was nothing that she couldn’t do.

For Katya, the Mysterious Way Believer had become an icon of that which could not be explained. A sacred mother could only be trusted and loved.

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