To Sing Frogs Chapter 23e

Celeste and Sarah on their bed at the Vlad Inn

Now as we returned, Amy was even more troubled by the environment than she had been before. “That carousel is just eerie,” she said while shivering and holding Celeste closer.

“It’s not eerie, it’s broken,” I responded. “Look, they have even stolen parts off it.” I pointed to where the poles for several horses were disconnected at the top. Bearings had been removed and taken away.

The amusement park’s demise was someone else’s boon. Those idle parts would now complete another mechanical device in some obscure and distant place. The components would be put to good use even against the will of those who had possessed them first. A very few pieces would be smuggled away, all with the best of intentions. The vast majority would slowly deteriorate until they were worthless. The current caretakers wished to hoard the possessions whether they could use them or not. Those who needed them and could give them new life would seek for parts more easily obtained in other places.

“Broken/eerie, whatever.” Amy responded. “Amusement parks are supposed to be fun. They’re supposed to be happy. I keep waiting for Chucky the ventriloquist dummy to jump out.”

We walked past a fountain without water. Some of the small white one-inch tiles were still in place. Others were scattered around the bottom. Many were long gone. Lost or taken? Who knew? A variety of rides and concession booths littered the property. Most were in the same condition as the carousel.

As we neared the exit we soon saw we were not the only ones who had breached the non-functioning iron barrier. A group of young teenaged girls and boys stood in a circle playing Russian Postman. A person waited in the center with eyes closed and was then turned randomly to others in the perimeter. As the postman’s eyes were opened the player they were facing could ask for a handshake, a hug, or a kiss. The postman was required to oblige.

Russians still knew how to have fun. Of course the glory days of the amusement park were past. Maybe they would return. Maybe they wouldn’t. It wouldn’t matter because hope, happiness, and childhood survive even when they don’t belong.

 

 

“Wait!” I jumped from my knees and rushed to grab the note pad and pen from the desk. Sarah had just finished her Russian extension of our second family prayer in as many days.

“What’s wrong?” Amy asked nervously while she quickly stood with Celeste.

“Wait! Semyee, Semyee, Semyee, Sem…”

“What’s wrong?!”

“Shh. Semyee.” I wrote the Russian word phonetically—in English—on the pad the last time I said it. Then I tore into my briefcase.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s something Sarah keeps saying in her prayers.”

“When she prays for us?”

“I don’t think she does.”

“What? She says Mommy and Poppy.”

“I know.” I dug through the overstuffed part of my briefcase where I had crammed the word list I downloaded. The Russian words were phonetically spelled in English. “Here it is.”

“What is she praying for then?”

“Semyee, Semyee, Semyee… It’s not here! It has to be! Semyee, Semyee…”

“What do you think she’s praying for?”

“Wait! Semyá! Semyá is here. Oh no. No!”

“What? What, already?!”

“Family. Semyá means family.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No. She doesn’t say Semyá, she says Semyee.”

“What does Semyee mean?”

“I think it means families. She keeps saying Yula and Marina too.”

“I think it’s sweet she’s praying for us and her friends.”

“Uh huh. She says mommy and poppy. That’s not Russian baby talk. Russian baby talk would be mamashka and papashka.”

“Okay… So…”

“Okay, so, in Russian the ee sound as a suffix makes the word plural. She’s praying for families, for mamas, and for papas.”

“What? Why?”

“Sarah isn’t praying for us and she isn’t praying for herself. She is praying for Yula and Marina. She’s praying for them to have mamas, and papas, and families—like she has.”

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