To Sing Frogs Chapter 6c

Camp Volna (Wave) where we first met Katya

I thought about what to tell the inquisitor. Yeah, well, my wife and I are here on vacation. Yep, just here to take in the sights. Well, you know how crowded Hawaii is in February. Sure. And would you by chance be able to give us directions to Vladivostok-Disneyland? A winter get-away in Far East Russia didn’t sound very convincing. Besides, all Mrs. Stalin would have to do was open our luggage to reveal the children’s clothes, medicines, and three-ring-binders filled with adoption information. A lie was neither plausible nor sustainable.

“We’re here on a first visit anticipating an adoption,” I responded.

“Vy yoo no have adoption visa?”

“This is the first visit. We’re not adopting on this trip, just visiting the children.”

The woman scowled at me and began to raise her voice as she spit forth the fact that we needed adoption visas for both visits.

All I could do was apologize. Her eyes remained fixed on me, shifting back and forth while she shook her head in disgust.  Then she threatened to put us back on the flight to Seoul. The polar differences between Amy and me include blood pressure. My wife’s is chronically low. I’m on prescriptions to keep mine somewhere on the high end of normal. With the woman’s threat to deny us entry Amy’s blood pressure shot up to a boiler-bursting 115/75. I ruptured blood vessels.

The uniform told me that our coordinators knew of this requirement and she was tired of adoption people not following rules.

I kept my cool and apologized again. Amy just stared forward with wide eyes.

“Dis tyme only Aye let yoo go. Yoo tayl agent no moor do dis. Yoo tayl agent next tyme Aye send her people back. Yoo tayl her!”

I promised to forward the message and we were released to retrieve our luggage.

As we exited Customs I recognized Anya from her photograph. Little Miracles had sent us a picture of our coordinator so we would know who she was. I remember at the time thinking she was cute. The picture hadn’t done her justice. The petite woman was in her early twenties. She had blonde hair, green eyes, painted-on jeans, and she was hotter than the terminal we were standing in. Anya was a perfect example of what mail order bride companies use for models in false advertising for what their offerings look like.

Amy and I greeted Anya and she introduced us to her work partner and “significant other,” Stass. The two of them would be helping us over the course of the next five days. There was another adopting couple on the plane though, and Anya would be taking them to the hotel. Stass would help us.

       Minutes out of the airport parking lot we were sliding briskly down ice-covered streets when Stass asked if we wanted to go to the hotel first or if we would prefer to meet Katya.

We forgot about the precarious driving on ice, weights of jetlag fell from our eyelids, and newfound life pumped into our veins like an energy drink. Of course we wanted to meet Katya. The meeting couldn’t happen soon enough.

Twenty-five minutes out of the airport parking lot Stass half-turned, half-slid off the main road onto a driveway. We weaved down the lane toward a two-story white stucco building with a painted sign above the door. Волна. Wave.

Stass explained to us this was not Katya’s orphanage but a winter camp where she and about twenty residents from her orphanage were staying for a couple of weeks. The name of the camp reflected its proximity to the water. At least during summer months. During the time of our visit the name of the camp was inappropriate; there were no waves. Perhaps the name should have been changed for conditions. Лед. Ice.

Stass asked us to wait while he got permission to bring us in. Then he vanished behind the brown steel doors of the building and Amy dug into our luggage. I stood scrunched up with the collar from my black wool trench coat around my ears. I tried to ignore the cold while looking out over the frozen and snow-covered bay.

A few icy rounded-out paths puzzled me. They ran down the small hill and away from the small parking area. There were no marks from sleds, toboggans, or other snow toys, so the only thing I could figure was they were used for walking. What a treacherous path. The sheen on snow-turned-ice led me to the inevitable conclusion that a single step onto the incline would result in a person being transformed into a flying eggbeater until coming to a twisted painful rest at the bottom of the slope.

I thought Amy was chasing down one of the stuffed animals or packed away treats. She returned with my cologne instead.

“Hold out your hands,” she said while spinning the top off the bottle. “I just sprayed myself with my perfume. The books all say this will create an association for her.” Amy was on a mission to bombard all five of Katya’s senses.

“Sure. Okay. Try to control yourself though.” Amy rolled her eyes.

After my dousing Amy put the cologne away and shut the hatch on the SUV. Then we stood shivering and waiting for Stass to return.