To Sing Frogs Chapter 8b

Katya in her white and purple hat

Two orphanage workers in white lab coats sat on a bench visiting with each other. More than a dozen children between the ages of five and eight ran around chasing and tagging their peers. The floor was covered with matted light blue shag carpet and the space was filled with playful screams and squeals. Walls were plain and clean. They were painted from halfway up and imitation wood paneling covered the lower third of the room. A large bookcase filled with toys and stuffed animals stood against one wall and a painted full-sized mural representing a Russian fairytale was hung on an opposite side of the room. The painting depicted a maiden standing next to a young boy who was playing a violin. A country styled scene filled the background and birds flew in the clear blue sky. The characters were illustrated in the traditional dress of Russian peasant adolescents. Simpler times. Better days. Or was it? I knew those days were no more in Russia. Beyond that, I wondered if they ever were. Stass and Anya had taken Amy and me into the playroom Katya materialized from the day before.

As we stood looking at quaint propaganda hidden in features of the painting Amy was T-boned like a car running a red light. She grabbed me to keep from falling over. Katya saw her first. My wife swept the little girl up and they both gave each other big hugs and kisses on the cheeks. Then Katya held her arms out toward me and flopped to the side. It was all Amy could do to keep her from falling. I grabbed the child from my wife and we exchanged our own hugs and kisses. “Preensessa!”

Katya sat up on my arm and hid her exploding smile behind her fist.

The white lab coats quickly removed themselves from the bench, thinking it prudent to gain some control in the presence of observing foreigners. They shook our hands, welcomed us, and quickly apologized for the rambunctiousness of the children. I blew it off as no big deal with a wave of the hand, a smile, and a shake of my head. This was no worse than when my kids got together with their cousins. Of course such an event might merit calling out the National Guard but Amy and I were used to kids being kids.

One of the workers suggested it might be time to go and play outside. The other agreed.

“It must be twenty below out there,” I said. “They can’t play outside can they?” Population control?

Stass laughed. “It’s too cold for Anya but the kids love it. Besides, in Fahrenheit it’s probably only about zero.    They’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t convinced. Russia always seems colder than readings on thermometers. Worse, the winds coming off the bay would bite. Still… “When in Rome…”

“What?” Stass asked while raising an eyebrow.

“Let’s go out and play.”

The children scurried to the door and began pulling down coats and putting on boots. They all had stocking caps and a few of them had cheap mass produced knitted gloves like children in the States might use. Most of the orphans just pulled the sleeves of their coats down over their hands.

Katya put on her coat and indicated to Amy with gestures that she needed help with her zipper. I knew it probably wasn’t the case particularly as I watched all of her peers do up their own coats. Russian orphans were even potty-trained within a month or two after they could walk. Staff wasn’t sufficient to do for children what they could do for themselves. Amy was all too happy to assist though and she stooped and zipped up Katya’s coat. It had dark blue and aqua colored panels and was embroidered with stitching in English betraying its origin from some international donation source. “I love you Mommie.” Then Amy placed the bright violet and white knitted hat on Katya’s head. The yarn ball on top bounced, happily flashing both colors neither more prominently than the other.

Suddenly my wife turned to see the source of tugging at her sleeve. A beautiful little girl with Asian features timidly but eagerly waved hello.

“Eta Marina,” Katya said excitedly. Anya quickly translated.

This was Katya’s friend, Marina, one of the two she had mentioned the day before. The child was a porcelain doll. Her appearance indicated she was a year or two older than Katya. Her demeanor and kind manners were unusual for a child in a Russian orphanage, or the White House for that matter. In my life I had never been so immediately taken by such exquisite yet soft beauty displayed by a child. Amy threw her arms around Marina, who melted. Katya exploded with chattering in Russian telling my wife all about one of her two best friends. Anya translated every word while Amy made small talk with Marina. The little girl’s soft smile never left her face though she nodded and shook her head calmly far more often than she spoke.

 

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