Part V
Now, some months later, we meet Lena's new baby girl, apparently a perfect picture of health and beauty. I praise the Lord that such perfection could come out of such hopelessness. Lena, however, is clearly depressed. She cares well for her children, but her own life seems meaningless. Natasha talks to her at length.
I sit on a stool in the front room, one of only two small rooms in this tiny cottage, and watch the four-year-old play with his makeshift toys. A concrete built-in stove sits in one corner on which they cook and from which they receive their heat. The man is outside on the shaky porch working on something � Natasha and Lena speak in quiet tones beside me at an old table, the only furnishing in this tiny room. The young boy brings a tin lid into the front room and places it on the warn rug on the floor. Out of his pockets he brings several items which he then places in the lid. First he brings out some scraps of torn cardboard with pretty pictures on them. He proudly shows these to me and I smile and nod my appreciation. These pretty shards are no more than remnants of a package for some thing this family could never afford. Perhaps it contained a child's toy, or a kitchen utensil, or a food product. My heart breaks as I thank the Lord that this small boy doesn't know that all he has is broken pieces of nothing at all. He then shows me some old, now worthless coins and a piece of decorative silver metal, once the part of a key chain or some other trinket. Now that his small treasures have been displayed, he goes to the other room to retrieve a small broken toy army tank who's big gun barrel no longer can hold itself erect. He mimics the shooting action toward me and I obediently play dead. He squeals his delighted. A few minutes later he comes out of the other room pushing some objects across the floor. I realize he has designed a toy for himself using a plastic toy accordion, several books and some old broken down figures. He places the accordion on the front, the books stacked in the back and the figures on top, pushing this strange contraption across the floor as if it were a regal carriage transporting a Tzar and His royal entourage. Again, I silently encourage him and show my admiration of his inventiveness. He is rich in imagination while poor in every other way. I pray this will be encouraged as he grows.
Meanwhile, Natasha continues talking to Lena in persuasive tones. She attempts to place an arm around her, Lena resists but finally she nods her head in agreement and Natasha prays for her. I too bow my head and attempt to talk to my God. But words fail me completely. I don't know what to ask for. Should I ask that He provide them with food? I see, there on the table beside an old margarine tub nearly empty except for a spoonful or two of sugar, a small piece of apple now turning brown in the open air. It sits there untouched but protected. It's the only piece of fruit, almost the last of the food, in the house. Natasha runs a food-closet once a week in the city, but she'd been gone for several weeks and so had this family's only source of food.
