WILLIAM ARTHUR HOLMES

Zenya

Fifteen years ago

Zenya was two-and-a-half when two very strange people came to visit her orphanage. They talked funny, as if almost able to speak properly, but with such horrible accents it was difficult to understand them. She assumed they were stupid. Gloopy, in Russian. They were there to see her, though – just her! – so she let it go.

She was devastated when they stopped coming after just one week. It was not fair! They had been coming every day, and she had bows in her hair and wore a pretty dress every time! She thought they were The Ones! Guess not.

After a couple months – forever at that age – the memory of her visitors faded as that infamous Russian winter approached and she blended back into daily life at Dome Rebyenka (Baby Home) No. 1 on the outskirts of town. Someday, she knew, she would have her very own grown-ups to take care of her. She just knew it! They needed to hurry up, though.

Sure enough, one day as she and a dozen other children sat in kid-sized chairs along the back wall, those same two wonderful strangers reappeared.

Smiles all around lit up the playroom. Zenya’s exuberance then collapsed into a withering pout as she remembered the abandonment last time. They better not do that again!

She waited to see their reaction to this pout. And, satisfied that her point had been made, she allow