By Alan Burke
MARBLEHEAD — When Keri Cahill despairs that she will never reunite adopted daughter Nastia with her grown sister, Anya, she goes to the Immaculate Conception Roman Catholic Church in Salem and prays.
"I have a very strong faith," she says.
That's an irony because the last time she saw Anya — in Moscow last December — the young girl, in a moment of frustration, asked if there could possibly be a God to allow the misery she and her sister have suffered.
"It isn't God that's done this," Cahill replied. "It's people."
People ran the Dickensian orphanages where the two grew up — apart from one another. The people of the United States government, Cahill believes, have blocked all attempts to bring Anya here.
The predators who threaten Anya in the Siberian city of Kemerovo are also people. They scheme to lure her into drugs and human trafficking.
"She won't survive," Cahill says. "She already had to leave school. She has no home. ... And there's a stigma attached to orphans in Russia." By age 20, she says, some studies show that one in eight have committed suicide.
Nastia was adopted in 2005 at age 121รขÑ2. Only later did mother and daughter learn that Anya existed. The revelation incited a primal need for the girls to make contact. Telephone calls and two visits to Russia have fused the bond.
Cahill began working to adopt Anya, but once she turned 16 she no longer qualified. As a second option, Cahill tried to bring her here as a student, but the U.S. embassy, fearing she would stay illegally, denied the visa.
Ironically, the mother notes, it may have been easier to simply bring Anya in illegally.
Currently, Cahill is continuing efforts to make the case known, appearing in a locally produced documentary. A TV crew is coming to Marblehead to tell the story on Russia's version of "60 Minutes."
One of her few chances of success is a private relief bill to apply to Anya, Cahill says. She's reached out to U.S. Sens. Scott Brown and John Kerry and Congressman John Tierney.
Yet, Cahill says she has had little actual help from any of them. Lately, she's begun to despair. "If nothing pulls together by this summer, we are going to spend part of every year in Russia."
As director of the Rebel Shakespeare Company, Cahill has taught theater locally for nearly 20 years. She hopes to defray some of the costs of living in Siberia by teaching English there. Already, she sends Anya money.
Cahill has no illusions that both Nastia and Anya have had hard lives and that helping them adjust to America won't be easy.
Yet, she was almost hopeful speaking about it yesterday. "You caught me on a good day." More often, she cries herself to sleep. This is a battle she's been fighting for three years. Slipping away is the opportunity to teach two sisters there is room in the world for hope, for family and for God.
