Бесплатный фрагмент - Mission 777 Possible

Marina Sprouz

Mission 777 Possible

Novel

Foreword by the Author

People love to believe in fairy tales; they are comforting and always end well. My novel resembles a fairy tale, a touch of mysticism in reality. The characters and the story are fictional, though coincidences with reality are possible. I am not an outstanding writer or philosopher; I am an ordinary doctor, but we know from history that many doctors have written, such as Mikhail Bulgakov, Anton Chekhov, Somerset Maugham, and François Rabelais. In our hectic pace of life and new era, it is hard to surprise readers; but for a moment, imagine that the story in my novel actually happened. In the novel, we come into contact with a subtle, spiritual world. There is a spiritual world, whether we like it or not, an invisible world of struggle and different life. Everyone probably read Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita.” Have you ever wondered why the scenes about the Master and Margarita intertwine parallelly with the scenes about Jesus Christ? Think of Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code,” also made into a film, and the wanderings of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. What was Alice searching for? My novel is a new myth, a myth or fairy tale.

Everything ever written and filmed in the history of humanity has its significance for human development. As they say, “Fairy tales lie, but there’s a hint in them…” I will immerse you in the world of a special fairy tale, a walk through the spiritual world. The scenes will intertwine about the past, future, and present in small chapters; always remember, time does not exist. The book is written with elements of storytelling and a literary script, and lyrical digressions in the form of poetry will be little gems or diamonds of the novel. The book contains many bright and colorful illustrations. At first, when you read about the heroine’s childhood, everything seems simple and primitive, but keep reading… The novel begins with a legend in poetic form, followed by prose. In the novel, sometimes you hear the heroine’s voice in the first person, and sometimes the author’s voice, as if the author is observing events from the side. All the events in the novel are fictional and not real.

Read, my dear readers! And I hope the reader will be with me, the author, during the reading of the novel.

Author Marina Sprouz

The novel was translated by the author into English from the Russian language.

Love Must Save the World

Lead to Life Through the Journey

Prologue

The Legend of Marianne

Did it happen or not, I don’t know.

But today, I must confess to you,

That I want to write about it,

And the poet’s mission is strange…

Let the language be neither scant nor proud,

And simple, like the common folk.

So, I started my tale,

A narrative and a story.

In those medieval times lived

A girl, alone in the world,

Her name was Marianne.

She wore a black hood

On her head, and a cloak.

“Marianne!” her mother called,

We need to prepare for the market:

All kinds of dishes and trinkets,

To survive — despite fate.

Those were hard times,

She lived in Italy,

The plague raged everywhere,

And war took lives.

Darkness loomed, heavy…

The air was tense, and evil froze.

Marianne and her mother were alone,

She did not remember her father.

Hunger and shame were everywhere,

Their every step was watched.

They prayed to saints in those times,

Marianne grew up fully;

She became beautiful and smart,

Unaware of it herself.

To avoid the plague,

She went to the market for water.

Filling her pitcher,

She wandered through the city.

At the market gate,

There sat a black cat:

Huge, fat, black cat,

Smiling widely.

“Chur! It seemed! I’m sick!

I must need a walk!”

Turning away from the market,

She went for a walk in the city.

By the fountain in the garden,

I’ll pluck a red rose;

I must not be sad — no way,

I like life, it’s a trifle.

I’ll pluck a rose, though the thorns are sharp:

They’ll prick my finger like needles.

Blood on my finger — and my head spins,

From the sight of blood, she faints.

Opening her eyes, she woke there:

Someone was slapping her cheeks.

I met a stranger’s eyes:

As if the Sun suddenly flared up;

I met love in reality,

I was looking for love — and now I live.

“I’ve been waiting for you, dear Marianne!

Life without you is a continuous wound.”

“I’m Marianne, yes. But who are you? Why?

And what is your name, I don’t understand.”

“I will not tell you my name,

I have many names in reality.

One thing I know — eternal love,

I will love you with all my blood.

Remember this — never,

Will trouble separate us forever.

He is my husband forever, and I am his wife,

I will follow him to any city,

Even if there is war.

But our happiness did not last long;

Villains — murderers stole the diamond,

Suddenly destroyed the treasure — our happiness,

They are leading my beloved to death…

They deceive my eyes, and the visions are wrong,

I see: my beloved is crucified…

The sky suddenly closed with a ringing, and a moan…

It spreads endlessly with the rain.

That hour was cursed with a beastly grin,

My beloved was crucified by a murderer.

Mixed with death…

All in blood and rain.

— And what is left for me?

We will not be together…

Killed for a coin,

The whole sky in dust,

And there is no life for me,

Since there is no love in it!

She stood silently at the abyss,

And the abyss opened to the very bottom.

And the unceasing rain poured on her head,

It will not save her from the passion of her heart.

Marianne knew the sorrow of love,

Marianne threw herself into that abyss in delirium.

And just as her feet left the ground,

A trail of blood remained on the pile of stones.

She flew over that abyss,

And no longer saw, she found peace…

Only the echo carries over the abyss:

Marianne will return at the appointed hour!

The woman in white

Two girls were playing in the backyard. One had fiery red hair and was arranging toy figures on a set of scales made from a wooden fence plank. The other girl, with expressive big eyes, was playing with a small jug.

“Tell me, what do you want to be when you grow up?” said the Red-haired girl.

“I don’t know yet…”

“I want to be a shopkeeper,” said the Red-haired girl, placing a child’s sand shoe on one side of the scales.

“I don’t know yet…,” said the other girl.

“What do you have in your jugs?” asked the Red-haired girl.

“It’s water. Did you know that in the future, there will be very little water, so you have to stock up…” said the big-eyed girl.

“Impossible!” said the Red-haired girl, surprised.

“But what will happen in the future?”

“I know that people will be led by a woman in white.”

“In white?”

“How interesting…”

The girls spoke, their voices getting quieter, like in fog…

Boy or Girl

A boy was probably supposed to be born, but a girl was born… Marianna.

A private house, a yard. Grandfather is fixing the fence, holding a hammer. Grandma Klavdiya appears on the porch.

“Anton, they called from the maternity hospital, a girl was born!”

Grandfather put down the hammer, frowned, paused.

“Go call again, there must be some mistake.”

A minute later, Grandma Klavdiya returns.

“A girl! They said it’s a girl!”

“Oh my… call again later…”

Fear of God

A room in my grandfather’s house. White walls, low ceilings. A little five-year-old girl sits on the bed with her legs tucked up and stares into the corner — it’s Marianne. Half darkness. The girl looks at a large icon in the corner. From the icon Jesus Christ is looking sternly. Marianne looks frightened, she stares intently at the image, Jesus seems to threaten with finger.

Girl

Rural road. Grandfather is carrying Marianne on the frame of his bicycle. She is about five years old.

“When you grow up, will you feed Grandpa?” — Grandpa asks as he walks along.

Little Marianne replies: “I will take you to Moscow.”

“To Moscow?”

“Yes! And I’ll feed you porridge!”

Grandpa laughs.

A grey-haired old man

“She has a fever,” Marianna’s mom said, touching the child’s forehead. “We need to call the doctor tomorrow.”

The girl shivered, her face red.

“Lie down, lie down,” Grandma tucks Marianna in.

The girl drank a sweet mixture and drifted off to sleep.

In the next room, the light was still on, and in her half-dream, Marianna could see it.

It seemed she had already fallen asleep…

Everything was foggy… Marianna felt very bad, she didn’t know why, she just felt it. The girl opened her eyes. An old man with a long gray beard stood by her bedside and looked at her. Marianna could see the old man, but very hazily. Closing her eyes, she drifted back to sleep.

Morning came, and the girl woke up completely healthy.

Later, Grandma said it was Saint Nicholas who had visited. Who knows… maybe it was another old man.

Deaf

Marianne was eight years old. Hospital. Ear, nose and throat doctor’s office. Grandfather brought Marianna to the doctor’s office.

The doctor: “The girl does not hear at all, this is nervous deafness, a complication after rubella. Give her to a school for the deaf-mute. There is no cure, you know…”

Grandpa: “What school? Are you crazy? She has to be cured.”

“We can’t do anything, this happens sometimes, all these children are in schools for the deaf,” said the doctor.

Grandfather stood puzzled for a long time, then took Marianne’s hand and walked towards the exit. He sat Marianna on the back seat of an old Zaporozhts and thought. His hands gripped the steering wheel with anger and despair.

“No! This will not do!” said the grandfather and pressed on the gas.

Marianne spent a fortnight in the Ear, Nose, Throat ward. Her arms were pricked all over, bruises appeared on her wrists, and antibiotics were painfully injected into her veins. Marianne couldn’t hear, but she could see, walk, but she couldn’t hear anything.

Probably, really — a school for deaf-mutes and that’s all…

But a miracle happened, which always comes when you least expect it.

In the afternoon, Marianne stood in the hospital ward, looked out the window and thought that now everything is fine, it does not hurt, doctors do not stick needles in her hands. It had become warm. Around her head, her whole body was enveloped by an unknown force, her head seemed to expand in the glow of invisible ions, and her eyes were like a big screen through which she felt and saw. Marianne began to hear. There were loud noises coming from the corridor. At first she caught the sounds with her nose, other parts of her body, felt with her whole body what the interlocutor was saying, but most importantly she looked at his lips when he spoke. A miracle happened, Marianne was healed by an unknown force.

A Part of That Force

Beach. Little Marianna on the shore of the sea. She splashes her feet in the water by the shore. She sees people swimming. The weather is sunny outside, just a little wind stirs the waves. Marianna enters the sea. She can’t swim and goes into the water up to her waist, splashing, then further and further…

A wave engulfs Marianna, swirling her around, she ends up completely in the water. She starts to drown and choke. An unknown wave lifts her body, vibrating and pushing her upwards. This is a part of that force that cured her deafness. Marianna paddles desperately with her arms. She swims… She swims on her own. She learned to swim.

Little Marianna

“Go to the reeds, to the swamps, where people don’t go, where God’s word doesn’t reach; there you will have visions, nourishment, forever and ever amen,” rasped the old woman’s voice over Marianna’s head. Then the old woman read prayers, and Marianna smelled the wax nearby: the old woman poured wax into a bowl of water.

Then holding the wax in her hand, she said, "- Look, look what’s here…”

Marianna had been going to the old woman for the tenth time already.

“You should come for the young moon,” the toothless old woman said. Little Marianna didn’t know that “young moon” meant the new moon.

But she had to come, her grandmother said she had to go to stop wetting the bed, to keep bed sheets from hanging and drying in the garden; she had to come for twenty readings.

They said there was fear, but what caused it wasn’t clear: maybe she was just scared of the dog, or maybe of the old lady, a neighbor. Granny, the neighbor, stepped outside wearing her terrible rags, she stood by the gate and watched. Marianna went along the road with her little feet, and she said in fear, “Grandma Aga.”

She heard and saw the frightened look of Marianna. Now the wet sheets…

The witch, the neighbor, came close to Marianna and whispered into her face, “Not enough? Not enough?”

Marianna didn’t understand what she meant by “not enough” back then. One day, she left her gate and found a crow that had been killed, its blood visible and horrifying…

She didn’t think about the witch, the neighbor, just the crow. At night, the granny stepped out, holding a book in her hands and whispered strange words as she walked around the garden fence. Granny Klavdiya constantly made finds: sometimes a buried piece of bread in her garden, sometimes a pot of feces thrown over the fence by someone.

One dream often haunted Marianna: she runs away, and a witch in rags chases her. In her dream, Marianna is in fear as she tries to run quickly from the gate to the porch; the monster chases her. The witch is about to grab her by her clothes.

The dream was repeated again and again.

Everything passes… time heals, and Marianna was healed of wet sheets.

Field of Bluebells

A little girl stands. Before her, an immense field stretches out, composed of countless purple bluebells. For the little girl, it’s enormous, a wave of joy and freedom surrounds her — Marianna. She runs across the vast field, happy and carefree. The field smells incredibly, probably the scent of bluebells, merging into a vast purple sea.

Marianna wakes up, someone is patting her cheeks, she hears sounds. It’s her grandmother, who found Marianna unconscious, snoring, with foam at her mouth.

Little Marianna lay in the corner near the yard’s barn, by the wooden fence. The cause of such a condition is still unclear, maybe it’s the aftermath of a vaccination she received today at the hospital. Marianna came to her senses, and it’s so sad… she wanted to get back to that field, smelling of freshness and the aroma of bluebells.

Star

The girl’s hand draws a star on notebook pages. She does it mechanically, just wanting to draw with a pen. The star is ordinary, like many five-pointed stars, with a sharp top at the top. Then she draws other shapes on the sheet.

As Marianna woke up, she saw that she had filled her school notebook. What have I done…

Amina

“Born…” whispered little Marianna, looking sadly at her baby sister Amina, who had just been brought from the maternity ward and placed on the pillow. Amina fit perfectly on the pillow. Marianna couldn’t imagine that Amina would grow up so quickly and cause so much trouble. From all of Marianna’s childhood photos, Amina cut out Marianna’s eyes and scratched them with scissors. She also took Marianna’s toys and pretty things for herself and hid them away. When Marianna asked her about the toys, Amina grabbed Marianna by the hair and pulled painfully. Once, a fight between the sisters went too far. Older now, Amina was stronger than Marianna: she hit Marianna hard on the edge of the bath, grabbed her by the hair, and started to drown her in a basin. Marianna was so angry that when it was all over, not feeling any more rage, and seeing Amina’s face gleefully triumphant, she shouted, “Curse you!”

Injustice

Grandpa sat behind the wheel of his old Zaporozhets. Marianna sat next to him. She was already a teenager. They had to stop because of a funeral procession. They were burying a young woman who left behind a child. Grandpa looked at the funeral procession and couldn’t calm down: “Where is the justice… They took away the mother… The child is an orphan… Is this right…” Marianna looked at her thoughtful grandpa. She didn’t understand what injustice was; she didn’t understand anything.

After school

Marianna didn’t know where to go after school.

But it seems fate decided everything for her.

Zinulya — Marianna’s favorite friend — dreamed of studying medicine, but to apply, she needed work experience as a hospital orderly, so she immediately took action. As luck would have it, there was a spot at the clinic, and we both started working there even during school. And so, I finally put on a white coat for the first time, although there was still a silly white cap. That’s how my journey in medicine began, as if someone invisible was guiding me. After working for a year, Zinka inexplicably changed her mind about applying, or more precisely, didn’t apply anywhere, but got married and started a household.

I corresponded with my mom; the letters took a long time because she and Dad were living in the Far North, having gone there to work. In one letter, I asked my mom: where should I apply, what should I do… And in her letter, Mom replied: “You need to live, choose…”

Honestly, I didn’t know myself and tried to figure out my path. One day after school, I sat thoughtfully at my desk, did my homework as usual, books lay before me, and I just stared into emptiness. Slightly in a daze, a picture appeared before me: I was sitting in a white coat in an office, with shelves of pills and tablets in the background. So, to begin my path in medicine, I needed to enroll in medical school.

Misfortune

It happened one May evening; I went out with a friend and, like a good girl, called my grandparents from a payphone from time to time.

“Marianna… Marianna… hurry home!” I heard a strange hoarse voice from Grandpa on the phone, it seemed he was crying.

At home, I saw two of our relatives from the neighboring village, everyone sitting around the table. Grandma informed me of my mother’s death, Grandpa couldn’t say anything, just wheezed and sobbed, having drunk Corvalol. Of course, I didn’t fully realize it at first, and I didn’t feel the pain right away; there was Mom, and now no Mom, it couldn’t be true. And I cried a lot in the bathroom, my eyes turned into two swollen bags. I remember Mom… she was like an angel, with extraordinary eyes. Then they said she was killed. One memory remains in my mind: I was sitting next to Mom when she was still alive, and my soul was incredibly warm, perhaps this feeling a fetus feels in the womb. Her eyes were especially memorable, large unusual upper eyelids, her face reminded me of an angel and Leonardo da Vinci’s painting “Head of an Angel,” and her hands were very delicate. Like some virgin maiden hides Leonardo’s painting, and in the picture — my mom, my mommy:

You’re tender, like something fragile and delicate,

What are you like… as if something is in a daze.

Vulnerable, like a virgin flower,

Grown-up and spring stem.

You look like a girl from a painting:

Semi-transparent face and canopies;

The mouth is slightly open sensually,

As if getting ready for a trip;

And a tired look aimed,

Olive eyes — without falsehood.

Vulnerable, invisible, barefoot,

She came down from the picture — you, heavenly — such…

I will look at the lips and eyes,

As if they can tell you,

About the secret of the eternal tender maiden;

And listen to the first tunes,

When the morning dew rings…

The funeral of my mother was terrible. Grandpa no longer cried but wheezed, and the nurse injected him with injections right through his clothes. Grandma’s face was without tears, and Marianna’s eyes swelled and puffed up from crying. We said our last words of farewell. A stranger woman standing by the grave threw a handful of dirt over Marianna’s collar and said, “So she wouldn’t be afraid of the dead.”

Orphan

So, Marianna became an orphan.

Why is it that often the main character is necessarily an orphan, or becomes one? Let’s remember: Harry Potter, poor Cinderella without a mother, the heroine of the tale “12 Months”. But like all heroes, Marianna became an orphan too.

Amina’s Abilities

Train. Ukraine.

Marianna and her sister Amina sit on the wooden benches of the train, the train quietly clatters along. Amina twirls a matchbox in her hand. She places it on the bench, moves her hand, and the box slides away.

“Wow! Show me again,” and she places an iron can on the bench.

Amina flashes her eyes and stares intently at the can. The can moves forward, shifts.

“Let me try.”

Marianna tries to move the can — no luck.

Intellectual

I knew I would apply to medical school, but which faculty I would choose was decided by a chance encounter. It happened in the metro. My grandmother Claudia and I were on our way to submit documents to the Kharkiv Medical Institute; we were completely unfamiliar with the city. The metro train hummed, and my gaze fell on a striking man. He stood opposite, leaning slightly, with his arm on the train door. Perhaps it was his hat that caught my attention: he wore a black hat and a strict black coat, and his narrow eyes revealed a penetrating intellect and focus.

“Intellectual,” I thought to myself, “probably a professor.” When we exited the train, he was next to us and also getting off. When my grandmother felt dizzy at the metro escalator, the intellectual kindly supported her elbow.

“Oh, thank you so much!” my grandmother exclaimed.

“Excuse me, could you tell us how to get to the medical institute?” she dared to ask the stranger.

He explained in detail: we needed to exit, pass through the square, and in general, head in that direction.

“And what’s your purpose going there? By the way, I work there,” the stranger said.

“Yes, I’m taking my granddaughter to apply; she has no parents, and she got emotional…”

“And which faculty?” he inquired.

“I don’t know,” I replied, “maybe sanitary and hygienic.”

“Apply to pediatrics, it’s a good faculty.”

We thanked him and bid farewell to the stranger.

Decision made! Only pediatrics!

Exams

It was a significant day, the day of my entrance exam to the institute. I had already grown fond of this huge city to me, the giant — Kharkiv. Today I got up early, quickly got to the institute, and just by the door, I realized I forgot my documents.

“Where are you rushing to?” the driver of the gray “Volga” shouted.

I literally threw myself under the car’s wheels.

“All is lost,” I thought, as I had forgotten my passport, and the exam was in half an hour, and I still had to get to Alexeevka.

The driver cursed, saying something about being late for work, but agreed to drive me home for a fee, pick up the passport. The car flew through the avenues, overtaking everyone, and somehow I made it in time. Biology exam. Everything was symbolic that day; the exam card was number 33. I stared at the card and repeated to myself: thirty-three, thirty-three… I also thought that 3 was my lucky number, and ticket number 7, too, my favorite. Sitting in front of me were two teachers: a man and a woman. The woman immediately disliked me, I could tell by her distrustful look, but the man, on the contrary, looked interested and as if he wanted to help when I pondered before giving another answer. At some point, when I thought it was all over and I didn’t know the answer, it was as if information began to come to my head, as if I had turned to some kind of higher library. And finally, everything! Grade — 4. Hooray!

I was really tired that day, either me or my brain, and my grandmother, Claudia Alexandrovna, and I decided to take a walk in the park. We stood in the square, where the world seemed to me like a huge metropolis, because I was from a small town. It was time to take a few photos, and we captured ourselves after this tough day.

Exams passed. In the dean’s office, the secretary, a woman in her fifties, said, “Oh…” — looking at my card — “you passed the exams well, and you have a preference for admission, as an orphan, you might make it.” I don’t know why, but this humiliating word — orphan, which appeared in my life, I hated; I felt ashamed or something, it sounded humiliating and unpleasant. Why pity for me caused my displeasure, I didn’t know then.

It’s done!…

This day I will remember for a long time. Everyone gathered in the backyard of the medical institute to find out the admission results. I was no longer nervous; there was a boldness in my soul and calmness. Klavdiya Aleksandrovna, my grandmother, wore a colorful dress with red roses scattered on it. People stood in clusters, and I walked around near the steps. My grandmother stood with her arms folded, waiting. The lists were brought out. Yes!! Among those admitted, my surname shone. My grandmother stood a bit away. I looked up, our eyes met, they sparkled and were wet with tears of happiness. I made it! My grandmother reached out to me, choked with tears of joy, and we hugged as the culmination. A new life was beginning for me!

Student Years

Oh, those student years… My school teacher was right when she said, “student years are the best, the most interesting.” Back then, I didn’t understand why they were better. Sleepless nights until morning, wandering aimlessly, studying, boys… I was like a blind kitten with wide-open eyes, but blind. My hair was full and reached below my shoulders, standing and slightly wavy. I wore wooden trinkets on my chest, brightly painted with black arrows, and bright clothes; to onlookers, I seemed “beautiful and brave,” like in a song. All my classmates thought so… that I was from a big city, unaware that I came from the small town of Semivetrinsk. Kharkiv welcomed me into its embrace. I didn’t know how young people lived, I was only occupied with the institute, and after classes at seven in the evening, I barely had the strength to eat and study. My body was tuned to one program: studying. Of course, I observed people, watching and staring at our Jewish classmates in the group. It’s amazing… they are smarter than many people, how their minds work… they have an answer for everything. Several Jewish boys and girls studied in our group. One even had a crush on me, secretly watching me during classes. When I realized I might fail the biochemistry exam, I turned to him, and he said, “You’ll pass, I have connections, you’ll get a four.” When you live through the years, you remember your student days and think, “What if I had lived differently… If I had agreed to tie my life with Grisha, Petya, Vova, or Seryozha, things would have been different, I would have lived without want, without twists and turns… But something held me back, maybe it wasn’t fate, maybe it was a sinister force guiding me where I needed to go.

What kind of pipe is this?

Kharkiv. Shevchenko Park. Summer. There are many places here where you can stop and take a picture. A green bush stands on the lawn near the path. Amina, Grandma, and I lined up and asked a photographer working in the park to take a picture of us.

“Stand closer to each other, like this…” the photographer aimed.

“It’s so nice in the park…” Marianna thought. The sun was shining right into her face, and she felt at peace.

“You can pick up the photo in half an hour.”

At home, Marianna admired the photograph.

“What is that…?” On the right shoulder in the photo, something is visible: it looks like a pipe or a snake with its mouth wide open, but without teeth, only two vertical bars on the sides.

Marianna showed the photo to a friend in the student dormitory, and after looking at it, she said, “It’s from another dimension! It just appeared. If you want, I can send the photo to an expert.”

“No, no need, it might just be a film defect.”

Although deep inside, Marianna felt that this pipe was an observation device, meaning she was being watched from another dimension. By the way, the pipe resembled one from a cartoon, sticking out from a submarine when it’s underwater.

Nastenka

I first saw her at the collective farm. Yes, at the collective farm, when we were on our practical training as first-year students, working in the tomato fields, helping to harvest the crops, so to speak.

Nastya was quiet; my eyes were immediately drawn to her large eyes — such a pure being. I remember how we devoured fresh peppers together, even though before the collective farm, I had only eaten them boiled. But here, I was so hungry that even a tomato straight from the vine was delicious.

After getting to know Nastya, we decided to live together in the dormitory, in the same room. Her parents were not ordinary people; I realized that right away. Nastya had branded, expensive clothes and shoes. Her mother arranged for the room, and we ended up with our own separate quarters: Room 7!

***

Nastya and I spent our short student evenings together. Short because we were always busy with our studies at the institute. In the evening, we would make tea and have heartfelt conversations. It was warm and cozy. Nastya was kind-hearted, good, and sincere.

After graduating from the institute, we kept in touch with Nastya, and she called me every year on my birthday. I eagerly awaited her call each birthday. Now she was calling from England, where she had settled well and worked as a doctor. Meanwhile, I moved to work in my small hometown.

Nastya’s Calls

The phone rang.

“Nastya!”

Marianna rushed to the phone and grabbed the gray receiver of the landline.

“Nastya! Nastya! I hear you, hello!”

“Hello, Mariannochka!”

“How are you?” asked Nastya.

“I’m fine, thank you for calling!”

“Happy birthday! May every day bring you joy, and most importantly, health to you and your loved ones,” said Nastya.

“Thank you, Nastya. I thought you wouldn’t call.”

“It’s evening in London, and almost night here,” said Marianna.

“That’s right,” replied Nastya.

Then Nastya asked about me, but there wasn’t much to say except about my hospital. Nastya always talked very little about herself, almost nothing.

That was the end of the conversation.

Marianna was in the kitchen with her grandmother.

Her grandmother said,

“You see, Nastya calls, she’s not proud. You should appreciate that.”

“Why would she be proud?” Marianna said, pouring tea. “But it turns out that if Nastya made it abroad, she is better than me and should be proud.”

Grandma probably thinks that once you go abroad, you become a master, a great person. She thinks that way because she lived her whole life in the Soviet Union, never traveling abroad.

That’s true, but here I am, and no one will help me go anywhere. To start with, there’s no money. And Nastya can’t help with that.

Under the Ceiling

Angelinka was simply an angel. A nineteen-year-old girl, kind, attracting others with her pure gaze and genuine smile. It was she who invited me to their community of believers.

New Year’s Eve. A long wooden table, with all the believers sitting around it. Marianna felt like an outsider among them, just sitting and observing what everyone was doing. On the table, there were glasses of compote and plates of food. The lead pastor was quoting words from the Bible, then there were games, believers moving around and constantly talking. It felt like my head was in a vise, and I just continued to sit there.

A few days later, Angelinka invited me to her place.

We were sitting in a large room, the living room. She brought out her delicacies and set the table. There was canned food, sausage, vegetables from a jar, and, of course, tea. It was peaceful being with her; she was good. It didn’t happen suddenly, and I wasn’t even surprised: on the upper left side of my field of vision, an image appeared. Above the living room floor, as if in the air, under the ceiling, in a golden halo, was Jesus Christ. He was looking at me from above. He wore a long garment covering his body, as if he were in golden rays or a golden cocoon. Then I thought, perhaps he is looking at me, a sinner, observing what I am doing… I didn’t say anything to Angelinka, and what I saw gradually began to fade from my memory.

Here’s how we are!

Sometimes people take pride in their social status, their position, or what they have that others do not. They stand out from the crowd and want to exclaim proudly: “Look at us! We’re special!”

Marianna was at her mother’s memorial service. Relatives had gathered. Her grandfather’s sister, now elderly and leaning on a cane, sat in a chair. Other relatives surrounded her, listening to her monologue. Marianna stood in the doorway, overhearing their conversation.

“Now I will tell you what kind of people we are!” proudly declared her grandfather’s sister.

“My son is the chief doctor of the clinic and the district! And I’ve worked my whole life as the chief doctor of the village!” continued the grandmother. Then, with all the significance she could muster, she raised her head majestically and exclaimed, “Here’s how we are!”

Marianna silently noted that she wanted everyone to know, bursting with pride. She chuckled to herself so no one would notice. From then on, in various situations throughout her life, Marianna remembered that phrase: “Here’s how we are!”

Grandmother Klavdiya

Grandfather Anton had departed to the other world. Six months passed… Marianna visited Grandmother Klavdiya.

“Why don’t they allow visits…” Grandmother Klavdiya sadly lowered her face onto the table. Marianna looked at her sitting at the table.

Indeed… I never thought about that. It’s very cruel not to allow visits with departed loved ones, never! Notice — never to see them again.

Only memories come alive…

Losses, living with pain…

Who is to blame? You don’t know.

Where’s the place? To endure…

There, crows are flying…

They are still circling,

And they tell us the truth,

They speak to the soul.

That moment — cannot be returned,

That minute — cannot be regained!

Freedom is like a bird,

But this path is difficult.

Before the fateful meeting

Year 2000.

Marianna lives in her small town called Semivetrinsk.

How slow everything is here… The tram moves slowly, people board the bus slowly, they rush slowly, even thoughts move slowly.

I was doing my internship, practical training after college.

I planned to visit Kharkiv for a day or two.

Hotel room. Peeling walls, wallpaper coming off in places, dust on the wardrobe, and Marianna standing near the wardrobe.

What’s happening… Images pierce her consciousness, head, with difficulty, she tries to discern, closes her eyes. I see a girl, her face, by the sea, something shiny on her chest, large like a round locket, glinting, and her face gleaming in the sunlight’s rays, she squints. The images stopped piercing and disappeared.

Marianna reads Kharkiv newspapers, advertisements. She looks at one advertisement: “Black wizard predicts, removes the crown of spinsterhood.”

Like in a dream, Marianna dials the number and calls. A voice on the phone said to Marianna, “Let’s meet at Cold Mountain.”

Meeting with Bulgakov

Marianna loved Kharkiv, as it was where her student years had passed. As her teacher used to say, “These are the best years.” Now during her internship, everyone had scattered in different directions. Marianna popped into a bakery, strolled through the center of Kharkiv, bought a bundle of fish (taranka) in case she got hungry later. She was dressed in a light green blouse with frills on the shoulders that tied at the bottom like a scarf with flowing tips.

It was summer. Everything sang and fluttered, and Marianna turned from one main street to another. She unexpectedly bumped into Bulgakov. He appeared at the intersection as Marianna was turning onto Sumskaya Street. They literally collided.

Yes, it was Sasha Bulgakov, her classmate, a true Kharkiv local. He lived nearby, in the center. They struck up a conversation, and Marianna quickly found herself invited to Bulgakov’s home.

Bulgakov’s apartment, his room. Marianna put the bundle of fish on the bedside table, and they sat down for tea. Bulgakov settled into an armchair. He looked much the same as he did in college, just more mature with neatly styled hair.

“I work as a surgeon, currently doing my internship. My wife works as a saleswoman,” Bulgakov told me.

“You always dreamed of being a surgeon, right? Your father is a surgeon, if I’m not mistaken,” Marianna replied.

“My wife is at the dacha today. Maybe you’d like to stay; it’s already late.”

Marianna pondered. “I still have things to do. Oh, I almost forgot about my meeting with the black wizard.”

“I need to run,” Marianna hurriedly started putting on her shoes.

“Maybe I’ll do my errands first, then I’ll come by. Don’t be upset; I really am in a rush,” Marianna said.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Bulgakov tried to stop Marianna. “I’ll wait for you to return when you’re done.”

Some compelling force urged Marianna on. She dashed out of Bulgakov’s apartment, even forgetting her bundle of fish (taranka) on the bedside table.

If Marianna had met Bulgakov, then the tale was just beginning…

At the Black Sorcerer

He waited on Cold Mountain. I saw him from afar. Tall, thin, hair slicked back with gel. He resembled air, a swift spirit that could break free and soar at any second; his voice slicing through space with a metallic tone, seemingly changeable; now cunning, now mocking, now playful, now roguish. This was the Black Sorcerer.

What he completely lacked — I later realized: kindness, soulfulness, and truthfulness. Room in the apartment. Marianna sits on the couch. Footage appears on the black-and-white TV screen, the announcer talks about the sinking of the submarine “Kursk.”

— What’s this? — Marianna.

— A submarine sank — says Tall.

Marianna continues to gaze thoughtfully at the TV screen for a long time.

Marianna will remember this August date forever.

Living room of the apartment. There is a single red rose in a vase on the table. It catches Marianna’s eye fleetingly and constantly.

— Can you meditate? — Tall.

— You have to look at one point, here, practice, look at the rose. Marianna looked at the rose. Nothing, some nonsense.

When Round-faced appeared in the room, Marianna didn’t even notice. It probably happened in the kitchen, during a conversation with him. He sat at the same table as Marianna.

Marianna examined Round-faced: big brown eyes, clothes like a priest’s robe, a large medallion or emblem hung on his chest on a chain, round, but not entirely, something was along the edge. Round-faced set the topic of conversation. Tall sat nearby on a chair, inserting his lines lively. Marianna sometimes remained silent, sometimes answered sporadically.

The conversation turned to age.

— How old are you? — Marianna to Round-faced.

He jokingly lifted his head:

— Maybe three hundred… or…

— Five hundred… — Tall interjected. They glanced at each other and heard laughter.

I got the impression that he was lying, that they were lying all the time and mocking me. (Marianna’s thoughts.)

— Look how she sits. — Round-faced to Tall. — She holds her hands correctly.

Marianna’s hands were turned palms up when she sat at the table. Marianna looked at her hands and understood nothing. Then Round-faced read poems. Strange, long poems. Marianna watched and struggled to grasp the meanings of this eloquence. It was about some mass that is born, lives, then dies, then this biomass goes into the ground, rots, worms eat it, and then everything is born anew; and then again this cycle. You even think that such poems could not be composed by an ordinary person.

Some pictures appeared on the table, Tall showed me a drawing, a man’s face on it.

— Who is this? — he asked me.

— And this? — he showed another.

I squinted, “I don’t know…” I replied.

The conversation with Round-faced apparently was not over, I do not know why, but he began to talk about Christ.

— Jesus is a traitor, he betrayed people, he could have saved them. — said Round-faced, addressing me, his face serious.

Marianna was silent, she just didn’t know the right answer, never thought about it and didn’t think to think. There were actually many answers: maybe people were not ready for change, maybe the time had not yet come.

The whole meeting took place as if in a light mist, and why they are talking about Christ now never even crossed Marianna’s mind.

For some reason, I found myself in a distant small room with Round-faced. He was playing a tape for me, like on a tape recorder, periodically stopping, looking at me and asking:

— Do you hear? Do you hear?

I had a hard time understanding what was there… sounds were coming through, snippets of voices, and even music, but quietly.

Paused for a bit… a song: “White roses, white roses…” — I heard Shatunov’s voice.

— Recognize it? — Round-faced.

I’ve always loved “Gentle May,” it’s a song from my childhood. Suddenly, the tape stopped, it ended.

— That’s it, — said Round-faced.

— We need to perform a ritual — declared Tall, and Marianna found herself in another room with Tall, while Round-faced vanished somewhere.

Tall prepared some nonsense apparently for the ritual: a mirror, a bowl of water, a little candle. He filled the room with smoke.

My face was painted, smeared with black strokes, soot or marker. It resembled the face of an Indian or a warrior preparing, camouflaging before entering battle.

— Here, look, — and Tall led me to the mirror in the bathroom.

I examined my naked body to the waist and my face: black lines on my forehead, cheeks.

Tall always did everything quickly, moved quickly, like a shadow. The room was dim. He conjured over his things.

— Give me the ring, I need a ransom, — Tall.

I took off the ring from my finger, simple, bought for pennies, but looked like gold. Tall put it somewhere, maybe threw it into the bowl.

— Stand here, look in the mirror, speak your desires, — said Tall.

I stood, looked in the mirror, silent, as if in a trance.

— Lord, save my soul, and the souls of my loved ones. Only save the soul, — I murmured mentally.

— Look into the bowl of water! — commanded Tall.

Marianna stared into the water for a long time and saw nothing.

— Do you see anything in the bowl? — Tall.

Marianna shrugged.

Then Tall jumped up, sprawled on the floor, arms and legs spread like a star; and lay like that for some time.

— How do you feel? — Tall to me.

Then he looked into my eyes: — And hatred… it’s like…

Tall made a movement above my head:

— I place you here, on the left, — made a gesture over my head, or on the right, — he rotated his hand to the right of my head, — No, to the left.

Maybe some kind of receiver, I thought.

Still, Tall guessed at cards or cards for me. Maybe he guessed before the ritual, everything was like in a fog.

Staring at his cards, he shouted with his metallic mocking voice:

— Actually, nobody really loved you.

— Yes… there was one, loved a little.

— And who is that… who is Mykola, who is Igor? — continued Tall, — Do you know?

I shook my head.

— So who is Mykola after all? — leaning into the cards, insisted Tall.

Marianna desperately sorted through people in her mind with the name “Mykola,” and remembered no one, just shrugged.

Marianna ended up on the couch next to Tall, Tall looked into her eyes with his empty, cold eyes.

Marianna examined the red hair on Tall’s bare chest.

— You know, you were a strong magician and sorcerer in a past life, — Tall.

Marianna had no idea, but one image often came to mind: a person from the Middle Ages in a hood, such cloaks were worn in those days. And the language, similar to Latin, always seemed native to her, somewhere she had heard it.

When communicating with Tall, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they wanted to catch me on something, tempt me, it wasn’t fear, I wanted to defend myself.

Tall stared into my eyes:

— Did you… did you kill your mother…?

I shook my head in astonishment.

It became clear to me that he wanted to catch and accuse me.

— You worry about your soul… — Tall.

I was looking for a way out. It seems to me that in my inner body, a mother with a child is.

— Oh, you’re like that, well, okay…

Tall and Marianna are in the yard of the house. Marianna leaves.

Tall playfully calls after her: — Wait, let me summon your deceased mother so you can chat with her. Come on, it’s nothing for me.

— No… don’t, don’t. — Marianna imagined this horror, it’s terrifying, it’s not allowed.

Marianna leaves. One thought in her head: just don’t look back, and walk faster.

***

The small town of Semivetrinsk. Marianna rushes into her house and frantically rummages through books.

— Marianna, what’s wrong with you? — her curious sister Amina flew over.

— Here, found it! — holding a worn copy of Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita.”

— There’s something in Kharkov… — Marianna.

— Why are you so scared? — Amina kept pestering.

— What? Flying coffins? — Amina.

— Marianna covered her face with her hands and sighed: — Nothing…

Then she lay down on the bed with Bulgakov’s book and frantically started devouring the pages. It turns out I hadn’t read this book before.

Marianna in the Desert

Egypt. Desert. Heat.

Marianna walks through the sands. The wind rustles her clothes, they are silky, blue. She barely steps, exhausted by the heat, it seems her strength is leaving her. Marianna falls onto the sand.

Marianna… Marianna…

Marianna prayed fervently, passionately,

Her rags worn out, wounds bleeding,

She would have kept going, but had no strength left,

Perhaps now she could be judged rightfully.

Having walked hundreds of meters through the wild desert,

In prayer her soul traversed kilometers;

For everyone, for people and for her beloved once more,

She prayed with her heartfelt words.

Marianna fell, lying motionless;

Only the breeze moves the shifting sands;

Hot sand — like molten lava,

There is no stopping, no shelter here.

A lone scorpion relentlessly prowls,

Crawling towards the rags — they smell foul.

It bites Marianna, God save her:

She must go on! Her life is dearer!

And then angels descend from heaven,

Their traces visible in the clouds against the wind.

Marianna is embraced with unseen strength,

She rises and asks for water;

And the angels quench Marianna from a pitcher,

With holy rays they restore everything.

In a white cloud, angels quench Marianna from a pitcher. They lower her back onto the sand. Marianna lies with her eyes closed.

It seems the sun’s rays shine in my eyes, I awaken…

Marianne had not fully woken up yet.. Before her mind’s eye appeared fire and pages.

Among the flames, the Tablets appeared…

And in gold, they opened to Marianne…

Like petals, the pages unfolded, Piercing her consciousness with Holy Scripture.

Marianne sees ancient writings, They burn before her eyes and within, Calling out in an unknown language, Runic symbols flickering.

The spirit of Ancient Egypt is embedded here, Similar to the Phoenician language.

The Tablets of Commandments? Torah?

There is an answer.

This Covenant calls out with fire in the soul.

It is a core that nests within me, It reflects in my eyes with spirit, The inscriptions are engraved in gold, And in God’s language for all times.

The Tablets fade slowly from the screen,

Like a phone fading, disappearing.

The last page dissolving,

Showing me the bottom edge of a flaming…

Tram

Semivetrinsk. Marianna is at the tram stop. Soon, a small, red tram will arrive. She overhears a conversation between two women nearby.

“Oh my God, did you see… see? It ran over a woman this morning!”

“No, it was a man,”

“But they said it was a woman.”

“How could it be a woman if it was an old, blind man crossing the road…”

“Under the tram, oh my goodness…”

“What happened?” Marianna approached the women.

“A tram ran over a man this morning. A woman was driving the tram, maybe she didn’t see… and it ran over him,” one of the women replied.

Finally, the tram arrived and Marianna boarded.

In the tram, Grishka quickly jumped in. He’s a man who’s been mentally ill since childhood. He wears a tilted ushanka on his head, a dirty satchel hanging behind him; whenever there’s a tram, he’s right there. He gets on every trip and stands next to the tram driver, or walks around with his crooked gait, legs like wheels, swaying from side to side.

He’s like the guardian of the tram, or rather its master — the spirit of the tram. It was just his luck to look away when the tram hit someone, Grishka didn’t notice…

Slaughter a goat

Alya lived modestly, alone with her daughter. Marianna was friends with her. Alya was a good girl, originally from Kuban, somehow ending up in Ukraine. Marianna still remembered her late mother shouting:

“Alya, go pull weeds!”

Upon returning from school, the girl hurriedly shed her uniform and started pulling weeds in the yard. The dog barked from its small, dirty kennel, and Alya always told Marianna:

“Come in, don’t be afraid, I’ll hold the dog.”

Alya’s house was small, a shack painted blue on the outside, with cracks.

Several years passed. Alya had a daughter but never married. Maybe karma played a part: her mother raised her alone, and now Alya was struggling alone with her daughter.

Marianna visited less frequently now but loved Alya dearly. Alya was kind, smiling, cheerful, sturdy, with a large round face, almond-shaped eyes. When she laughed, she tossed her head and laughed loudly, with a snicker. Alya had a slight lisp, but it didn’t detract from her charm. Today, Marianna was visiting Alya.

“Marianna! I wanted to tell you… next Sunday, I’ll be slaughtering a goat,” Alya said.

“A goat?” Marianna asked.

“Yes, a goat. Make sure you come, around evening, about eight o’clock.”

“Why? What are we going to do?” Marianna inquired.

“We’ll roast the meat, sit around. You must come! I have excellent wine.”

“To be honest, I’ve never eaten goat meat, or nutria.”

“Well, now you’ll try it! We’ll have some drinks, sit around…”

“You drink tea, go ahead,” Alya nodded towards a greasy cup on the table.

Marianna watched as the coals crackled in the stove and picked up the cup, bringing it to her lips.

Sunday arrived. Marianna remembered that today was a significant event for Alya: she was slaughtering a goat. Alya seemed prepared and was expecting her. Oh well, time to go. Marianna began to dress.

Walking along Alya’s broken street, with potholes and scattered charcoal residue, Marianna saw Alya’s house. She entered through the door. Inside, it was warm and smelled of wine. There were guests… Leshy sat near the stove, there was also Alya’s friend, and Alya herself.

“Come in, sit down!” Alya greeted.

There were traces of the banquet on the table: pieces of blackish-colored fried meat, pickles and glasses.

I must be late, it’s in full swing here… (Marianne’s thoughts).

Marianne silently sat down on a chair, assessed the situation: looked at Leshego, his eyes were burning green excited light. Alka was also in rage, either from drinking or from the accomplished slaughter of a goat.

They must have fucked all over the place. I wonder if Alka fucked with Lesch …? (Marianne’s thoughts) — and Marianne looked intently at the cheerful Leshy. They were all in a state of, how to say it… Marianne saw it: in ecstasy, in an excited high.

Alka poured wine into Marianne’s cup, and as if not noticing Marianne, continued to get high.

— That’s it, they slaughtered the goat, my Chernushka… — Alka.

Marianna imagined a black goat, though she had never seen it in her life. The feast will continue until morning… (Marianne’s thoughts).

But I’m not comfortable here, and why did I come… I’m late… like an extra…

After sitting for half an hour, Marianne found an excuse to leave. Alka will not be offended, because I came.

Great-Grandmother

Great-grandmother Vera was born in 2011, but she didn’t remember the revolution. However, she often recalled the bandits who put a gun to her temple. You don’t forget such things. Maybe it was in the post-war years, who knows, or the gangs that operated in the 1920s. They say they came to the village, entered the house, and it was very scary.

I still remember great-grandmother’s house: a round table in the middle of the room, glass windows in the corridor when leaving the house, and a wide yard, as if inviting to come in or drive in. On the wall hung remarkable ancient clocks with a chime, seemingly French from pre-revolutionary years, in a wooden carved frame. When great-grandfather died, they stopped on their own and never ticked again; it was as if they lived — the owner died, and they died with him. Perhaps the soul lives everywhere, in clocks, in places where one lived, in the native house. Great-grandmother took these clocks when she sold the house in the village. They were hung on the wall. They didn’t tick, but they fit beautifully into the interior and pleased the eye.

Read the Gospel!

— Klava, do you remember how Stepan woke up after he died? — Great-grandmother Vera was sitting at the kitchen table, talking passionately to her grandmother.

— Do you remember Stepan from Gurtovka?

— The one who died, Stepan, was in a lethargic sleep, then woke up.

When he woke up, he said: — Read the Gospel! He didn’t let the book out of his hands. He had a terrible vision in the afterlife, and before that, he drank a lot, remember?

— Yes, he changed a lot… — recalled grandmother Klavdia.

— And do you remember, Klava, about that well? — great-grandmother continued dreamily, — I still can’t get it out of my head.

— Why did the neighbor climb into our well and drown? Weren’t there enough wells, and the water was so good before that, I remember it like now: you scoop it up, and it’s cold and you drink it from your hand. Great-grandmother then long reminisced about her house in the village, which she sold; then about all the neighbors she lived next to. Grandmother Klavdia sat nearby, also remembering the house in the village and all those she remembered.

Where is that death?

The old woman lay in bed. She would rise and lower her frail body repeatedly. She was 96. Death still would not come. She rose again, and with anger, grinding her toothless mouth, she said, “Where is that death already… It’s just torment…” Then she would comb her remaining strands of hair and just sit, staring into space. Earlier, when she could still get up, Marianna saw her every day praying by the icons hanging in the kitchen. Great-grandmother Vera was illiterate and knew the prayers by heart, learned by ear. She whispered, looking at the icons of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. The icon of Jesus Christ was a paper picture glued to cardboard and hung on a nail on the wall by the refrigerator. Before praying, Great-grandmother would wash herself and only then approach the icons. She did not go to church, she just prayed. Her life was far from sweet. During Stalin’s time, her husband was taken by the “black raven” (secret police van), and he returned only ten years later, very ill and soon passed away. Great-grandmother Vera suffered all her life but survived and lived a long time.

Stalker

Ksenia the Blessed — that’s how Marianna referred to her friend in her mind. Ksenia would end up in a psychiatric hospital for treatment about once every six months. The rest of the time, she looked just like other people, quite sane.

Marianna and Ksenia the Blessed were in the internet library. Marianna was typing all sorts of things on the computer; games, googling information. A message appeared on the screen: “You are a Stalker!”

— Is it a nickname or something?

— Ksenia, what is a Stalker?

— Have you seen the movie? About the man, the Stalker.

— Maybe it’s my underground nickname?

Marianna imagined herself wandering through unknown lands in the twilight.

“For the Stalker, there is a zone of the unknown,

A foreign kingdom, not crossed even once;

One foot steps into eternity,

The other lingers, such is his type.

For the Stalker, there is an exclusion zone,

Where lies and truth wrestle in silence;

Where the hands of others, sins congregate,

Evening twilight’s midnight mirages.

For the Stalker, roads remain untrodden,

And around, it’s overgrown like wild grass,

Thick fog, but the Gods will show the way,

To delight in the rights of gray heavens.”

Flying in a Dream

An unknown creature grabbed Marianna by the hand and carried her off. It was a dream, yes, it was incredible that this could happen in reality. They flew. The creature looked like a spirit, a devil, or God knows what. Marianna watched, seeing where it was taking her… They passed by cubicles, it was dark and smelly everywhere. In one cubicle, it seemed a person was suffering, chained, missing a leg, blood dripping, in some cubicles there were parts of human bodies. It was dim, hard to make out. The companion looked like something ethereal, moving quickly, dragging Marianna along. Now they were near a table. A little devil, playful, semi-transparent, like a spirit, was sitting at the table. In front of him was a large book or notebook, he was flipping the pages, searching with his finger, writing. He seemed to be having fun, with airy movements, writing the date in a marked column with special pleasure and joy. If it could be expressed in music, a cheerful polka would be playing like tra ta ta ta, tra ta ta… Marianna leaned over to see what he had written: sixty-four or sixty-seven, the numbers blurred, because she wasn’t seeing with her eyes, just seeing in the twilight. The creature pulled Marianna back.

Clock

Marianna enters the house, returning from work. Everything seems normal. Grandmother Klavdia is sewing on her sewing machine, hemming a curtain. Grandfather Anton is lying down watching TV. Great-grandmother sits on the bed, staring vacantly into space. But something is wrong. Empty, as if an unfamiliar thief sneaked in and stole the most precious thing. Marianna’s gaze falls on the wall. The clock… In place of the antique chiming clock, there are cheap modern plastic ones. She rushes into Great-grandmother Vera’s room:

— Where are the clocks?

Great-grandmother wearily, barely moving her lips:

— Amina came…

— Why did you give them away… Why…

Marianna felt as if some grace, some goodness, had left the house along with the clocks. A few days later, Great-grandmother passed away. She passed away easily, as if she had followed after the clocks.

Later, Grandmother Klavdia confessed that along with the clocks, Amina took all the family gold that Great-grandmother had hidden in her bed, intending to split it between me and Amina in the future.

Where Am I?

A dark face appeared in the Facebook window.

Oh… It also messaged me on Messenger. Let me reply.

— Hello.

The conversation began. Questions poured in: where are you from, who are you. Maybe a bot, not a person? In the photo — a smiling young man resembling an Arab. The Messenger chat dragged on, I no longer want to reply, his green dot lights up again on Facebook. If he’s online, maybe he’s a real person…

I found myself trapped. I felt it as soon as I replied to him… on Facebook. I grope the space with my hands, invisible; I’m locked in, my consciousness is locked, where am I?

“Where am I? I’m lost there,

Where I used to be;

At first, I sailed everything in waves,

Now I search for myself — through times.

Walked to unexplored places,

Dangerous, difficult, on paths.

Where am I? Tell me: Where am I?

The wind blows somewhere there…

And at night — darkness,

I’m lost, where — am I?

I won’t find myself,

Without help, and master

Searching for myself — everything is difficult,

But where — am I? I may find myself…

And won’t be lured by its lies,

Around me — no one deliberately.”

Evening. I’m at the computer desk. Facebook. The page of the dark face that lured me into a trap. Darkness. People emerge from the darkness, dressed in black. They are not alone, they keep coming, one after another, in a crowd. Men in black are walking, and I see them exiting and disappearing, showing me their backs. They march as if heading into battle.

Icon

Marianna knew her colleague, Afrosinya, was a devout believer; she even wore a headscarf to work. She also knew Afrosinya often visited monasteries.

“Bring me a small icon from the monastery,” Marianna said, approaching Afrosinya.

“Alright, which one do you want?”

“Any one, a small one.”

Two weeks passed…

Afrosinya approached Marianna.

“I brought it, here,” she said.

“Thank you,” Marianna replied as Afrosinya handed her a small square wrapped in cellophane.

“It’s the Kazan Icon,” Afrosinya clarified.

Marianna pressed the icon of the Virgin Mary with the child to herself and walked down the corridor.

In the evening, Marianna hung the icon above her bed. The icon hung there until one moment when something unusual appeared from it.

Marianna saw it — a light, a transparent light flowing gently from the icon.

“Is this light for me? For me? Then everything will be fine.”

Object in a Dream

A huge purple contraption was in front of me. I observed it from the side. It was a flying saucer, like the ones I had seen in pictures before. There was no fear, as it was a dream. Light streamed and blew out from the purple contraption like a fan. My consciousness was right there beside it.

777

On July 17, 2014, in eastern Ukraine, a Boeing 777 crashed — Marianna reads in the news updates. It’s so close… Donetsk region… people died…

The numbers 777 will continue to appear in Marianna’s life, but she didn’t know it yet…

The Rider on the White Horse

Marianna walks along a path resembling a forest road. Around her, dense forest, with tall trees towering over Marianna. The forest seems gloomy. She steps lightly on the ground. There’s no one else on the path. It’s as if she’s waiting for someone and walking towards them. He appears majestically, magnificently: the rider on the white horse, her prince. Marianna lifts her eyes — their gazes meet. This semi-dream is not the first time Marianna has seen this. What happens next? She was destined to meet him in the dark forest.

It’s gonna take a lot of pain

Marianna brought her grandmother Klavdiya to the hospital in their small town. All the regional hospitals had refused treatment; cancer at this stage was untreatable.

Grandmother stepped out of the car, moving with difficulty. She repeated like a mantra, “Before death, one must suffer. You must suffer before you die.” Marianna looked at the old woman with pain in her eyes. She didn’t fully understand these words. Grandmother endured excruciating pain from kidney cancer, and no ordinary painkillers helped. When Marianna asked for something stronger, the doctor refused, citing unclear reasons. Grandmother died in agony. To comfort herself, they gave her drips and injections. From the pain, grandmother would rise and cry out, “Give me your hand!” Then she would lie back on the pillow, only to rise again. When grandmother died in the hospital room, Marianna stood bewildered beside her.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she wondered aloud.

“Bury her, Marianna! Bury her!” a confident voice nearby replied. It was an elderly woman from the patients’ ward, sitting on a bed in a headscarf, clearly experienced and knowing what to do.

Several years passed. One thought persisted and returned to Marianna: “Why must we suffer? It’s necessary for there to be pain so that a person curses life and the fact they were born into this world. Who benefits from this? It’s as if someone invisible watches people’s pain, smiling and enjoying the torment of the victim. And then they calmly bury and that’s it — no more person.”

The Spiritual Path

Marianna put on a black ankle-length skirt, a black blouse, and sat in a chair.

Seems like everything is ready… Oh, yes, I need to call Roma. Roma lived in the neighboring village and had proposed to Marianna back in college. Marianna remembered the funny story of how Roma first proposed to her, and when she declined, he proposed to her friend Nastya. He even brought both of them to his village to introduce them to his parents. His father then said, “You brought two girls!”

Just the other day, Marianna met Roma, and he suggested they meet up.

Marianna went to the payphone to make a long-distance call.

“Roma! Hi!” Marianna tried to speak louder, the line was crackling and it was hard to hear. “I can’t come to the meeting, I can’t, I’m leaving for a faraway country. That’s it, Roma, goodbye!”

The deed was done, and Marianna sat back in the chair, waiting for something. That’s it…

The next day, the neighbor girl dragged Marianna to church to confess.

She remembered not to eat or drink anything in the morning. At the church, the neighbor pulled Marianna by the hand to the priest for confession. The neighbor felt at home in the church; she and her aunt and mother often went to church. At the end of the service, Marianna saw people lining up for communion, and the neighbor’s aunt and mother were the first in line. Having done this many times before, it was routine for them, and everyone here knew it.

At home, late in the evening, Marianna couldn’t sleep. A wild fire in her chest was bothering her; it seemed like she would soon be reduced to a pile of ashes. She didn’t feel like sleeping or eating. Maybe there was something wrong with the apartment, or witches were attacking?

She needed to read the Gospel… The stars were shining outside the window. Marianna opened Bible pages on the internet and began reading aloud in Russian. This would drive away evil forces if they were attacking. But, the miracle didn’t happen, and the fire in her body flared up even more, and insomnia wouldn’t let go. After browsing the internet, Marianna read: you shouldn’t read the Gospel at night; dark forces could even kill you.

The spiritual path had begun…

In the Mirror

Today, a young priest visited my apartment, sprinkling holy water and drawing symbols on the wallpaper. Nothing helped, it even got worse. I couldn’t sleep at night and didn’t even read the Gospel. Electric shocks tormented me all night; closing my eyes, I only saw graves.

I simply died… I ate only because I had to, my body refused to digest food, and my body was exhausted from endless agony and insomnia, I lost weight.

“It feels like I’m dead…

They buried me, there… a hill behind the garden,

Where the eternal frost is, where they melted the soul,

Burned it, poisoned it with a potion.

I barely breathed, the lilacs bloomed,

I inhaled their aromas and scents;

And in the evenings I walked somewhere,

I walked in the morning, by the clock and thoughts.

I talked to my soul, is it dead?..

Do you hear, where are you? In which direction?

It froze as if inside me,

Give me the number of the soul’s ICU urgently.

I spoke again… the blizzard blew,

Howled, scattered tracks,

Along which I quietly walked again,

To the soul’s ICU, if I have enough strength…”

Evening. My face in the mirror, no… not mine. I see the face of a monster in flames, two bumps or horns on the head; eyes — two bulging spheres burning with a ruthless fire, who is this… The image changes to another face — it’s Jesus, with long hair, I feel Jesus in me, in my body. And again — the Devil — Jesus, flickering like slides in the mirror.

Aznavour — someone’s name echoes in my head, maybe I misheard the sounds. Who is this Aznavour…

Marianna of the Future

Marianna was trying to cook soup over the pot. Her hand with the lid jerked like she had Parkinson’s disease, twitched, and the carrot scattered across the stove. I must be really bad… Marianna looked at herself from the side. And then, near the stove, she had a revelation: the present Marianna felt in her thoughts and image somewhere above the future Marianna she would become, with iron strength, firmness, and radiant light. She mentally reached out to her: Marianna of the future! Help! You are stronger! I don’t have enough strength! I can’t! I am too weak… I am not ready… Standing by the stove, Marianna felt the strength of the future Marianna, like God, like a source of salvation.

You!

Semivetrinsk. Evening. Marianna at home by the TV. She had no strength left. If I don’t sleep a little, I’ll start hallucinating. Okay… I need to control myself, I drank tea, slept for an hour, that’s good. Now I’ll watch TV.

The TV was old, though color, without a back cover, and the tubes just stuck out from the back panel. Recently, a repairman had fixed it and replaced some tubes, so it should work now. But it seemed to be acting up, stripes appeared on the screen again. Marianna slapped the TV with her fist, and it suddenly started working.

Marianna couldn’t fall asleep, the fire inside and anxiety kept her awake. I wonder how long I can last like this, maybe I’ll die. Marianna examined her gaunt face and dull eyes. Salvation came suddenly. Voices sparkled on the TV screen, lulling in different tunes. Heavenly music played on a colorful background, and voices: — Marianna! It’s you! You! You will bear a son! You will bear a son! — the voices sang to Marianna.

From the TV screen, the melodic voices continued: — Don’t lie down, get up, you are doing great! We praise you! You will bear a son!

Marianna got up and went to the kitchen.

— What kind of son will I bear…

Meeting Borjka

Borjka appeared like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I felt as if God had thrown him into my life with His huge hands, everything thundered, and my entire being turned upside down. It was all the icon and its light — and then Borjka appeared.

The song “White Roses” by Laskovyi Mai played — Borjka sang on the café stage, and sang very well, with a voice as thin as Shatunov’s:

“White roses,

White roses,

Thorns are defenseless,

What will snow and frost do to them,

Ice of the blue…”

Then we danced awkwardly: Borjka took me by the waist and swayed like a teddy bear, and I had to turn in time with the music, as it was a slow dance.

When we walked along the town’s path, Borjka took my hand, and we found ourselves bathed in a stream of shining divine light, and he said: “We’ll live together!”

It sounded like a verdict. And within a week, we moved our things into one apartment.

Someone is Praying for You

Donetsk. Church near the maternity ward. Marianna, in a warm autumn coat, visibly pregnant, enters a small chapel. A stranger appeared unexpectedly and took Marianna by the hand as she was lighting a candle:

— Someone doesn’t want him to be born. But someone is praying for you. A woman. She is praying for your son.

Marianna widened her eyes, processing the information. The woman, head bowed, stepped away from Marianna. Everything will be fine, Marianna assured herself; previous pregnancies were difficult, but this time everything will be fine. I’m already in the maternity ward, arrived and settled in early. Today the doctors will say everything, but for now, I’ll take a little walk in the frosty air. Early October… And how cold it is…

Donetsk Land

Donetsk. October. Regional maternity hospital.

— Here is a pregnancy of 33 weeks, the heartbeat is hardly audible, immediate delivery is necessary, — a young doctor said to an elderly professor, — obstetric history is burdened, miscarriages, bleeding.

Marianna lies on the couch after an ultrasound.

— Have you eaten anything? — the doctor asks.

— I managed to eat some soup when I entered the ward.

— Bring her to the operating room!

Marianna woke up in the intensive care unit after a cesarean section.

— How is he, my son? — she asked a passing nurse.

Everything is fine, he’s in the neonatal intensive care unit, connected to a mechanical ventilator. Unfortunately, he’s not breathing on his own, but he’s a strong boy, weighing three kilograms six hundred grams.

The young doctor murmured near Marianna: — Now we’ll try to express at least a drop of colostrum.

— I have no milk at all, — Marianna said, pulling out her small breast.

— It’s okay, even a milliliter in a syringe will be enough for him. Marianna winced in pain. After finishing milking Marianna, the young doctor said:

— You understand, he has a chance, a small chance. He was born at thirty-three weeks, his lungs are still immature, they’re completely white on the X-ray, and it’s unknown when he’ll breathe on his own, currently on the ventilator. The doctor left with a syringe of colostrum in hand.

Marianna went to the neonatal department.

She approached the head of the department:

— Will he be able to breathe on his own?

— Oxygenation is dropping, we can’t disconnect him from the ventilator. Thanks to the new equipment for artificial lung ventilation we received last year, we have the opportunity to care for such children, otherwise he wouldn’t have been saved.

Good thing we have this equipment this year (thought Marianna).

First Meeting with Son

I’m going to see him now. Excitement overwhelms me. I step into the neonatal intensive care unit. The sound of the ventilator machine grows louder. I look at the little one. He looks at me. He’s quite dark-skinned, with thick black hair on his head; there’s a tube for artificial lung ventilation in his mouth. The child is struggling; the tube is clearly bothering him.

Marianna and her son lock eyes.

“Mom, I’m your son,” his voice transmits telepathically into Marianna’s head, in waves resembling Morse code; the words come from the area of the child’s forehead and reach Marianna’s forehead.

“My son! You’re my son!” Marianna responds through the airwaves with waves of tender, overwhelming love.

This is my son, and we will call him Albert.

Grandmother from Azerbaijan

Albert’s grandmother came from Azerbaijan to see her son, that is, Borjka’s father, and she briefly visited us upon learning from Borjka’s father that Albert was born.

Why was this meeting necessary… Marianna wondered later, it was necessary for some reason. Albert’s grandmother had dark hair, tied up at the back; her eyes were large and brown. She wasn’t as dark-skinned as Albert. Marianna kept trying to understand: does she resemble a gypsy or not, she wonders: what are Azerbaijani women like? The meeting was brief. The grandmother took Albert in her arms and examined him, but it was obvious she did not feel any kinship towards him, especially since Albert was still an uncircumcised infant and may not be Muslim. Then, as a sign of politeness, the grandmother drank wine from a crystal glass, refused to eat, and left. She said one thing: “He will be the same,” and nodded towards Borjka. Indeed, he is as dark-skinned as Borjka, but to say he is the same… that’s too much, since Borjka is quite plump.

The Boy Grows Up

At 4 months old, Albert still lies there, watching and not smiling.

The nurse sits beside little Albert, massaging his legs. The nurse will come again tomorrow, and the day after…

Albert presses his head hard against Marianna’s hand as she holds him, crying incessantly until he’s hoarse, and nothing helps.

Albert has laryngitis: he has a fever and a barking cough. We manage to get to the nearest hospital in Semivetrinsk.

They call for an air ambulance from Donetsk as Albert struggles to breathe, his wheezing audible. Two guys from the air ambulance bring Albert to me and say, “Say goodbye to your son!”

I manage to say, “Albert! My son…” as the men take him away in the car to the ICU in Donetsk.

He survived, and they discharged him.

At 9 months old, Albert can sit a little, but he still topples over like a doll.

At 1.5 years old, at a pediatric professor’s appointment:

“You’ve accomplished a feat!” praised the professor. “Considering how he was born, you’ve done something incredible. The boy is walking now, slowly catching up in his development.”

A Wolf Cub

A little Albert dashes out the door and runs barefoot in the snow. Marianna hurries after him onto the porch:

“Albert, where are you going? Come back!”

Albert stomps through the snow and runs to the gate. His legs sink into the snow, wearing thin pants and no hat.

“Come back, you’ll catch a cold…” Marianna pleads. After a brief run, Albert returns to the computer screen.

“What are you watching?” Marianna asks, curious.

“The movie ‘Teen Wolf,’ can’t you see?” Albert replies.

“It’s about vampires, turn off this horror immediately,” Marianna says, grimacing.

Nikolash

Nikolash was born on St. Nicholas’ Day — December 19th. I wanted it to happen sooner and kept asking the doctor to speed up the delivery. But the young, beautiful doctor wouldn’t be persuaded. And on December 19th, she said:

“It’s today!”

Already on the stretcher, on our way to the operating room, I felt Nikolash arrive: this little warrior appeared to me like a heat in my belly, fire, an angel who came into my life.

Vasilisa the Wise

Vasilisa the Wise sat on a chair in a long plaid skirt, with one leg crossed over the other; her cheerful blonde curls hung down to her shoulders, and round glasses were visible on her face, with a straightened back. She was intently looking into a book with a thoughtful expression. This was Albert’s teacher. I was called in to discuss Albert’s academic performance.

Vasilisa the Wise raised her head and tore herself away from the book, starting to talk about Albert. Her voice sounded smooth and melodious, as if Vasilisa the Wise were playing a part in a harp performance. After long and intelligent monologues, we decided that Albert needed a tutor for some subjects.

Circumcised

They said that Albert had phimosis. It required surgery. The surgery was to be performed by the best doctor, trained in England and Europe. That day, Marianna brought Albert to the department. Anesthesia was also necessary. Marianna was worried and waited in the corridor while the surgery was in progress. Finally, everything went well, and Albert was brought to the ward. Albert lifted his head, still half-awake from the anesthesia, and quickly came to his senses. Now he was circumcised. The doctor gave recommendations and sent us home.

Later, when Marianna returned to this surgical department, she saw a photo of this doctor with a black ribbon. The doctor had died, likely having fulfilled his great mission.

Women are More Resilient

I don’t know how it all started… Maybe it was a message on Facebook, or perhaps the words of a stranger on the bus. Let’s start with the Facebook message.

I received a message on Facebook. I knew for sure it was meant for me, I just felt it. It read:

— The world is not what you think it is.

I thought: it could mean anything, or nothing.

And the stranger’s words were also meant for me. I got on the bus.

I was carrying two huge bags. I struggled to get them on the bus and stood near the driver. As the bus started moving, I saw a stranger standing next to me. The young man just watched as I dealt with the heavy load and said: — Women are more resilient.

Women are more resilient… echoed in my head.

Bowling Club

Bowling club. The hall next to the café. Albert and Nikolash are playing table air hockey, and Marianna has settled on a chair by the table.

— I will give you everything, — a voice came through the gentle drizzle onto Marianna’s head.

Everything?… Marianna tuned into her feelings.

— I will give you everything…

Marianna froze. The voice of God?…

I’ll step out onto the porch near the Bowling Club while the kids play. It turns out it’s already dark, and there’s a train station nearby, a creepy place. From the darkness, a figure of a man with gleaming eyes rushed towards Marianna, filling her with fear. She started backing away towards the Bowling entrance. She needed to leave.

The figure gritted its teeth, and in a rough voice demanded something from Marianna. She darted into the Bowling door. It was over. What did he even want…

***

Do you want… the leaves to turn brown in an instant,

Do you want… never to grow old;

Do you want… sweet honey,

And the warmth of good health.

Do you want… nights to become white at once,

And weekdays not to be dull gray,

Do you want what is seen and unseen,

To become invisibly shrouded in a misty haze.

Fool

Marianna opened Facebook on her phone. New friends, or rather a new friend. In the picture, there was a man in front of a waterfall, with a round face, big sparkling eyes, dark-haired, probably not of Russian nationality. Okay, I’ll add him. The stranger started a conversation, as usual, beginning with “hello.” Marianna responded reluctantly, answering only after she got home. The correspondence continued.

Marianna read on her phone:

— I am alone with my son.

Alone with his son… (Marianna’s thoughts).

— Are you married? — came another message.

— No, — Marianna replied.

The stranger continued:

— How do you think I know? Whether you are married or not?

Strange, maybe he knows… (Marianna’s thoughts).

— Are you from South Africa? — Marianna wrote, concluding from his profile page.

He was probably from Nigeria, as the profile indicated an African country.

Marianna imagined him sitting in a poor shack, while his son ran around barefoot and poor.

The stranger with his son sent a video to Marianna’s messenger:

— Watch the video, what do you understand?

That evening, lying in bed, Marianna watched the video. A globe appeared on the screen, representing Earth, showing continents, forests, mountains, and different countries: what am I supposed to understand? Watching again, maybe he wants to say that Earth is beautiful?

The next day. Marianna in thought: he’s not writing today… what’s going on? Who is he? She looked at the stranger’s profile picture with his son: there was a waterfall like Qi-energy, and in front of the waterfall, the round-faced image of a person.

Marianna decided to ask first and wrote in the messenger:

— Sorry for asking, tell me: what is your name?

A reply came to the messenger. Marianna read the line:

— Fool.

Marianna looked at the word again, not believing her eyes: yes, it said: “Fool.”

Marked

And why did she approach my son… Marianna muttered, stirring the fish soup, “Now we have to go to court.” Marianna replayed the entire incident with Nikolash. Nikolash was playing with a boy on the street, the boys had a spat, and Nikolash kicked the boy. Out of nowhere, the boy’s mother appeared and slapped Nikolash on the cheek, leaving a red mark. And I had to call the police, now we’re being summoned to court. At least let me finish cooking the soup, Marianna continued stirring the fish head in the large pot. Done. She quickly grabbed the hot pot and carried it from the kitchen to the dining room. Ouch, it’s hot… Marianna couldn’t hold the pot, and the boiling water spilled onto her legs, burning her dress. Oh God, quickly under the water. A massive burn formed on her left leg. Will there be a scar? And I had to get involved with this court case…

From the War

Marianna stayed up too long at the computer, it was already half past midnight, her eyes closing in a half-daze. In front of her was a wooden shed, someone was sitting inside: a soldier, looking out through the doorway, leaning against the wooden wall of the shed. Shots were heard. He was scared, peeking through the opening and hiding again, a weapon lay on his legs, whether it was a rifle or not, it was hard to tell. The person was dressed in gray clothing, like a quilted jacket. It felt like a scene from a past war. What happens next… Will he survive or not… the shots sounded closer. The images disappeared.

Accident

Her body was sprawled on the stretcher. The gurney, surrounded by nurses, was being wheeled into the operating room. Her face was a bloody mess, blood stains appearing on her dress.

— Internal bleeding, spleen is gone, bones shattered, — the doctor whispered nearby.

— Does she have insurance? — the doctor asked the nurse.

— She had nothing on her, they brought her like this. People found her by the side of the road.

The gurney was wheeled into the operating room.

— Pulse?

— Blood pressure?

— Let’s begin. The nurse searched for a vein, administered the drugs. The patient on the gurney was Amina. She was simply crossing the road when a car sped by, driven by either drunk or high young men. Amina rolled to the roadside, and the car immediately sped away. Now there was hope in the doctors, hope that she would survive.

***

Marianna sat on a chair opposite her great-grandmother’s icon of Jesus Christ. She crossed herself with her right hand and looked at the icon. Her soul felt uneasy and troubled.

***

They set Amina’s bones, performed numerous surgeries, but she remained disabled.

First, reconcile with your sister

Road from Donetsk to Rostov. Little Nikolash and Albert were a bit tired on the bus. The road was long, a whole twelve hours. They made the journey more bearable with frequent snacks, leaving behind a mess of leftovers. Marianna packed food into bags, then pulled them out again for snacks. Her legs swelled; Marianna’s leg condition, varicose veins, was acting up. After the long journey, Marianna’s legs were swollen, filled with fluid, and there was nowhere to stretch them in the crowded bus.

Towards morning, Rostov appeared before us.

Early dawn. We were supposed to be met. Amina’s husband approached us. Sergey looked thin and tired, with dark circles under his eyes, constantly drinking coffee; Marianna knew he had ulcers. We boarded a local bus, exhausted and disheveled, tossing our bags into the crowded cabin and setting off.

“It’s just around the corner,” Sergey pointed out.

A multi-story gray house, a communal apartment. Climbing to the second floor, we entered the tiny room they rented. A figure appeared in the hallway. It was Amina.

“Marianna!” Amina exclaimed.

Amina’s face was different. Amina sat in an old armchair, trying to push herself away with one crooked leg; the other leg didn’t work. Marianna continued to stand and look at Amina: only her eyes remained from her former face; scars remained on her face after the car accident, her nose turned into a swollen mess, her hands twisted, one leg limp. A lump caught in Amina’s throat. Tears began to flow uncontrollably, impossible to stop, streaming until her eyes swelled and it was impossible to look. It was her, Amina… Marianna’s soul was torn apart, looking at Amina; everything that hadn’t been cried out poured out of her soul. Amina could only be recognized by her eyes; even her voice had changed. And she used to be so beautiful, as slender as a flower, and now her face resembled a flattened Pekingese muzzle because her facial bones were broken. But the worst part was that she couldn’t walk…

“I can’t speak…” (Marianna’s thoughts), only tears flowing from her eyes. They continued to flow like a stream without end.

“First, reconcile with your sister…” — these words echoed in my head. They weren’t my words; I had heard something like this, it seemed written in the Bible, before giving gifts — reconcile with your brother or sister.

“What children you have…” Amina remarked, especially the younger one… so lively.

“Let’s eat, I’ve prepared something,” and Amina reached out with one twisted hand for the plates that inexplicably stood on the floor.

“It’s more convenient for me down here, with the pots; I can’t reach sitting,” Amina explained. Again, a silent stream of tears rolled down Marianna’s face. Then Marianna noticed that Amina was in the chair, she didn’t have a wheelchair: “How do you get around without a wheelchair?”

“You know, I rarely go out,” those idiot neighbors… When Sergey carried me in his arms from the entrance, they laughed, bastards; they laughed at me; well, I told them… couldn’t stand it.

Marianna watches as Amina warms tea and food.

“Sit down, take tea, eat from the road!”

Marianna sat down on a chair near the tea.

“This leg doesn’t move at all,” Amina pointed with a crooked hand — clapper into the twisted leg, “strong pain, I scream… And the other leg… they set the bones wrong, but I’ve learned to crawl if I need something in the bathroom,” and Amina smiled, revealing her toothless mouth.

Marianna had only one wish, to throw her legs up as soon as possible, about which she had forgotten in tears; a couple of hours — and the swelling might subside.

And in the evening, Marianna lay down next to Amina, the children settled on a cot and chatted until Amina fell silent. Marianna saw how Amina suddenly switched off and fell asleep.

One day… we stayed in Rostov — one day.

The farewell began… Amina sat on the couch, yes… she couldn’t approach the door. Like in a haze, Marianna looked at Amina sitting: one thought flashed through her mind — maybe we will never see each other again…

I will go to the Red Sea

I will go to the Red Sea…

Maybe for a second, for a moment,

Let the expanses rush past,

And only my soul speaks within me.

The boundless Red Sea…

Embraces and cherishes me,

With its depth and even in sorrow,

It will heal all my sorrows.

It will pass like a fairy-tale wind,

Like a hot avalanche flow,

I don’t dream of anything in the world,

Only the sea — like a sip of life.

And the sea depths are bottomless,

It’s dark there and a foreign environment,

There souls are like an unconscious refuge,

There their own miracles happen.

I will go to the Red Sea…

And let fate not allow me,

There I will find the majesty of the mountains,

The Red Sea will reward us.

I will dive into the heavy waters,

Blue with blue fountain;

Only red sparkles with freedom,

That was born in the soul, and paradise.

The warm sea seems great,

I will forget earthly matters;

I will only remember that in the Red Sea

I was once happy.

And the sea corals and reefs,

These are wonderful castles for us,

They rush past the gaze swiftly,

To delight the eye with the sea.

The unreal Red Sea…

It rarely makes noise with a wave,

In the silence, it echoes blissfully,

With a touch, it creates a miracle…

A Walk in Hurghada

Egypt. Hurghada.

Marianna flew to Hurghada with Albert and Nikolash. It was her first time in Egypt, it just happened that way, and they didn’t plan it; but then a tour came up, and only $300 for three. Marianna and the kids immediately plunged into Egyptian life, as if they found themselves in another world. Just today they were in Semivetrinsk, and the scenery changed: Marianna is lying on a lounger by the pool and feels the Sun warming her from the inside. And here the Sun is different…

There wasn’t much time to be bored. Marianna met Yana and her mother at the hotel, Yana is a young girl, also from Ukraine. The three of them walk through the market rows in Hurghada, blown by the Egyptian wind and enjoying the Sun. Here are the perfume shops. Now the local sellers will start pushing perfumes. Marianna knew that Arabs literally grab you by the hands just to get you into their shop. Yana and her mother entered a small shop that sold creams and perfumes. Marianna had to wait for them at the entrance. Yana’s mother sat in a chair, and an Arab started applying rejuvenating masks to her.

How long… God, when will he finish?

— I’ll take this, this, and this, — Yana’s mother said. The Arab packed everything into a bag and happily saw the customers out.

We continued walking.

— Oh, the Mirage Hotel. — Do you know there’s a water park and a pool here? — Yana said.

— Wow, I’d love to swim in the pool, the sea is so cold, — Marianna.

— Well… we just pass through, there’s security at the entrance, but we might get through — Yana.

With stone faces, we walked past the hotel security and reached the pool. Here it is — the blue pool with slides, beautiful…

Someone approached from behind: — Ma’am, you’re not from our hotel, please leave.

— Why not, we’re from the neighboring hotel, — Yana.

— You don’t have Mirage Hotel cards, pay fifty euros and you can swim, — said the guard.

— Well, no… — we said in unison, and left.

Hurghada. Marianna by the pool of her hotel with Yana and her mother, a dry little old lady, but still quite lively. Yana, in a thin voice, turns to Marianna: — Marianna, can you do us a favor… we have a request.

— I’m all ears.

— Please go to the market, remember the shop where we got the cosmetics from the Arab, we need to return it. We took a lot of things and said we’d bring the money, but we want to give it all back, it’s too expensive for us.

— So return it, what’s the problem, — Marianna.

— Well, it’s awkward, and if you bring it back, he won’t be angry. When these Arabs get angry, they can curse you.

— No problem, I’ll take it back, I’ll go.

Marianna at the market. She approaches the shop. She hands the package to the Arab. The Arab, standing by the doorpost of the shop, flashes his eyes, shrugs, and takes the package back. Marianna leaves, the Arab staring daggers at her back.

The Spirit of the Desert

Egypt. Today is the last day in Hurghada. Only six days. We splurged on the last day. Marianna’s eyes were shining. Crabs were served for dinner, small ones, but Marianna and the kids enjoyed them as if they were an exotic delicacy. Yana and her mother approached the table and sat with us.

— Try this wine, — Yana offered.

Marianna shrugged.

— It’s very tasty, — Yana urged.

Marianna sipped from the clear glass, the light brown wine. Heat spread from her mouth to her stomach.

— Strong…

She drank more from the glass.

— Wait a minute, — Yana took the glass in her hand, — This is rum, definitely rum, but tasty.

Warmth spread through Marianna’s body, making her feel good and cozy.

Dinner ended. Marianna, Nikolash, and Albert walked through the hall of the long corridor with many small shops. Marianna looked at the goods through the glass. Here were tea, spices, and something unidentifiable. They entered a shop with papyruses. A young Egyptian was bustling about selling papyruses.

— I’ll take this one, please, — Marianna pointed to a golden papyrus with the faces of a man and a woman looking into each other’s eyes.

— Look, — the Egyptian turned off the light, and an image of an eye appeared on the papyrus. Miracles… (Marianna’s thoughts).

I would buy all the papyruses here if I could, they are extraordinary…

The papyrus seller looked at Albert:

— He doesn’t look like yours, he looks like our children.

— Yes… he’s dark-skinned, — Marianna noted.

Returning to the room, Marianna put the children to bed and decided to take a walk, to stroll one last time, as tomorrow they were leaving.

She walked around the hotel, listened to the performance of Egyptian singers in national costumes in the hall, and headed to the elevator. As she entered the elevator, she saw an Arab slip in quickly. Marianna recognized him: he was the porter who carried their luggage when they arrived. He was short, with small, unremarkable eyes, thin and fidgety. He was probably from a deep, poor Egyptian alley, working here for pennies to survive. The elevator seemed to take forever. Marianna’s eyes met the Egyptian’s.

— You’re beautiful, — the Egyptian said, looking into Marianna’s eyes.

I guess I am beautiful… in my black top and pants (Marianna’s thoughts).

The elevator stopped. The Arab didn’t seem to be leaving and followed Marianna to the door like a shadow.

— Can I come in? — he hesitated in front of the door, shifting from foot to foot.

— No, why, the children… — Marianna backed up to the door, entered, and quickly closed the door behind her.

— Whew…

A minute later, the phone on the nightstand rang.

Who is it, maybe the receptionist?

Marianna picked up the phone:

— Hello, it’s me, open the door, just for a minute, — the Arab’s voice came.

Marianna hung up and calmly went to take a shower.

A knock on the door, very quiet, scratching.

I won’t open it, it’s probably him… Five minutes later, the phone rang again, another call.

Enough… Marianna felt uneasy.

Then a knock on the door. The knocking continued. Marianna paced from corner to corner of the room.

Knock again. Okay, I’ll open and explain to him.

Marianna opened the door slightly and didn’t notice how deftly the Arab slipped into the room, into the corridor. He entered the room, walked around, and stopped, mumbling:

— This will be our little secret, no one will know.

— But I’m married, — Marianna.

Why did I let him in (Marianna’s thoughts), but he’s already here, I need to get him out somehow.

— Quiet, the children are sleeping, better come this way. Marianna guided the Arab closer to the door, they entered the open door of the large bathroom.

The Arab stood opposite Marianna. Marianna with a towel on her head, and another around her hips.

— No, sorry, you have to leave, — insisted Marianna.

— I guess you don’t like me, — the Arab said disappointedly.

— Well, one last thing, — the uninvited guest said in the corridor, and before Marianna could react, his tongue slipped into her mouth, making snake-like movements. Marianna recoiled.

As he left, the Arab turned, piercing her with his narrow eyes, filled with the hatred of a murderer.

The girls talked about the Egyptian curse, will it really affect me… he looked so angrily, gave me chills, his hateful gaze pierced my eyes (Marianna’s thoughts).

Marianna lay down on the fold-out couch. Now she couldn’t sleep. Marianna recalled standing in the bathroom with a towel around her hips, and the Arab looking at her. What if he… his tongue when he left… The spirit of the desert came to tempt Marianna. From the side of the pyramids, across the hot sands of the desert, the spirit wriggled its tail, strong and powerful. Marianna could never have imagined that in this frail, young Arab was the sinister spirit of the desert.

Alex

Not far from the town of Semivetrinsk.

Marianna is in the forest, sitting on a bench. In the distance, on a clearing, Nikolash and the children are practicing Jiu-Jitsu with their coach. It’s a summer sports camp. Marianna sits and enjoys the forest scent of pine. The training ended, and the kids dispersed. Marianna watches as the coach, Alex, approaches her. Alex was a coach in Japanese Jiu-Jitsu, the coach of the children’s section that Nikolash attended. Alex stopped near a pine tree, leaned against it, and stood with his legs slightly crossed, looking at Marianna. Marianna couldn’t take her eyes off Alex either. There was something magnetic in his squinting gray eyes. She felt they had been staring at each other for too long and looked away, for instance, at the nearest pine tree.

— Why was he looking at me like that? — Marianna thought, examining her summer flowing dress.

Marianna didn’t stay long at the summer camp and, after leaving Nikolash there, was about to head to the bus.

— Wait! — she heard Alex’s voice calling after her.

— The guys will drive you home! — he said, pointing to the Jiu-Jitsu coaches’ Jeep. Marianna realized that Alex had arranged this for her, which warmed her heart. Marianna got into the car, and within an hour, she was home in her little town.

After that encounter, Marianna often recalled her meeting with Alex and his gaze.

I am changing

I dreamed of changing. I couldn’t pass by fur coats in the store, so I bought a fox fur coat on installment, paying part of the money. The coat was good, leather-based, two-thirds sleeve. But that wasn’t all: I was drawn to the wonderful salon “Etalon,” the best one where my acquaintance worked. Now I will be beautiful, I do this for him with great desire and joy.

I look at myself in the mirror, sitting in the salon chair, and the hairdresser turns me into a beauty.

“Shall we dye your hair some more?” the hairdresser asks.

“Yes, let’s dye it, and choose a conditioner.”

In the evening, Marianna couldn’t sleep; you could see her lying on the couch, watching YouTube trainings and sessions on how to appeal to men. There, a millionaire’s wife talked about what one should be like and how to behave. Well, I’m just a simpleton, I need to be better. I’ve never been like that and never understood such things. Once at sixteen, I put on sunglasses to look fashionable and walked down the street. A young sarcastic neighbor walking by said frankly, “Oh, take them off! Marianna, take them off, for God’s sake!” Apparently, the glasses didn’t fit.

Now I will learn to be beautiful, and I continued to listen to videos on YouTube. There’s so much to know… about luxury watch brands, cars… Marianna listened on YouTube to a dialogue between two relationship coaches, a woman, the same millionaire’s wife, and a prominent figure, psychologist, and expert on women and men. They asked each other questions, sat and looked at each other. Marianna was all attention, analyzing and applying it to herself.

Voices came from the phone screen where the video was being streamed:

“Girl in pink! This concerns you!” Both looked at Marianna.

Marianna looked at the frills of her pink blouse lying on the bed. Is it about me?

“Yes, I’m listening, I haven’t missed anything.”

Then a young man appeared on YouTube and began to talk about how to behave with a girl with a guy, and how cool it is to flirt. It was Lev Vozhevatov, a blogger; it’s interesting to listen to him, just cool. That’s how it goes… Now I’ll listen to Lev until one in the morning.

***

It’s him… It’s definitely him… Alex. Whom I’ve been waiting for my whole life. His eyes, his movements, this is the meaning of life. And now what difference does it make that there’s a wife, it doesn’t matter at all… And Borjka… what’s the difference… The main thing is us, Alex and I. How everything turned upside down inside me… And then I remembered a moment about women, a dialogue with a young beautiful lady. She said then, “Oh, how I want to fall in love, so that everything inside turns upside down, so that peace is disturbed, so that guts are turned inside out.” And that’s exactly what happened to me…

Life-Giving Force

What kind of feeling settled in Marianna? It is joy and happiness. This must be how Adam and Eve felt in the Garden of Eden. Unrestrained happiness of the soul, and it seems nothing else is needed. You want to laugh, dance, sing; this feeling fills you with hot plasma, bursting from your eyes, spreading throughout your body. Marianna reveled in this bliss like opium, because nothing else in life is needed, joy filled every cell of her body. Such joy and happiness I have never known before. Directing myself more and more towards love for him, in the flow of love emanating, I came to this thought:

Yes, this is love for Christ. It’s the same thing. I looked into my eyes in the mirror. What was there… Burning with divine fire, deep, greenish, hot, all-encompassing. A feeling of joyful bliss, like being on drugs. And nothing else is needed, this is the meaning of life, I laugh, rejoice from this love, I want to laugh like a madwoman. Love for a person is love for God, I came to this realization. There is no place for envy, sadness, or melancholy here, only drive, fountains, streams of blissful ecstasy.

This is music… I want to dance, move my body smoothly, merging with the music. Marianna puts on her headphones and for the hundredth time listens to the song from the movie “Return My Love” about Vera: here appears the face of the handsome Stanislav Bondarenko, and Vera herself, they connect eyes; the song carries you away, warms you like a blazing fire, waves run from the music from top to bottom and to the heart, enhancing love with its drug.

Marianna stands in the corridor between the kitchen and the dining room, sees her reflection in the phone: eyes filled with life-giving force.

I wonder if Alex feels this too… Yes, it seems he looked strange in his Facebook photos, laughing his head off, and I thought there was madness in his eyes, and the same divine fire in his eyes. Probably, this force has struck both of us. And this feeling cannot be hidden, and it seems the whole of Semivetrinsk already knows that I am in love, that I walk around thin and pale; people might even be laughing at me…

Do You Hear?

I need just a little of your love,

Do you hear?

And allow me to be where your thoughts are,

Breathing!

I will forever be in your thoughts —

Different ones.

And in ordinary days, just for us,

Idle ones.

And as much as fate gives me —

This one,

I want to think of you —

In summer.

And in my thoughts, I’ll be with you

Forever!

And you don’t even know I am —

Somewhere…

Like a Fool

Marianna walks into Alex’s office.

“Oh, good day!” Alex beamed with a smile.

He pulled a new sports uniform for Nikolash from the closet and handed it to Marianna. Preparing for the meeting, she wore her new white blouse with colorful ruffles on the shoulders and front. He’s looking at me now, Marianna notes, I wonder how I look…

Alex squinted and looked at her, at her mouth as she spoke.

“Alright, thank you, I hope it fits him,” Marianna replied.

“Will Nikolash participate in the competition?” Alex asked, squinting his eyes.

“Yes, I hope… he will want to.” But Marianna’s thoughts were elsewhere, and she just gazed at Alex, spellbound, trying to guess what he felt. Alex smiled and lightly touched Marianna’s hand.

A golden fire touched Marianna, running through her body and bringing bliss. Only God could touch like that, with His touch. At least, that’s what Marianna thought. She was nervous and wanted to leave quickly, to run away, yet it was also so sweet to just be near Alex.

After saying goodbye, Marianna left Alex’s office and headed to the bus stop.

“Oh God, how ridiculous I am in these ruffles on my blouse… He looked at me so strangely… I looked silly…” Marianna blushed, remembering the meeting.

“I clenched a crumpled bill,

In my hand swiftly now,

I acted like a fool with you,

During our conversation — this time.

Seeing you — I forgot everything,

Tried to pick my words;

I spoke incoherently,

Not knowing what to say…

And you — my golden-haired prince,

A poet’s dream and poems,

And I acted like a fool,

About this meeting — all, without words…”

White Light

Alex opened the coach’s office door and appeared before Marianna in all his glory. Marianna stood up from the bench and looked at Alex, who was slightly to the side. His face was poorly lit due to the light in the room. Marianna seemed to barely breathe; she was thin, fragile, and defenseless in that tight blue blouse, which barely covered her soul and emaciated body. Her soul was open and exposed, it seemed like anyone could step on it and it would break, and the feeling was delicate and shameful, visible to all. Suddenly, from Alex’s direction, Marianna saw a white beam, a gentle white light connecting her with Alex, flowing from him towards her. Marianna subconsciously recognized it as divine light.

“How are you?” Alex took steps towards Marianna, looking at her and smiling.

Marianna rushed as if towards Alex and closer to the source of the light, but suddenly saw the Head Coach come out of the room on the left, catching her off guard, so to speak. His face looked sternly with judgment. This was the Apostle Peter. Marianna sat back down on the bench and no longer tried to approach Alex. She thought about that white light she saw today in the evening, reviewing an encyclopedia about the light spectrum. Scientific sources spoke of different colors, but for some reason, she saw white light, like a beam from a spotlight.

Eagle Nose

“I also want to do Jiu-Jitsu!” Albert said one day. “Mom, Nikolash goes, and he’s already brought home so many medals.”

“Son, it’s too late for you to start that now. Kids start there at five years old.”

“Well, maybe he can try…” Marianna thought. “I’ll talk to the coach, and you can go on weekends. It’s a paid activity anyway.”

Marianna brought Albert to the Jiu-Jitsu club. Alex came out of the coach’s office and approached Albert.

“Oh! Hi!” he said, shaking his hand.

Alex showed him where the locker room was and took Albert to the hall. Marianna sat in the corridor, waiting for the training to end.

Finally, tired of sitting in one position, she went down to the basement where the gym was located. I’m worried about Albert… Everyone there is experienced, and it’s his first time.

Marianna stood at the gym door and could see Albert doing exercises. And the white uniform came in handy — Marianna thought, looking at her son. Sparring began. Marianna saw the coach pair Albert with small but experienced fighters. Opposite Albert was a little girl, briskly delivering blows. Albert dodged. The girl attacked harder and struck Albert in the face. Albert covered his nose with his hand, and Marianna saw red blood flowing down Albert’s white uniform. The coach led Albert out of the hall, apologizing: “She’s a terminator, not just a girl! Put ice on it in the medical room. How did this happen…” Marianna fretted. Why did I bring Albert here? He’s unskilled, slow…

Marianna noticed Albert’s nose was crooked, now with a bump, resembling a beak. She started to realize that his nose was broken. But nothing could be done…

***

Soon, the story of Jiu-Jitsu was forgotten, only the crooked, bump-nosed Albert reminded of it. Albert became seriously interested in hockey and hurried to the ice rink almost every day. Marianna noticed how handsome Albert looked in that hockey uniform on the ice…

Baba Yaga

Marianna met Valya at the Ice Arena. Valya also brought her grandson to hockey. Although Valya was older than Marianna, she had a special energy, joking and cheering everyone up. When she spotted Marianna, she waved from afar. Marianna liked her too. Valya also visited Marianna in the hospital, sometimes to get a medical certificate for her grandson or for advice, especially if Valya had a backache.

Marianna’s first day back at work after returning from Egypt was tough. She had to wear a white coat and attend to patients even though she wasn’t feeling great. The door to the office slowly opened. Marianna saw a huge nose with a hairy wart and an old lady’s face poking through the door.

“Baba Yaga!” Marianna whispered to herself.

Then Valya’s whole body appeared in the doorway.

“Hello! So glad to see you, dear!”

Baba Yaga walked up to Marianna’s desk and kissed the top of her head. Then she talked about her problems, and Marianna helped her.

“Alright, I’ll be going now, Grandpa is waiting!”

“Is that Ivan, your grandpa?”

“Oh, come on, it’s Stepan! I have a new husband now!”

Baba Yaga creaked the door and left, hunched over with her nose forward.

Marianna pondered, “I wonder how many times Baba Yaga has been married? Probably three times, like Valya.”

***

In the evening, a post from Baba Yaga appeared on Marianna’s Facebook timeline with a picture and a caption.

Mariana read: “Read the Gospel!”

I’m sick

Leaves entwined in braids,

Why should I grieve?

It’s October now,

How long to wait indeed…

How I wait for you,

How I long — it’s true,

You — my dream so dear,

Long-awaited too.

I am sick — because of you,

I am sick.

You — my love and disease,

You — my betrothed.

October rustles leaves so dry,

Why feel dismay?

I am ill — because of you,

And I like it this way.

Headache grips, oh, so tight,

What more can I say?

I’ll call you right now,

Better than to write.

I’ll dial your number now,

As I’m unwell.

You — my love and vow,

With eyes so grey.

My Death

To write or not to write to Alex?

Why… I won’t. The phone lies nearby on the table. Marianna feels as if some force compels her hand to rise, overcoming resistance; her hand trembles as she picks up the phone. She nervously opens Viber and sends a smiley face to Alex. As if some higher power is controlling Marianna’s hand like a puppet on strings, making the doll do what Marianna does not want. In response, Alex sends a smiling emoji — a big moving finger.

Then a video arrives from Alex. Marianna opens YouTube. What the heck… Marianna continues to watch the video, where bottles are moving on a conveyor belt, with text explanations: this bottle — for this, this one — for that, and this one — for what? This is not necessary. What did he want to say by this? That I am not needed because he is married? He probably wanted to say that he has everything: a wife for sex, a job for money, and I… why does he need me…

I didn’t want to write to him…

Scrolling through Facebook feed, Marianna sees a response: “you are instruments.”

In other words, our bodies are used for something, both me and him, we are instruments.

Then some force wanted me to call Alex, and I was absolutely sure that I wanted this. I suggested meeting to Alex, maybe he wouldn’t have decided, but some unknown force made me cautiously offer first. I have a small private office in the center of town, we’ll meet there. We agreed on the time, and Alex promised to come. The meeting time has come. I am already waiting… the meeting is at fourteen o’clock, maybe he will break away between training sessions and come. As promised. There are my icons in the office that I brought from the Svyatogorsk Monastery, they will protect us. He will come.

It’s already 2:10 PM… I’ll wait a little longer, he’s delayed. If it didn’t work out, he would have called. It’s 2:35 on the clock… He’s not here. He won’t come… Marianna plunged into emptiness, not even despair, it’s death.

I’m dead… A strange feeling when you die. I was still walking down the street, doing something, but I’m dead. I’m gone now. He didn’t come, and it doesn’t matter why: “whether he had a horse, or didn’t know the way, mother wouldn’t let him…” — like in the Ukrainian song. It makes no sense to me now, he doesn’t need me. I came home, sat down on a chair, put my hands in my hair, and began to squeeze my head. Phone call. It’s him. Marianna grabbed the phone.

A busy silence on the line, sounds, — Marianna, sorry, it didn’t work out… — Alex mumbled — pause, — There was a meeting… — Alex justifies himself.

— I understand… it’s okay, these things happen, — Marianna said in a dull voice.

The conversation ended.

I understand he lied, just didn’t want to come, but he called, felt that I was “tearing my hair out.” It doesn’t matter anymore… already… I’m dead.

“Turquoise sky — blue sky,

Love froze with white frost.

And when love left — the colors of red,

Our rose faded — all withered…”

Like Smoke

Forgive him — for his lack of love,

For all the torment and pain,

His eyes and fair hands —

You’ll remember them in winter time.

Forgive him — for his simplicity,

Of the human soul, so immature;

And for lacking bold impulses —

Like the forceful flow of a man.

Forgive him — for his lack of love,

For his indifference and neglect,

And for your nights’ suffocation,

From your tears, “broken” into blood.

Forgive him — you release him…

Let him be happy and healthy,

And his lack of love — you’ll recognize;

Towards you it will return — as love.

***

He doesn’t give you flowers,

And doesn’t drink in brotherhood;

Without him you’re worn out,

He doesn’t come, doesn’t appear in dreams.

I’ll howl like a wolf,

I’ll pine and drown

In tears, I’ll shatter my sleep,

Like a tightly strung string.

I’ll forget and curse,

All the flowers not given,

That stranger, like the moon’s dream,

And mine, like a dog’s life…

At dawn — dawn burns,

Boundless — without embrace,

Living without him is in vain,

What do you breathe, what do you eat?

He won’t give you flowers,

Won’t come and won’t be here,

In the glowing sky — to freeze,

And disappear, like smoke fades away…

Tourist Agency

It was the best tourist agency in our small town of Semivetrinsk. Everything here was top-notch for her. Marianna, in her fox fur coat, was already sitting in a leather chair across from the agency’s director. Incidentally, the director was also the agency’s only employee.

Bella Alexandrovna, wearing glasses, was like a fairy who would now choose a tour for Marianna, and magic would happen.

“Where are we flying?” asked Bella Alexandrovna.

“Let’s go for a five-star, Egypt, the best one, check the last-minute deals.”

With enthusiasm and inspiration, Bella Alexandrovna searched.

“Got it! Hotel ‘Royal Grand Sharm,’ seven days. Departure on January 7th, for Christmas.”

“Perfect, the sooner, the better.”

“I’m preparing the document package.”

I Choose Hopelessness

I choose hopelessness…

Like sailing without an anchor in the dark;

There is a place on Earth for death,

And there is a place for life on Earth.

My careless choice

Fell on the heavier fate;

With a painful, anxious tear,

With a mad trace that is more important.

I choose the path of separation…

Anxiety, tugging at a lock of hair;

Cold days, with chilled hands,

And faith, to bring back the past.

I choose without excess…

And somewhere a golden dome;

And outside the window, a wreath of cherries,

And a table in a simple room.

I choose a quiet evening…

Instead of pompous bustle,

And a night of freedom, where there are candles,

And the day’s gaping crowd…

At the Airport

The first people Marianna saw upon arriving in Sharm were two girls from Ukraine. One was plump with strange big lips, probably surgically enhanced. The other was a skinny brunette, lively. The girls had clearly come to have fun; they were already flirting and smiling at the Arabs in the airport. They would soon find the nearest bar and start enjoying themselves. It turned out they were staying at the same hotel as Marianna.

First Day in Sharm

Sharm El Sheikh. Evening. The first people I met were a lovely couple: a young girl and a guy. It was strange that they clicked with me, considering I was older than them.

“Let’s go for a walk around the streets of Sharm,” the girl suggested to me.

It was already getting dark, but the streetlights were on, and it didn’t feel scary at all. The evening was wonderful, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of Egypt with its Arabian spices, perfumes, and the colorful atmosphere of the East.

We stopped at a street café, sat on soft couches at a table. The guy ordered a hookah, and I got coffee. The purple outfit Marianna was wearing reflected a special shade under the lights, adding to the mood. I looked good today.

Eastern music was playing, and a dark-skinned waiter approached the tables, serving food. There was a special tenderness between the girl and the guy, I noticed, and it was pleasant to watch this couple. After a while, they went to dance a slow dance, entwining like two lilies illuminated by the dim, shimmering lights of the café. Marianna admired them. Then the hookah was brought. The guy took a drag and blew out some smoke.

“Try it,” he said to me.

“I’ve never smoked this,” Marianna replied.

“It’s apple-flavored, it’s nice.”

Marianna took a sip of the hookah and coughed.

The young couple laughed. The evening was wonderful. My thoughts were still at home; I had just arrived today and already found myself in a cozy café.

The Guide

There were two guides, she remembered clearly.

One guide met us right away and held a meeting about the excursions. Everyone gathered in a large hall. Marianna remembered that guides often try to sell excursions, and you shouldn’t agree to unnecessary ones.

The guide gestured actively while speaking and spoke Russian well. He said that today you could go to Jerusalem. The trip takes only two days, and you can see the Dead Sea, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the holy places. The journey is very tough, he warned immediately.

At that moment, her phone rang. It was Nikolash calling.

Marianna stepped aside to talk on the phone, no longer listening to the guide.

“Mom, how are you?” Nikolash’s voice asked.

“Son! I’m at the hotel, everything is fine.”

“Did you eat? I left some food in the fridge.”

The connection was poor, and it was hard to hear.

“Son, I’ll call you back, I’m at a meeting with the guide right now.”

Marianna sat down on a chair. Should she go to Jerusalem? But it costs a hundred dollars…

No, I won’t go, maybe later. I’m very tired from the journey and the flight. Perhaps I just won’t be able to endure the tough trip to Jerusalem.

Lucia

Beach. Sharm El Sheikh. How great… just yesterday I was at home, and today I found myself on a beach in Egypt, thought Marianna, sitting on a sunbed and sifting sand through her feet, which were clad in swimming shoes she had bought for three dollars. She was examining them.

This meeting was not accidental. At first, I didn’t notice a certain woman behind me, blonde, with her hair tied back, narrow eyes, and a round face. I turned around and saw her… She smiled slyly, a bit like Mona Lisa, and was peering into her phone while lying on a sunbed. Then she started talking to me, and I, as if under some hypnosis, couldn’t take my eyes off this woman. We found out that she was from Kyiv and a psychologist who consulted her clients. I was interested in everything she said. Psychology, so to speak, from the horse’s mouth. She could talk about lovers, about rich people, my God… how little we know. Her voice seemed to lull me; we walked from the beach along the alley, and I listened to her intently.

“I am a member of the association of psychologists. And now I consult online; I moved away, but my clients still need support.” Marianna looked at the stranger with interest: that’s why she was always on her phone, probably writing to her clients. The woman and Marianna walked along a flower-lined path, passing by a table where an Arab was sorting out rental beach towels. I realized that evening was approaching, and people were leaving the beach.

Marianna and the stranger passed by the pool.

Marianna tried to ask about her own, pressing issue:

“I don’t understand why things are like this with my husband… maybe he’s just sick, or he had a childhood trauma… and things aren’t quite smooth in sex.”

“Many people find lovers here and live wonderfully,” the stranger continued.

“How so?” — asked Marianna.

“One of my patients, a friend, has a regular lover in Egypt, while her husband is a very wealthy man; she comes here and is quite happy; she compensates for what she lacks in marriage. Of course, her husband knows nothing.”

Is it really like that… (thought Marianna).

The stranger finally introduced herself: “Lucia” and, for some reason, also gave her surname — “Lyashinskaya,” laughing and saying, “If you don’t remember, better write it down.” An unusual name, noted Marianna — Lucia.

“I practice transactional analysis,” Lucia mentioned in the conversation.

“What’s that?”

“Well, it’s the whole life of a person, from birth to death, the events are interconnected.”

Wow… I would like that too… from the very embryo, and Marianna imagined a person still in the womb, growing up, growing up… I would also like to understand (thought Marianna).

This was not the last meeting with Lucia.

In the evening, Marianna saw her again, and they ended up at the same table.

Evening. A table in a restaurant in Sharm El Sheikh. Lucia is sitting opposite Marianna. There are coffee cups on the table. The festive evening began, drinks were being served, the tables were filling up, and a show with dancing and music was starting on the stage.

“And how did your husband let you go alone?” asked Lucia.

“So what…” Marianna shrugged.

“Lucia, tell me… you’re a psychologist, if someone sends me emojis, they probably feel something for me.”

“Show me…”

Marianna showed the emojis from Alex on Viber:

“Or maybe he doesn’t care at all that I left.”

Lucia smirked:

“He’s just teasing you, laughing at you; send him how you’re spending your time.”

“Here,” she turned and nodded towards a passing Arab with a cocktail in hand, “take a picture of him and send it.”

Marianna looked at the very dark-skinned Arab and smiled.

For some reason, Lucia began to laugh, looking at her phone, then burst into an indecent fit of giggles without stopping:

“Oh, I can’t…,” she continued to laugh and look at her phone.

Who is she laughing at? Marianna thought — can she see everything, read my chat with Alex, and is she reading my thoughts, and am I really ridiculous?

“Yes… and this lover of yours… you can just go to him and take control, you need to take what you want.”

“How is that? What will he think…”

— I have an acquaintance, — continues Lucia, — she has five apartments just in Kyiv, a decent amount of money in her account, and no limits. If she likes someone, she just goes in and takes him.

Marianna imagined this scene in her head: a girl bursts through a door, a handsome guy is sitting on a chair in the room; the girl unzips her fly and sits on him; the guy just looks surprised and submissive. I can’t do that, I have complexes and no apartments in Kyiv. Yes, if you’re rich, then everything else seems trivial, no, more than that: you have the courage to subordinate others, not to be afraid.

— You are also here alone… like me, — Marianna.

— My husband wanted to go skiing, but I wanted to swim and sunbathe. So he went north, I went south, and we’ll meet at home later.

— Aren’t you jealous… I mean, he could find someone there…

Lucia smiles: — If he wants, he can even buy a woman, he is a wealthy man.

Marianna nodded understandingly. Logical… these are open relationships, no one is tied to anyone. There are people who live completely different lives, they are “different”; they spend their time differently and maybe look down on others, because they have a different life, they live differently…

— I like it here: I get up at five in the morning and go swimming, — said Lucia, — This morning I saw such a huge fish, it swam right next to me, can you imagine… In the morning, when no one is around, there are exotic fish, they are not scared by anyone.

— The sea is cold in the morning, — Marianna.

— You’ll find out yourself… when you go, — smiles Lucia: — The sea is warm.

Why would I go to the beach at five in the morning… never in my life…

Then Lucia brought drinks, and it seemed Marianna started to get tipsy. It became insanely fun, Marianna now saw only dancing people and heard cheerful music. Marianna remembered going to the dance floor with those people.

I think I’m getting drunk… There were still flashes of consciousness… I barely drank anything.

— Let’s go! — Lucia. We reached the exit from the dance floor, where the stairs led to the rooms. Lucia had to go down, and I had to go left. We stopped by the stairs.

— Let’s go to my room, continue the fun evening! — Lucia.

Marianna felt that if she didn’t stop now, she would completely lose control.

— Oh… I don’t know, this is probably the end.

— What kind of end… what kind of end do you want? — maybe this one? — Lucia pointed to a small mound of earth nearby, covered with grass.

— No… — Marianna recoiled.

— Come to my room! — Lucia said gently.

— I think I’ll go to my room — Marianna said, as if in a fog.

— Can you make it there yourself? — Lucia asked.

Marianna nodded, turned around, and, trying to walk straight and not fall from the amount she had drunk, headed towards her room. Marianna didn’t remember how she got to her room, or how she got into bed. Her mind was blank…

The next day, Marianna saw Lucia in the lobby, near the reception desk. Lucia was sitting with one arm draped over the back of the sofa and her leg crossed, clearly having noticed Marianna sitting on another sofa.

Marianna approached Lucia:

— Hi.

— Oh… hi, — Lucia smiled, looking deeply into Marianna’s eyes.

— I thought you wouldn’t make it… — Lucia said. Marianna noticed that the look from Lucia’s blue eyes made her insides churn, it felt like fear, as if she was being seen with all her thoughts and insignificant weaknesses.

— You were something else last night…

— What did I do?

— You were wild…

Marianna imagined herself participating in some incredible bacchanal. Oh God… what did I do, it’s embarrassing to say I don’t remember anything.

— Yeah, well… you were amazing, I remember… — and Lucia started laughing.

I must have been crazy last night, I better not ask any more, Marianna thought.

Lucia was scrolling through her phone.

Marianna took out her phone and opened the photo folder:

— Which one do you think I should post on Instagram, this one or this one? I don’t think I look great in this swimsuit.

— Let me see! — Lucia said, scrolling through the photos and giggling: — Imagine if all your photos ended up on the internet. That happened to me once, everything I had written, all my photos, got posted on social media, just a glitch in the phone, all the information was uploaded. My friends laughed their heads off.

— No way, I don’t want that. There’s so much on my phone… — Marianna said.

It was interesting to talk with Lucia. Marianna didn’t realize it herself, but she was drawn to this woman, and in the evenings or just when entering the restaurant, Marianna would catch sight of Lucia and approach her.

***

Marianna, already in her room, lying on the bed, found the association of psychologists on Google. She scrolled through the names of the members but did not find Lucia’s last name. This must be some kind of secret organization, underground, of course I won’t find this Lucia Lyashinskaya, but I will write down the name on a piece of paper, really, tomorrow I won’t remember with my memory.

In the middle of the night, Marianna woke up several times in a cold sweat, listening to her pounding heart. She would open her eyes, look at her small icon, then at her phone screen, and whisper: — Alex, you are with me, I know, and it will be easier for me…

Doctor Badya

Marianna lingered on the beach. Sharm El Sheikh. As usual, not a single cloud in sight, the Egyptian heat is relentless. She wrapped a pareo around her head like a turban. It felt like her whole body had warmed up under the sun. Time to head back to the hotel, and with the breeze of Sharm, Marianna walked along the asphalt path, the long ruffles of her dress fluttering in the wind. She glanced up at the sea and the sun. Stopping, she looked up at the sun. Marianna felt a burning heat inside, like the fiery lava of the sun was within her, in her chest. What’s happening to me? Everything is fine… even the Kazan icon is nearby, but the lava wouldn’t go away, it was a piece of fiery plasma inside. Marianna pulled out a mirror and looked into her eyes: in her eyes were two blazing hot suns, the same lava that was inside, fire, a crazy all-consuming fire. Marianna was brought back to reality by a voice:

— Do you want a photo… a photo…

— You look great.

It was an Arab photographer; Marianna recognized him.

— No, thank you, — she declined and quickly tried to walk past him, moving further along the path.

She reached the hotel lobby.

I’m trembling… my hands are shaking, everything inside is shaking, I feel awful…

Marianna walked past a table where the guides were sitting. An Arab guide, who was encouraging people to go to Israel, was standing by the table facing Marianna. Another guide was sitting at the table, looking down. What to do… one thought. Marianna quickly approached the guide:

— I feel unwell…

— You look pale, go to the doctor, — and he waved his hand, indicating where to go.

Marianna quickly walked across the parquet floor of the hotel lobby. She spotted the doctor’s office below.

She entered and sat down on a chair, still trembling. In the office was an Arab — Doctor Badya, they said he was from Syria.

The doctor checked her pulse, looking concerned. A nurse was nearby.

Marianna spoke with difficulty:

— This is a phone number, — she pointed to a piece of paper, — if something happens to me… on the paper was written: Nastya, and her phone number.

— Tachyarrhythmia, — Marianna understood among the English words that the doctor was saying to the nurse as he drew medicine from an ampoule.

The doctor gave Marianna an injection in her arm, then rummaged through the shelves, searching for another ampoule, but seemed unable to find the necessary medicine, looking flustered.

— Do you speak English?

— No, — Marianna shook her head.

Oh… it was clear from Doctor Badya’s expression.

Marianna sat on the couch. The fear of death wouldn’t leave her, her legs dangling off the couch.

I’m like deaf and dumb, I can’t understand what he’s saying… (Marianna’s thoughts). The doctor continued to bustle around, checking her pulse every five minutes.

It seems to have eased…

Using a translator, Marianna understood that the doctor told her to come here every day. What is wrong with me… it’s all the Sun…

To Live

The restaurant had an abundance of food, shrimp were being served, meat was roasting on a spit, possibly lamb. I don’t want to eat at all, but I have to force myself. To live, I have to eat something. In the morning, I forced myself to eat an omelet. I sat and chewed, putting piece by piece into my mouth, and told myself: this is necessary to live. Funny… to pay for a seven-day tour in Egypt and not try anything. At least I’m alive.

No You

To hear you,

Where you are not…

The dawn has quietly flared —

A blush of dawn.

You’ll ask: “Where are you wandering?”

I’ll answer in return…

Here you are — seemingly close,

But you are not there…

It’s madness,

It’s a mirage.

You are not there — as if,

My heart is cut out…

Lady in Profile

Egypt. Hotel “Grand Royal”. A being sat on a chair at a café table. It was Marianna. She stared with a doll-like gaze into the distance, beyond the horizon, where the sea is, where the wind begins. Her figure was like a painting. Her dress, her most beautiful dress with roses, clung to her body. Marianna took several photos, or rather asked a girl to photograph her, and she could post them on Facebook, the pensive lady in profile. If only her Facebook followers knew how she felt… what lay behind her mask-like, ghostly face; if they knew that I can’t eat, can’t sleep, and I go to Doctor Badya because I almost died. After posting the photo on Facebook, Marianna thought: I’m not sure I look good, probably everyone in the city sees me suffering with a very sad face, looking into the distance. But then a comment came in from the mother of my patient: “Dear Marianna Ivanovna! You are very beautiful! Have a good rest!”

Not Love

The tracks are covered this winter evening…

You told me — it’s not love, these meetings of ours.

My head is spinning, what is this?

I don’t want to find words, I believe in something else.

Somewhere,

Sometime,

To be born again!

My head will spin,

I’ll soar like a free bird!

I’m free from shackles!

The taste of love is not needed!

To soar like a bird among dreams,

Love makes everything worse!

Who invented this love?

I want to get drunk!

I’m free from shackles,

I’ll soar like a free bird!

Day of Calls

Marianna is sitting on the veranda of a hotel in Sharm El Sheikh. Her heart is still pounding, and her hands are trembling. She didn’t sleep well again and has no appetite at all. How untimely…

A message from the travel agent in Semivetrinsk on Viber: “How are you? How was the trip and have you settled in?”

She has to respond. With trembling hands, Marianna writes: “Everything is fine, the hotel is good.”

“Enjoy your vacation,” comes the reply. Then a call: it’s from Evgenia. Marianna picks up the phone.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Fine,” Marianna says in a quiet voice. If only they knew how unwell I am here… I feel out of place.

“Have you been anywhere?” Evgenia’s voice comes through. “Go to the Orthodox church there.”

“I don’t know, I’d have to go into the city, maybe take a taxi,” Marianna replies, thinking.

“Bring me something if you go to the church, bring me a cross or an icon.”

“Okay, if I get there.”

“Well, bye, enjoy your vacation.”

Then a message came on Viber from the Chief Administrator at work:

“How’s your vacation?”

“Fine, it’s very hot,” Marianna replies.

“Seek refuge in men.”

In men… what does she mean by that… Though, there are options, maybe it will indeed help…

Mephistopheles and Eros

Sharm El Sheikh.

During the day, I planned to take a walk around the hotel surroundings. Strangely, there were no people around, just solitary buildings on both sides of the road, beautiful stone structures in Arabic style, and complete desolation as if everything had vanished… Ahead, there were several stalls, seemingly open. Arab vendors waved their hands, inviting visitors to their shops. I walked over to take a look.

Right at the entrance of one shop, I noticed hanging crosses, different ones with crucifixes. I had promised Evgenia to buy a cross… I took one off the nail. It was a medium-sized cross, nice-looking, with a crucified Christ on a red background.

— How much is this?

— Three dollars.

— Oh… that’s a lot…

— Well, two, — the Arab vendor showed with his fingers.

— Okay.

I looked further, choosing a turquoise scarab beetle and magnets. The vendor started calculating.

— Ten dollars.

I shook my head in disagreement: — Let’s do eight for everything.

— Well, seven and a half, — the vendor said.

— Alright… what is he counting so much for?

I scrutinized the appearance of this vendor. Why was I staring at him like I was petrified: he was hunched, squinting eyes, a sharp beard, a cunning look, sorting through his scarab beetles and various trinkets. It struck me: he resembled Mephistopheles or a demon. His movements were quick, and he was always lying. I bargained with him, but he still tried to deceive.

It’s definitely an evil one, a demon…

I hurried out of the shop, I wanted to turn around and go back to the hotel; but the dark-skinned Arab from the neighbouring shop was inviting me with his gaze. I didn’t want to offend him; I should go into his “tent”.

I felt the odours with all my being; they were the scents of wonderful herbs, perfumes, everything sweet and oriental, like the scent of orgasm.

The seller — a young handsome Arab with a straight face, slowly moving his hand as in some kind of theatre invited: “Look here, and here…". He took a bunch of unfamiliar herbs from a box on the counter and held it out to my nose. I was in a halo, a haze, a cocoon; I felt light, the sexiest, I was a glowing goddess, a warmth spreading through me, in my belly and in me, like in the bosom of passion. There were a lot of herbs in the boxes on the showcase and I was like in a stupefaction — a dream — inhaling everything at once.

— And this… a special aroma, — offers again a handsome Arab.

— Sit down here, I’ll offer you tea, — and the incense seller gently touched Marianne’s hand.

Marianne, fuming with herbs and perfume scents, sat down on a sofa in the shop.

The Arab sat down beside her and began to carry on a conversation.

His words floated a slow elixir of voluptuousness and ecstasy. It felt good to just sit on the sofa and feel like a goddess. I had fallen to the God Eros, the God of pleasure and voluptuousness.

From the shop I could see the neighbouring empty buildings in the next street. It’s just him and me. I’m the brave one.

— I want to invite you to my palace tonight. I have a house, — the Arab pointed towards the deserted streets. I’ll love you, we’ll have sex. О.. I will love you for a long time.

Marianne choked on her tea.

— You’re afraid … — cautiously Arab.

— I’m in the evening, a bit busy…

— We can go now… — unobtrusively persuades the Egyptian.

— О… you’ll love it. I’ve got a huge one, it’s not like everyone else’s, it’s a giant, — pointing to the bottom of his trousers. I’ll love you for hours, I can love you for 24 hours with my huge one. Marianne became afraid, he will love…; one can die from such a thing, how such a thing can be endured… A normal man, he once — twice and everything, well, a minute there sex, fidgeted and everything, but here strength, a huge cock, you can die just.

And if you really agree and now go with him… in a deserted house… and her fragile body can’t take his love and I won’t come back. They’ll be looking for me all night. I think I’ll pass, and we should get out of here, Marianne looking at the road.

— Thank you, you’re very nice, but I have to go, I’ll come back tonight, I’ll come back for sure. Marianne jumped out and walked quickly past all the counters towards the hotel.

— I’ll be waiting… — Eros’ voice came from behind Marianne.

Marianne quickly rushed past the smiling Mephistopheles who was standing outside his shop.

A Heart-to-Heart Conversation

Sharm El Sheikh. Half past midnight. Marianna is sitting at a table in the hotel’s night bar. She notices Lucia at a table behind her. As she is about to leave, she approaches Lucia:

“Have a seat, sit with me,” says Lucia.

Marianna sits at Lucia’s round table.

“Help yourself,” says Lucia.

Marianna notices Dr. Badya’s figure slipping by in front, looking at Marianna and her companion. Watching, probably (Marianna’s thoughts).

“Bring me some whiskey,” Lucia says, pointing to a glass.

Marianna goes to the bar and brings back a glass of whiskey. She notices that there are already three half-drunk glasses of whiskey on the table and that Lucia isn’t drinking any of them.

“Bring more whiskey,” Lucia commands.

Marianna goes to the bar and asks for more whiskey, noticing how Lucia watches her stand in line for the bartender. After Marianna returns with another glass of whiskey, a quite satisfied Lucia gives Marianna a smile.

“Can’t sleep at all tonight,” Marianna says to Lucia.

Muted Arabic music comes from the bar. Marianna notices some people still sitting at other tables. She didn’t notice how time flew by: with Lucia, it was so fascinating and interesting… Lucia would talk about her girlfriends, then the conversation would shift to women’s issues, her clients, and the secrets of a psychologist’s clients.

“For example… a man comes to me, obviously very wealthy. He says that to be happy, he absolutely needs to have a mistress. And I understand that. And when things didn’t work out with the mistress, the man suffers.”

“Yeah… I wish I had their problems, the rich,” Marianna says.

***

Morning. At breakfast in the restaurant, Marianna bumps into Lucia, almost tripping over her chair.

“How are you?” Lucia smiles and looks into her eyes.

Witch… Marianna sarcastically says and smiles.

She saw a chubby Arab bring coffee to Lucia, say “please, your coffee,” and sweetly smile, licking his lips, lingering and waiting for Lucia’s reaction.

“Thank you,” Lucia nods to him.

“Did you see that, did you see?” Lucia says to Marianna. “He didn’t just bring the coffee; this chubby guy wants me to pay attention to him. To make him feel good, you understand…”

“Well, yeah, I understand.”

I told you, she’s a witch, she knows everyone’s motives.

Emerging from the Sea

Egypt, Sharm El Sheikh. Hotel.

Something woke her up at five in the morning. Marianna got up, gathered her swimming gear, and headed towards the beach. There was no one around at this time, which felt a bit eerie. As she walked to the sea, she had to descend a bit and go down some stone steps. And here Marianna saw the Sun! My God… The glow was rising from the sea, very quickly, it seemed, first a semicircle, then bigger and bigger… Marianna pointed her phone and captured it, this — the sunrise. Through the phone’s screen, Marianna watched the reflections of the fiery Sun.

This glow of the enormous Sun rising above the sea — a true miracle, like the dawn of life, like everything rising from the depths, breaking through the abyss and darkness, the soul lifting with piercing all-encompassing force. This is important, Marianna felt the rising Sun with all her heart and being. Then Marianna walked along a path between beautiful bushes and found herself at the pier. Looking through the clear sea, Marianna saw many exotic fish. It turns out there are many in the morning. Approaching the pier’s railings, Marianna started descending, testing the water with her toes. She usually would say: Brrr… cold. Today she just began to descend into the water. The water was warm! The water was really warm… though they said it was icy… Marianna remembered what Lucia had said: try the water yourself in the morning. Marianna immersed herself in the warm, blissful waters and swam among the fish without fear.

One large flat fish barely touched Marianna with its slimy body. What a big fish… Marianna marveled and swam on, periodically surfacing to empty water from her mask. It seemed like an eternity had passed. The reefs looked even more beautiful today than usual. Near the reefs, a round creature was hiding, thinking Marianna wouldn’t notice; Marianna watched the underwater happenings as if on TV. Fatigue eventually set in after the long swim. Marianna emerged from the water in a radiant glow. She lifted her mask over her head, slowly rising while holding onto the pier’s railings. A young Arab was on the pier.

“Let me take your picture,” he indicated with gestures. Marianna’s eyes shone with an unseen heavenly light, and there was a radiant glow around her head. She seemed to see herself from the outside and knew she was beautiful. Marianna nodded, and the Arab clicked her phone several times, capturing her emerging from the water in the glow.

Marianna walked away from the beach and overheard a conversation between two Arabs, presumably guards:

“Haven’t you gone swimming yet?”

“Who swims this early, the water is ice-cold…”

King Solomon

Sharm El Sheikh. The hotel lobby near the reception. The first floor of the hotel was truly a relaxation area. Comfortable carved chairs and sofas encircled a large hall in the center.

Oh, I’m so tired today, the beach… I swam a lot. It’s a pity I don’t have an underwater camera; I would have posted on Facebook the exotic fish and corals I saw, and everyone would have seen that I’m at the sea… One thing troubles me: I didn’t go to Jerusalem. Two days on the road, but I just got off the plane yesterday. Would I have survived the tough bus journey? Maybe I would have just died on the way. Marianna sat on a long sofa opposite the reception.

— Good evening! — A group sat down next to Marianna. How nice to hear Russian, not foreigners.

— Hello.

A man sat next to Marianna, surrounded by three women: one older, probably his wife, and two younger ones, possibly his daughters, though they didn’t look alike.

— I’m so tired, the journey was exhausting, — Marianna heard one of the young girls in the group talking, — but still had enough energy to go to the beach.

— Did you go on an excursion? — Marianna started the conversation.

— To Jerusalem, — the girl continued, — we didn’t sleep for two days, traveling by bus, bathed in the Dead Sea on the way, on our feet the whole trip, and somehow we had the energy.

The girl’s eyes really sparkled, Marianna noticed.

Everyone was looking at the man’s phone:

— Great underwater photos.

Marianna peeked at the photos:

— Is this really taken underwater?

— Yes, look, — the man showed her pictures of fish underwater.

— Wow… — said Marianna.

— And here’s more, and more…

— How did you take them underwater? With a phone?

— Yes, we bought these cases, and you can take pictures.

— We can send you the photos via Bluetooth, — the young girl kindly offered.

— Yes, please.

Marianna fiddled with her phone.

— Did they come through?

— Yes… got them.

Marianna continued to listen to her neighbors’ conversations. There was a low table in front of them, but it didn’t bother the group at all.

The next scene made Marianna wary. A young Arab, neatly dressed in a whitish butler’s suit, appeared in front of the table; he gently placed coffee cups in front of the man sitting in the center. Bowing very low, as if before his master, the Arab, without raising his eyes, with a curved back, delicately placed the cups from the tray. The cups were adorned with gold and flowers. The man nodded majestically and simultaneously nonchalantly, as if to an obsequious servant, and a green bill appeared in his hand, smoothly transferring to the Arab’s hand.

This is… King Solomon! Marianna looked at King Solomon in the center — with women on both sides, two on the left, one on the right.

— Great, post the photos. — said the young girl.

— Yes, thank you.

— Well then… goodbye, girls! — said Marianna, standing up from the sofa and looking at the group.

Marianna hesitated, feeling she said something wrong, and met the stern, proud gaze of King Solomon, who seemed to want to say: What??? Girls??

Yes… things didn’t go well with Solomon.

Marianna sat in the lobby for a bit longer, watched the girls chattering around Solomon, and slowly retreated to her hotel room.

Broken Glass

Sharm El Sheikh. Hotel restaurant. A girl with short hair and brightly painted lips sat down at the table.

— Can I join you? — she smiled.

Marianna nodded.

Marianna had already finished all her dishes; only the dessert, a brown piece of chocolate cake, was left.

— I’ll go get some coffee, — Marianna said, rising from the table.

The tables were set up buffet-style, take what you want, and you could have as much coffee as you liked. Approaching the machine, Marianna filled a cup of coffee.

— Ah… hot, — she put the cup on the table and sat down across from the girl.

— Are you also from Ukraine? — Marianna started a conversation with the girl.

— I’m from Russia, my name is Magda.

Marianna smiled and began to eat her cake.

Magda continued: — I’m a rare guest at the hotel, my fiancé is Egyptian, I came to visit him. I travel to see him twice a year.

Marianna listened to her companion, turning a small spoon in the cake. She took another piece of cake, chewed, and swallowed.

Suddenly she felt pain in her mouth, like a cut, and a crunching sensation on her teeth, like glass. It seemed she had swallowed a piece… What the heck… Marianna, in a state of shock, looked at the cake. Was there glass in the cake? How? Her table companion finished her meal, said goodbye to Marianna, and left. Marianna stopped eating altogether and went to her room.

I Love Egypt

Sharm El Sheikh. Hotel. Marianna sat alone at a table. She wore a beautiful dress with flowers, shimmering with roses, and had cool-toned makeup. Her face seemed sad. On the table was a cup of coffee and an ashtray. Ahead, beyond the hotel’s stone fence, the Red Sea was visible. It seemed as if the table was over the sea. The Egyptian wind blew against her face.

Someone approached the table. It was Dr. Badia.

— You smoke a lot, — pointing to the ashtray, said the doctor.

— Oh, yes…

— Is everything alright? — Dr. Badia asked with concern.

— Yes, okay, thank you, — Marianna nodded. It’s good that you are here at the hotel.

— Oh, I’m finishing my service here soon and going to work in Germany.

Marianna nodded understandingly.

The doctor walked away.

Marianna stood up from the table and caught up with the doctor:

— Excuse me…

Badia turned around.

Marianna stood before him:

— I Love Egypt.

The Last Tour

Today, as usual, Marianna went down to the lobby near the reception. She didn’t see Lucia right away; Lucia was sitting on the sofa. Approaching Lucia, she asked how she was doing, and they started a conversation. Marianna stood over the seated Lucia, who looked up into Marianna’s eyes. That gaze sent shivers through her…

— I prefer it when you look up — Lucia concluded.

Yes, there are probably moments when I look up, lost in thought, like in a somnambulistic dream.

At a small table at the end of the lobby sat the Guide, one of Marianna’s two guides.

— Why do you think he’s smiling? — Lucia asked Marianna.

— Indeed, — the Guide was smiling. He wasn’t this cheerful last time.

— Where is the other Guide who offered the excursions? — Marianna asked worriedly.

— He was always alone, what other guide? — Lucia said confidently.

Maybe he really was alone…

— Have you been everywhere? Look, the Guide is signing people up for excursions, — Lucia drew Marianna’s attention.

Marianna also approached the group of people at the table.

— There’s a tour for you, an excellent one — a yacht, — the Guide beamed and showed a picture of the yacht.

Where should I spend the remaining dollars?.. I could book a diving trip, I could go to Cairo to see the pyramids, ah… fine, I’ll take the VIP yacht, what’s the difference, I have sixty-five dollars left anyway.

The Guide smiled that same smile and kindly signed Marianna up for the yacht.

Birthday

Become the air by the sea…

Become a bird over the Bosphorus,

You will become distantly

A beacon for me, so the waves,

Dreaming, recognize the way,

And the wind drives them on.

Become silence without sound…

So it’s easy with parting;

And the bottom of the abyss,

Where falling is useless.

Become the Sun at dawn…

To smile at children;

Shine — shining for people,

And again — dream of miracles.

The yacht had eight seats, which meant I was the eighth, and they were supposed to pick up seven people. A small bus was gathering people from the hotels. I settled behind the driver, where there were three empty seats, by the window. I always like to sit by the window. At one fancy hotel, they picked up a man. He was a Blond, about sixty, slim, and tall. He sat right next to me in the empty seat, although there was a free seat by the door.

“Hello, Marianna,” the Blond addressed me.

“Hello,” Marianna replied. Why did he sit next to me when there was another free seat, she wondered fleetingly, two seats actually.

Then a couple — a girl and a guy — got on the bus, followed by Sophia from Odessa, a Ukrainian woman, and more people. We arrived at the pier, where yachts depart from.

On the shore, there were rows of stalls where Arabs sold various water gear. Marianna walked beside the Ukrainian woman who caught up with her.

The Ukrainian woman, sighing heavily, spoke to Marianna in Ukrainian:

“The road to God has never been easy.”

Marianna walked, deep in thought, watching the Arabs in the shed handing out diving gear. People were trying on wetsuits, goggles, and fins. Our group was also given fins, snorkels, and goggles for swimming. It was amazing how the Egyptians spoke Russian; it seemed this nation had an innate ability. The tour guide, an Arab about 30 years old with curly hair, didn’t stop talking and spoke Russian. Marianna listened to him, sometimes just looking at the sea. Everyone settled on the yacht, there were eight of us, and we set off. Marianna sat on a bench on the yacht; everyone found their place, the yacht was spacious, no wonder it was VIP. At the helm was a young Arab in sunglasses, his back turned to Marianna.

“Do you have a lighter?” Marianna asked the Blond sitting on the bench opposite.

“The one at the helm has one,” he pointed to the Arab at the wheel.

Marianna looked at the Arab; he didn’t seem to be smoking. Indeed, he had a lighter in his pocket, which he shared.

The tour guide kept talking. Marianna took a drag on her cigarette, hearing something about Jesus Christ and his wife. The guide said that Jesus Christ had a wife and that ancient scrolls had been found proving it. Marianna looked at the guide’s face, which reminded her of Mephistopheles. The guide showed a map, indicating where we would sail around Sinai.

“We are headed to the amazing Ras Mohammed reserve, we’ll round here,” pointing to the map, “and land on White Island, where we’ll stop.”

Marianna stood by the hot water machine, trying to figure out how to brew tea. Her hands were cold. Vascular insufficiency, she needed something hot, her hands were icy, slightly trembling. Everything was under control, she thought, once she had some hot tea, she would feel better.

“Marianna,” came the Blond’s voice suddenly from her right. He stood nearby, watching her trying to brew tea. “Here is the hot water, and here are the tea bags and sugar.”

“Got it, thanks.”

He called her Marianna again, oh well… I don’t even ask how he knows my name…

Marianna sat on the bench next to Sophia from Odessa.

A young Arab in glasses from the yacht’s crew approached.

— Whose birthday is it? Yours?

“It’s mine! It’s mine!” Sophia exclaims. The Egyptian writes something down in his notebook. The yacht slices through the waves. Tourists try to get to the bow to take photos. I wander around the yacht. On the first floor, there’s a small room, I’ll go in.

“You can’t go in there,” a voice startled Marianna — a black Arab was sitting at the entrance to the room.

“Okay, okay…” she left and went to the second floor.

“A festive lunch awaits you,” the tour guide announced.

“Please everyone go down to the hold.” All eight of us followed. There, on a wooden table, were bowls for everyone, probably soup. Sophia from Odessa, sitting next to Marianna, poked at her plate with a spoon:

“This is Greek soup, made from various ground seafood.”

The soup in the bowl was light brown-yellow.

Wow… looking at the soup, I’ve never eaten anything like this… But that’s not all, there were shrimp on a platter, potatoes, and salads on the table. Marianna spooned the soup, feeling a strange taste. She ate a couple of shrimp, watching the other participants of the meal. In this silence — Marianna glanced at everyone from under her brows — everyone was eating, darting their eyes around. Something’s wrong… I don’t feel well; I need to leave before it’s too late, before they eat me here…

Marianna got up, “Excuse me,” and headed for the exit.

To the bathroom… Entering the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. Red spots were spreading on her face in the mirror.

It’s clear — an allergy, maybe anaphylactic shock, it’s from the soup. Calmly, I need to inject dexamethasone. Marianna pulled a vial of dexamethasone from her purse, trying in the cramped little bathroom to inject herself in the back. Done, hope I don’t die. She calmly exited the bathroom stall. I have a small mirror, she sat down on a bench, examining the spots near her nose. They seem to have lessened.

“Take this, apply it,” the Ukrainian woman handed Marianna some cream, “I had the same thing, I applied it, it’s a good cream.”

“Why bother, it might go away on its own.”

“Apply it, apply it,” the Ukrainian woman insisted gently.

Marianna spread the cream in small strokes on her cheeks. That should be enough.

Finally, snorkeling. I didn’t even know the word, just swimming. Going down, I saw everyone putting on masks, fins, and snorkels. A young diver was instructing everyone. Well, come what may, I’ll swim, my hands are cold. The yacht stopped, rings were thrown out. Some people started just jumping in. I glanced at the Blond. The Blond at the edge of the yacht, and suddenly — like a loop, a whirlwind, a jet rocket, a plasma burst — pierced the water.

What was that… how old is he, he doesn’t look frail like a human. Maybe he’s not human…

We all went down into the water and the diver led us into the sea. Next to me, Sophia from Odessa clung to a ring, there were other hands too. Further and further the sea pulls us…

“Look!” the diver shouted. He dove down, then resurfaced, pointing down: “Breathe through the snorkel, follow me…”

I’m suffocating in this snorkel. Inhale, exhale, calmly, I look at the bottom: corals, big fish.

“That’s a surgeonfish, be careful,” the diver continued.

Further… the diver pulled us along. I’m completely in the water, there’s water in my mask, I’m swallowing water, watching, diving.

I look back, our yacht — a dot in the distance; not scary, so what…

“Dive!” the diver signaled: yellow fish, spotted, large; and the corals blur in my eyes.

“See?”

“Do you see?..” the diver.

“Shark! Shark!” someone screamed.

And again: “Shark!”

What’s there… Marianna turned around — the tour guide’s head was floating above the water, shouting, “Shark!”

We’re back on the deck. The diver, seemingly addressing me: “Did you see anything?”

“Yes… though I don’t know what I saw, swallowing water in the mask.”

Our yacht headed further to White Island. White Island looked like the Maldives. I’ve never been to the Maldives. The velvet-like unusually white sand and the shallow sea, a real — White Island. Everyone got off the yacht, to reach the shoal you had to swim a bit first, then walk. The water was cold, I was shivering; when will this end…