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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.

***