Kitabı oku: «Mission 777 Possible», sayfa 3
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 Facebook1 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…
