Mission 777 Possible. Marina Sprouz
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.
Extremist organisation banned in the Russian Federation. hereinafter