Читать книгу Confession of a Ghost. F.M. Dostoevsky award. Playing Another Reality - Alexandra Kryuchkova - Страница 12

I woke up to the alarm at 9:50. I had a strange dream, but Ray… what did he try to say? The Island of Violets actually existed. Michael, an excellent poet and deputy minister, had invited me once to that cafe to celebrate the release of his book, which included also some poems dedicated to me. Michael dreamed of celebrating my wedding in Italy.

I went down for breakfast. Nicolette’s mom used to cook herself. Her breakfasts were much tastier than in hotels. My room was more spacious, and what a gorgeous balcony I had! In the afternoon, the Sun left it, allowing me to dine enjoying the view of the islands in the azure sea; at night, the Moon used to float by, and a mysterious multi-beam star winked me. The house was built on a rock overlooking the sea, in a word, I lived on the top floor of the mysterious Tower in order to calmly talk with Heaven without fear of tsunami. Funny! I was lucky on “13”, that was the number of my apartment on Athos, my dacha and garage, my ex-husband’s flat in Moscow, the last digits of my phone number and so on.

Rising from breakfast, I ran into the maid and asked her not to clean my place every day, just to take out the garbage, since I liked to feel as at home.

Sea – sea – sea … After swimming, I used to plop down in the white sand by the distant rocks, and then to return home, buying on the way some ice cream and fruit in Acropolis Tavern’s minimarket, where I occasionally had dinner.

After reading “The Girl and the Sea”, which hadn’t much to be corrected, I fell into childhood memories, but at exactly 18:00 – I loved everything systemic, not digesting chaos and since it was too hot during the day – I went for a walk to the Athos border, taking with me the Akathist to the “Seeking for the Perished” icon of the Virgin Mary. On the way, I visited the Church of Saints Constantine and Helena, where there were the “Gatekeeper” (Portaitissa), “Quick to Hear” (Gorgoepikoos) and an old icon of St. Petka Paraskeva, beloved by the Greeks and me. The icon of Petka, I had bought on St. Stephen island in Montenegro, where I had lived in a castle on vacation a long time before, was the first hand-painted icon in my house. In Ouranoupoli, you could enter the church in any clothes and shoes, and Greek women didn’t cover their heads with scarves for the memory of the war with Turkey – a protest against Muslim customs. Inside the church, there was air conditioning and chairs for parishioners to sit, except for special moments of liturgy.

The road to the border with Athos started from the Tower and went to the left along the sea, perpendicular to the main street. In about 30 minutes you could see the Zygou monastery, the monument “Protected by UNESCO”, the golden coat of arms of Mount Athos, barbed wire and a small customs house, although in 99% of cases, if the sea wasn’t stormy, they got to Athos by ferry, not by land. I liked that rural road – past the vineyards and olive groves, the lands of local residents, and the tiny luxury hotel “Sketes”, where I wouldn’t have stayed, because the sea after the Tower was different, it changed dramatically, turning from kind and homely to spontaneous and harsh, as if the real border had been located at the Tower.

I reached the border and habitually stopped at the ruined Zygou, first mentioned in 941. Usually access to the excavation area was closed, but Sophia, Dimitra’s daughter, had taken me there and shown all sorts of interesting and curious things. I turned right and walked to the sea along the barbed wire, greeted the Holy Mountain and read the Akathist. Guards by the wire – wasps – were flying to scan intentions, but I wasn’t going to cross the border, and they left me alone.

Sophia had shown me a mysterious cove of stunning beauty to the right of the border. There was a small passage between the rocks, and during the evening tide you could get inside and out only by swimming, so it was no sense to take any value with you – everything had to be left on the rock at the entrance. I climbed one of the rocks to meet the sunset. The Sun was like a burning candle. Having taken a few photos, I found ghosts distinctly manifested on them, so I sent the photos to my friend, Svetlana, and, raising my head, I saw … I could swear, it was the same Monk from the airport! He walked slowly along the shore, sat down at the rock nearby and met the sunset too. When the Sun disappeared, I wandered back. The Monk followed me and turned towards the customs house. I exhaled in relief. There was something about him that distinguished him from other monks, but what?

Dimitra was chatting with her husband and brother at their icon shop opposite the Tower. She greeted me with a smile, offered coffee and asked about my day.

“I went to the border. How is Peter with the keys doing?”

“I’ve phoned the twin monks. They say it’s August and they are full of festive events. I can send you Peter by post in about nine months,” Dimitra offered, handing me coffee. “Today, a couple from Serbia has bought two printed icons, and a man from London, you won’t believe it, has taken away your favorite ‘The 4^th Generation’! As he’s entered the shop, got frozen and said, ‘I want it’.”

London… I felt something sank inside, and at the same time I saw the Monk, the very same one! He went to the square in front of the Tower, crossed it and…

“Sorry, I have a client!” Dimitra whispered and ducked into her shop, and I took a few steps towards the Tower, but Dimitra returned, “False alarm!”

“The Tower, you say it’s closed…”

“Yes, already for several years. They say the state has no money to maintain the museum. And there’s a problem with the roof. The tower is higher on the old postcards. We get earthquakes from time to time. The top floor collapsed, and there is no money to restore it,” she explained and held out something wrapped in foil. “My mother asked me to give it to you personally! Gingerbread, she cooks herself! For tea!”

After thanking Dimitra and her mother, I headed for the Tower and, abruptly slowing down, walked around it from the square side, then from the seaside. There was a lock on the fence, the lock on the door, and no light in the windows. However, I could swear by all the Saints, that Monk had entered it just a couple of minutes before!

…I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, so I went out onto the balcony. It was too quiet. Too black the sky. The Moon wanted to tell me something, but the icon of the Virgin Mary at Janis’ shop appeared on the inner screen, and I heard, “Come on, Alice! Remember me, remember!” Yes, there was something important that connected me with the icon, but what? I went back to my room, lay down on the bed, turned off the night light, and tried to fall asleep again.

Somewhere in the Universe

In a building with many doors, people with wings were rushing at lightning speed. One of them, who looked like Guardian Angel, grabbed my hand and quickly led me down the corridor, as if we were late. In the queue at the Information Desk, I spotted the husband of my Moscow neighbor. He smiled and waved at me, wishing me good luck, or did it seem to me? – there was too noisy! – either from the wings rustling, or because at each door there were crowds of people, vigorously discussing something. We went up to the top floor and went through the door with the inscription “Live broadcasting”. A white-robed winged clerk was diligently scribbling words with a feather and an invisible ink in a ghostly book lying on the equally ghostly table. However, everything in the mysterious building seemed rather vague. Having finished with writing, he glanced at us and asked,

“Standard?”

“Yes, Bro,” nodded the Angel.

“What’s your name?” the clerk turned to me, I answered, he wrote down my name, put a tick next to it and handed the book to the Angel. “Put down the dates and time yourself. And sign it. There was a precedent here the other day. I was accused of putting the wrong number. They began to figure it out and found the Guardian’s fault. It was exactly midnight there, and the clock was a little behind!”

“When will it be sent?” asked the Angel, signing the paper.

“We have a new decree, three times a day in live broadcasting, so don’t worry, Bro, it’ll reach everyone! Good luck, Alice!”

I wanted to ask what that meant and where we were, but someone called out to me. I turned around and saw Ray. And instantly… the building was gone. There were no more people, no clerks with wings, just the black sky, the stars, me and Ray. Lightning ran across the sky. It flashed in red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, but there was no thunder anywhere.

“Ray, what’s going on?” I asked.

“Lightning,” Ray replied calmly, coming close to me.

“What kind of lightning?”

“Telegram”.

“Telegram?” I was surprised. “To whom?”

“To the whole Universe, Alice,” Ray replied and … disappeared.

Ouranoupoli

I woke up. It was still night on Athos. I went out to the balcony. Absolute silence and too black sky, not a cloud, when suddenly … I saw the same flash as in my dream! The sky flashed with red zigzags and died down, flashed and died down, flashed and died down…