Читать книгу Fanyasha: Why Do Angels Need People? - Марианна Россет - Страница 6

“Very good morning to you, Madame Aros!” said a tall man in a dark purple raincoat with a big smile on his face while giving a golden parcel to a beautiful young woman. “I heartily congratulate you on the birth of your daughter!”

“How wonderful! A daughter! I am so happy! Thank you! Thank you, dear Oshoria,” said the woman quietly, then gently pressed the parcel against her body, peeked inside, and her big brown eyes filled with tears of happiness.

A fresh teardrop fell on the baby’s face, and trickled down her cheek, tickling her. The baby wrinkled her nose, smiled and opened her eyes slightly.

Everything around them was glistening and illuminated with a wonderful radiant light, and in the center of this light shined two mirrors, which reflected the smiling baby girl, wrapped in a golden cloth.

Suddenly, the two mirrors seemingly filled with water, and the girl again felt the drops falling on her face and running down her cheeks. She rubbed her face with her fists, opened her eyes wide and saw an unusually beautiful woman leaning over her.

“Ma-ma-ma,” syllabified the girl and laughed.

“Fanyasha! My dear child! My darling, I…I am so happy… so happy you are here,” whispered her mother and stroked Fanyasha’s soft chestnut brown curls.

There was a rustling sound, and suddenly a beautiful man leaned over Fanyasha’s head. His big brown eyes emanated both strictness and gentleness.

“Great job, my dear! Already started talking! You take after your father! You will be very intelligent!”

Newborn Fanyasha stopped laughing right away, pouted her lips and proudly flung up her nose as if wanting to make an impression of a well-mannered and serious girl. The man stared at her for moment, and then shifted his glance to his delighted wife and triumphantly announced:

“Borisey, please meet your sister Efania!”

Behind him appeared the head of a handsome curly-haired boy. After seeing Fanyasha, the boy’s eyes popped out in amazement, and he hid behind his father’s back again.

“Bosya, why are you so afraid? Look at your beautiful little sister!” said his mother lovingly and picked up Fanyasha.

The golden cloth slipped off the girl and flew away, swirling in the gentle playful wind until it got tangled in a snow-white cloud-chair.

Everything was made out of clouds here, as it should be in a typical house of a typical angel family: above and below and on all sides – clouds were everywhere!

The walls were made out of light grey dense cumulus clouds; the windows of light transparent milky white clouds; the doors, tables, and chairs of thin and hard white clouds; the couches and pillows of soft and fluffy clouds, which gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow because everything around was filled with warm sunlight. Fanyasha was examining her house with unabashed enthusiasm. With a mouth open with delight, she turned her head back and forth making her unruly curls bounce playfully on the lacy collar of her purple dress.

“Oh, oh!” said Bosya, cautiously examining his sister. “She is a girl. What am I going to do with her? We haven’t gone over that yet…”

“Don’t worry, my dear, you will do great,” encouraged his mother. “I remember that you recently had a lesson on the five languages of love, and you aced that topic. The most essential thing that the child needs is love.”

“And not just a child,” noted father while looking at mother playfully, catching her affectionate look and kissing her shoulder.

“But, mom!” Bosya became concerned again. “How will I… how will we… she cannot even fly! Look how small her wings are!”

“Borisey, you couldn’t fly either when you were born, but thanks to me, your mother, your grandmother and your grandfather, you learned very fast,” said father strictly, then patted his son on the back, and pointed up. “Why don’t you bring your love languages notebook, and we will distribute the duties among all of us.”

Despite the fact that Bosya was an angel, he was nonetheless a boy, and, of course, as a boy of about twelve, he was not too excited about this new responsibility in the shape of a small girl in a purple dress who could not fly or speak properly. But Bosya understood that it was useless to argue with his father, and slowly flew to his room.

“We all lived in peace and then – bam! – a sister appears for some reason,” he mumbled, flying up the corridor. “And now what? Does everyone need to drop what they are doing? Maybe I had different plans! Maybe I did not want a sister at this point. What is the good of it anyway? If I had a brother, I would understand that. We would have things to do together: common interests, man talk… Eh,” Bosya sighed helplessly and entered his room.

Of course Bosya heard that children are, perhaps, one of the biggest miracles of the world. Moreover, neither people nor angels could know for certain who would be born and when. Still, it was unclear to him why things were the way they were, and why one could not choose the desired time of birth and the gender of the child. Bosya was sure that order could be established in life this way. And he really loved order.

Bosya was not in a hurry to return, and therefore decided it was the right time to tidy up the table and the bookshelves. He started flying across the room and rearranging books from place to place, pondering how challenging his life would be from now on. After all, in a couple of years his sister would be flying on her own, and poking her nose everywhere.

Bosya remembered how his classmate complained about his annoying younger sister who constantly got in the way of him doing his homework, flew into his room, and asked a whole lot of questions. And how hard it was for him since, according to the “Rules of Protection of Happy Lives of Small Angels and The Preservation of Information,” one must safeguard angel-children of under school age against everything that they do not need to know. And the most forbidden information was everything that concerned people.

“And how does one do that? I want to know,” mumbled Bosya, and hid the books and pictures with the images of people and life on earth.

Then Bosya flew up to the window and started examining the neighbors’ houses.

Unlike the people’s houses, whose outside appearance doesn’t give away how many people live inside and what ages and gender they are, houses for angels are built according to strict standards. For this reason, one could easily determine how many adults and children live in that house by simply looking at it.

All of the angels’ houses were constructed out of thick cumulus clouds. They hung in the air at a short distance from each other, and were like long column-corridors, going up so high that it was impossible to make out where they ended. Below were large spherical living rooms with multiple windows and a front door. Vertically, along the corridor, there were rooms hanging atop one another from the littlest ones to the largest – in order of seniority. All members of the family from the youngest to the oldest had their own room. On the left side were the women’s rooms with round windows, and on the right were the men’s rooms with square windows.

Bosya saw very few houses nearby where parents lived with only one child. Three or four children’s rooms hung on the majority of the houses. The house across the street actually had eleven rooms: two large ones at the top, and nine down the corridor.

“The Zorge’s have nine children! How do they manage? It’s incomprehensible!” he muttered, irritated. “There is no logic to this! None! Since they created strict standards for the preservation of information and wanted the children to live happily, then they should have given each family one child, and everyone would have been content. And then we would have order.”

When Bosya returned, the whole family had already moved from the lobby to the living room. Father settled comfortably in his favorite armchair made of dense clouds; mother sat to the side on a soft armrest hugging his neck, smiling and humming.

In the middle of the living room, grandmother fluttered in the whirlwind of clouds, cheerfully hooting. Every now and again she would toss Fanyasha up into the air; she merrily laughed and flapped her arms, her legs, and her small transparent wings, as if trying to fly higher and higher, but then falling again and again into the arms of her happy grandmother.

“Here, I brought it,” muttered Bosya, looking at the hero of the day from under his brows, and handed his green notebook to his father, on which it was painstakingly written:

Languages of Love

This notebook belongs to Borisey Aros, student of the second grade of the School of Angels,

“Well, well,” said father in a businesslike manner, scanning the pages covered in neat handwriting.

Even though father tried to hide it, based on his delighted expression, it was clear that he was very proud of his clever and diligent son who had graduated from the Junior School of Angels with honors, and had been a student at the Middle School for the past year. There was no doubt that Bosya’s diligence and patience would be enough for the seven years of the Middle School of Angels, and then for the three years in High School, which is a totally different life, a life of a grown-up angel.

Father was confident that Borisey, with his inherent sense of responsibility, in addition to his love of learning and order, would succeed in tackling not only school, but also his new role as an older brother, and would become a good role model for his sister.

“So,” said father loudly, and paused expressively, waiting for everyone to settle on the puffy clouds around the armchair in which he was sitting, “today the beautiful Efania has joined our family.” Having said these solemn words, he looked at Fanyasha who, realizing that she was being talked about, flung up her nose and closed her eyes with pleasure.

“Our task is to give her as much love as possible, and to help her to become a strong, beautiful and happy angel! Now we will divide our responsibilities for the next ten years.”

This was exactly how much a childhood without a care in the world was supposed to last, according to the laws of the lives of angels, after which something important happened and the life of a small angel changed for good. At ten years old, an angel entered the Elementary School, and the new doors opened into a new world full of amazing events and discoveries. But it was too early for Fanyasha to think about this: in the years to come, what she had in store for her was to play, fly, enjoy the marvelous life, and bask in love. All the more so as her parents decided to go to great lengths in order to make their daughter’s childhood the most happy, carefree and safe, and for her childhood be lived at the highest level, according to them.

“Borisey, your turn,” continued father. “Can you list the five languages of love?”

More than anything in the world Bosya disliked answering questions, the answers to which he knew precisely, and for that reason he straightened his back, confidently flew to the middle of the living room and pronounced boldly and without hesitation:

“Five languages of love exist in the world. The first one is the words of affirmation, the second – quality time, the third – receiving gifts, the fourth – acts of service, the fifth – physical touch.”

“Great job, son,” said father, pleased. “Choose which language you want to be in charge of.”

“I… I… I am not sure,” Bosya’s confidence disappeared; he frowned and looked at his mother and grandmother hoping for some help.

“I choose the fifth language of love, and will give my baby affection and my tender touch,” said mother, and carefully took Fanyasha in her arms, kissed her forehead, and stroked her head. Fanyasha beamed and pressed herself against her mother.

“Great, settled! Especially since in this world, there is no one more tender than you, my love,” said father playfully, then looked at grandmother, who decided to encourage her grandson and lovingly patted him on the back.

“And you, dear Nokomis, will get the most important language of love,” said father, addressing grandmother.

“Allow me to guess,” interrupted grandmother and smiled slyly. “Is it quality time?”

In angel families, mothers and fathers are often very busy. They constantly fly away and, according to them, solve very important problems, and the grandchildren are raised by the grandparents, who for some reason have far more free time.

Bosya also spent the first 10 years of his life with his grandparents. Then, when he entered the Elementary School, his grandfather said that he needed to fly on an important mission and he never came back. Bosya knew that the grandfather flew up a very long corridor and that since then somewhere up there he has been doing a very important job. Only once did Borisey try to fly up the long corridor in order to see what was up there, but he became scared. The higher he flew, the stronger the wind was blowing, and his wings didn’t have enough strength to fight that current.

Bosya loved his grandfather very much, missed him, and hoped that when he grew up and became strong and brave, he would without a doubt visit his grandfather up there.

Mother and father remembered grandfather with great respect, and grandmother sometimes sighed and said these strange words: “All of us will be there. Everything in its time.”

Bosya knew that his grandmother was a distinguished and respected angel. She was an excellent student in her youth, then she worked a lot, and so now she had an opportunity to spend more time at home and engage in activities that she liked.

“Does she really like to care for the little ones? It is so tiring and tedious,” thought Bosya, remembering how much trouble he caused his grandmother because he was a very quiet and dissocial child, and hid from her in the clouds, refused to learn how to fly, collect the rainbow, play with sunlight dapples, and sing songs.

“Although it seems that most likely Fanyasha won’t be such trouble,” thought Bosya. “She seems to be curious and cheerful, but maybe all girls are like that. All they want to do is laugh and dance. Grandfather was a different story – he could sit on a cloud for hours and ruminate. Most likely I take after my grandfather,” thought Bosya.

“Boriseeeey! My bo-o-oy! Can you hear us? Hello?” Bosya’s thoughts were interrupted by his father’s loud voice.

“So, what have we decided here? Since it is our duty to speak with Fanyasha using all five of the languages of love, it will be better if each one of us focuses on one language. Now, let me repeat: mother will be in charge of the physical touch, grandmother – of the quality time, I am in charge of the enjoyable gifts, and Borisey will get the acts of service.”

“But what about the first language of love? What about the words of affirmation?” worried Bosya.

The truth of the matter is, he was a very attentive boy, and of course, it didn’t escape his notice that father only named four love languages.

“Son,” said father with a smile, “we already discussed this while your mind was somewhere else. As for the kind words of praise and encouragement, our grandfather had no equal, if you recall. Since he is currently away on an important assignment, we decided to distribute this language of love amongst ourselves. So don’t forget to encourage and praise your little sister. Deal?”

As always, father did not wait for the response, since in this family everything he said was perceived as the law. Of course, any of his decisions were preceded by a family discussion. Father always mentioned how important the opinion of every member of the family was to him, and this created an impression that one could influence his final decision. Perhaps one indeed could.

One thing was obvious: mother, in addition to grandmother, Bosya and even little Fanyasha, understood and accepted who was the boss in the family, and this created an atmosphere of respect, safety, peace and confidence in the future. This is what the relationship within the family should be like: a man’s decision incontestable, a woman’s care and love unconditional. But even among angels, families like this are rare, let alone among humans.

“OK, give me a little bit of time and I will set up a room for Efania,” said father and flew up the corridor.

“Dear, don’t forget what we agreed upon,” yelled mother. “Only one window, and make it high, alright?”

Father didn’t answer. He didn’t like to be reminded about anything, especially since he remembered about the window.

Mother felt that they made the window in Bosya’s room too low, and that’s why the boy spent too much time by the window, even when he didn’t know how to fly, and saw what he was too young to see. For this reason, he started asking questions and began to learn about what was not necessary to know in childhood. This, according to mother, was the reason for Bosya’s excessive bashfulness and fearfulness. In addition, the parents felt that the walks with their son at an early age and stories about the living arrangements of angels were not needed.

Consequently, mother and father decided to be more responsible parents this time, and shield Fanyasha from anything unnecessary, and keep her from leaving the house, even her room, for as long as possible in order to prolong her happy and carefree childhood.

But it should be noted that the adults’ notion of happy childhood often does not correspond to what children themselves desire.

“Oh, how I would like to become firm and resolute like father, so that I would be obeyed, too,” thought Bosya, and then heard his mother’s tender voice.

“Bosya, Bosyushka, dear, come, we are flying to show Fanyasha her room.”

From top to bottom Fanyasha’s round room was filled with soft curly clouds of different shapes and sizes in shades of light pink, gold and purple. Fanyasha happily sat in the middle of the room, batted her eyes, and waited for something.

“Should we shower our Efania with love and then we’ll go about our business? Except for grandmother, of course,” having said this father flew up to his daughter and put a beautiful pendant around her neck in the shape of a large letter “E,” which was iridescent and twinkling. Mother tenderly hugged and kissed Fanyasha, then kissed Bosya and followed after father, taking his hand.

“We love you very much,” whispered mother, looking back.

“Boriseyushka, please help construct a bed for your sister,” said grandmother, and put a large white cloud in front of Bosya. “And then you can go study. Fanyasha needs to sleep more today; I will read stories to her.”

Bosya got to work right away. He knew that the sooner he finished, the sooner he could finally retire to his room and deal with the important matters.

Fanyasha wanted to get upset about her parents leaving, but grandmother pulled a beautiful soft book from under the hem of her wide dark green dress, swept the palm of her left hand over the cover, and placed it in front of her.

The book levitated, twitched as if it was woken up at the wrong time, and opened itself with a groan. Of course he remembered it! It was his favorite book “Good Old Tales for Little Angels.”

The room became filled with the gentle subtle fragrance of cedar and lavender, the soft light of sunset, sounds of the babbling brook and bird trills. Fanyasha did not know what these sounds were, but she enjoyed them very much. She turned on her side, facing grandmother, and fell asleep. Grandmother started reading to her softly.

“Grandma, look, look!” anxiously whispered Bosya pointing to the back of his sleeping sister. “Look at her wings! They are growing in front of our eyes!”

“Well, of course they are growing, said grandmother smiling kindly. “Love always makes wings grow! All of the newborn angels grow their wings while they sleep, and when we give them love, their wings grow even faster.”

Bosya was so impressed that he even stopped rushing and started making a bed for his sister more diligently, glancing from time to time at how her wings were stretching, straightening and filling with silver light.