Guardian Angel. 2. 12. The Wish tree

"A GUARDIAN ANGEL"
a mistical novel
by Alexandra Kryuchkova

PART II. A DREAMS TRAP

2.12. The WISH TREE

January 1989, Moscow

I was sitting at the table by the window. I glanced at the clock. Morning was just around the corner. In a month, I had learned well all the ways to get out of there. Under the peaceful snoring of my grandparents in the room opposite, I quietly left my room and headed to the bathroom. I looked for a razor to pull out the blade, but for some reason I couldn’t find it. Perhaps my grandmother had prudently hidden the dangerous object away from my eyes. I thought about the kitchen knife, as suddenly, I noticed in the mirror the reflection of a lonely hook sticking out above the doorway. I remembered, there was a whole bag of various ropes on the bottom shelf in the closet. But first, I had to check whether the hook could withstand. I jumped up a bit and grabbed it with my hand, hanging on to it. The hook broke off the wall and remained in my hand.

I returned to the room and sat down at the table by the window. The window was the most accessible way. I wrote something as my goodbye to them in the notebook and noticed the Mist slowly enveloping me in its veil. I closed my eyes and stepped towards it, but… I didn’t disappear. I walked somewhere far away for a long time. I finally found myself on the threshold of a house unknown to me. I knew the Mist lived there. It was its house, as, indeed, all other houses in the city, in the City of Mist.

I entered it, climbed up the stairs to the top floor and rang the doorbell, not even making out the apartment number because of the misty haze. Voices were heard outside the door, «Alice has come!» Dad opened the door, «Come in, we’ve been waiting for you!»

He led me into a misty room to a table with a snow-white tablecloth. He placed me in the center opposite my grandfather. Next to me, there was my mother. Dad was at the head of the table with his back to the front door. I could hardly distinguish those gathered there, because there were so many of them, and everyone was in a misty haze.

I examined the table: clean plates for salad, for soup, for meat; wine glasses and glasses for juice; forks, knives, spoons — there were even dessert ones! The doorbell rang again. Dad opened the door, and his mother, my French grandma, appeared on the threshold. She greeted those present, slapped me on the shoulder as she walked around the table and sat down in the seat allotted to her by the window.

Everyone had gathered, and an unknown celebration started. I saw empty salad bowls, from which my mother put invisible food on plates. Grandfather poured invisible wine into glasses. Someone said wishes to everyone, but I couldn’t make out the words. And they clinked empty glasses, then took the forks in their hands and began to eat. I turned to my mother, who was eating something from her empty plate, and asked in surprise, «Mom, there’s no food! What do you eat and drink?»

Mom smiled. Those present kindly laughed at my questions.

«It’s different in the World of Mist, Alice. We are not yet accustomed not to eat and drink. We pretend to eat and drink. But there is no need for that, because we don’t have bodies anymore.»

They kept talking about something at the table. Those who were there, but still alive, told the dead the latest news. I got bored soon.

«Alice, go home,» my mother whispered, hugging me. «You can come to us whenever you want. You already know the way. Dad and I are always glad to see you visiting us. It’s time for you to go.»

The phone rang. Grandma answered. Then she came into my room and asked me to come. I heard the excited voice of my father’s mother, my French grandma, in the phone, «Are you alive? Thank God! I had a bad dream…»

«I saw you There, too, granny!»

«Where?»

«At the table. At my parents. You were sitting with your back to the window at the head of a long rectangular table, across from my dad. He was sitting with his back to the door.»

«My God, Alice! You were in the center opposite your grandfather, next to your mother, weren’t you?»

«You came later than me. Dad opened the door to you.»

«Do you remember what was on the table?»

«Of course, I do. It was covered with a white tablecloth. It was served, but there was no food on it.»

«And then you asked what they were eating, didn’t you? I’d like to go somewhere with you, if you don’t mind.»

We met in the metro and went out on Lubyanka, slowly walked somewhere straight in silence, then turned right and stopped at the entrance to the church.

«Why did you bring me here?» I asked.

«Alice, what is happening to you will sooner or later destroy you. You are unbaptized, your parents were unbaptized, too. I’m a Catholic, and this is the main Catholic church in Moscow. Perhaps if you are baptized, something will change. You’ll stop having such dreams, and what is happening in your flat will stop. Talk to the padre, and then decide for yourself.»

Gloomy vaults. Organ music. Our humming steps. All that plunged me into the World of Mist even more. Ghosts lived there, just like in our flat. Nothing would change. It was all the same.

My grandma came up to the padre and said something to him in French. He nodded and turned to me, «Hello, Alice! How old are you? Do you believe in God?»

The Padre in the long black robe somehow reminded me of the Man in Black I had seen at the window in my room. I was scared. What had he needed from me? Why had he come?

I kept silent. Even if God existed, he was evil and didn’t care about me. He had taken my mom and dad. The Padre, without waiting for an answer, asked something again. I hardly answered his questions. Why tell him the truth? Would he understand? We agreed that I would think for a week or two whether to accept Catholicism or not, but I didn’t care, since it wouldn’t change anything.

In the evening, I was called by the wife of Andrey, my father’s cousin. He was a priest of an Orthodox church in Maryina Roshcha.

«Alice, your grandmother says you’ve been to her church today. Andrey can take you with him to a liturgy at the Orthodox church. You’ll talk to the head priest. But if you don’t want…»

«Okay,» I said in a detached voice, but added to myself, «God took my parents and will take everyone else. He won’t save me either, because there’s no him here.»

I opened the window and heard some music. I stood on the windowsill, thinking, «I should have died then. Why did they bring me back?» The music was getting louder. I looked to the sky. In a couple of minutes, I would step into it. Towards my mother.

Suddenly, I felt the door to the room opening behind me. Turning around, I slipped on the snow-covered windowsill, and my right hand swiftly went down the frame. There was a thermometer hanging there to measure the temperature outside. For a moment, it stopped my fall as if pushing me back into the room, and fell down instead of me. Grandma came from behind me, «The sixth floor is too low, Alice.»
 

***
October 2013, Moscow — Elabuga — Moscow


«Just look at the flame! — by erasing to holes the sadness and memo of every past habit, I’ll dance a hello to you from my Heaven, rotating a whirl at the edge of live pages!» What was I writing about? Someone again dictated to me the lines of a poem I didn’t understand. Whom was I writing it to? What for? It was already midnight. I had to collect things for my trip to Elabuga. The next day, on my mother’s birthday, I had a flight to Marina Tsvetaeva. I would take a delegation of poets from the Union of Writers to the 11th Tsvetaevsky Bonfire. When I had been to Elabuga on my birthday, six months before, I had agreed with the director of the memorial complex on the arrival of our delegation in October. I posted my fresh verse on my webpage on the Internet and for some reason printed it out and added it to the works dedicated to Marina to recite them at the Bonfire festival.

I had also to take something to hang on the Tree of Wishes in Elabuga. I had promised to take our group to it after accommodation in the hotel. My wish was quite primitive. I wanted the Man in White to appear in my life again. I was tired of putting together the puzzle of fragments, deciphering signs. For three years, I had been trying to return to my Venetian dream to see the face of the Man in Black. In vain. I had no access. I couldn’t rewrite that dream, but it was high time to give the icon of St. George to the Man in White. Perhaps it would change something and the unfinished chain of events would end, the script prescribed from Above, which my own fear didn’t allow to realize, would be played out, or at least, I would get rid of the panic and completely inexplicable fear of that person. I didn’t know why I needed him to materialize, but I was sure that his appearance would change something.

I went to the shelves with Athos icons, looking for St. George, but realized that the icon had disappeared! «How could that be? Where could it have gone?» I thought, vainly going around the flat in search of the icon. Well, I was short of time. So I took out a cheap wooden ring and a thin chain for the Tree of Wishes from the box, packed the books of the writers, who couldn’t be present at the festival, to submit them to the Tsvetaeva competition as well as my «Guardian Angel», since part of its events was directly related to Elabuga.

At the airport, I twice came across a silver Orthodox ring with the inscription «Guardian Angel», cast in the form of a book spread and bought it.

In Nizhnekamsk, the director of the memorial complex greeted us with the words, «We’ve decided that this year one of you will open the readings and light the fire, and it’ll be Alice, if you don’t mind!» Everyone clapped their hands. I remained speechless.

During dinner, I sent a message to my friends about the honor to light up the Bonfire. The man who had read my fresh verse on the Internet, answered, «Here it is, the materialization of your yesterday’s verse!» I remembered my verse, really, that’s what it had been about! I took out the printout of the verse and handed it to Nina Popova, who was sitting next to me at the table. She read my poem titled «A match» and exclaimed, «I got goosebumps!»

After dinner, I took the group to the Eternal Flame, talked about the Devil’s Hill, visible in the distance, the Place of Power, where we would go on an excursion the next day. I suggested saying «thank you» to our Past, virtually burning everything bad in the flame and we went straight to the Tree of Wishes in order to program our bright Future.

We walked along a small illuminated street, the local Old Arbat, into the distance. Finally, we arrived at the bridge and the Tree. The Tree of Wishes was located in the right place. The river corridor connected it with the church, which domes were visible there even at night. There was no soul around but us, as if the town was uninhabited. The adults, we climbed onto the bench like children, hung our talismans, making noise, rejoicing, taking many pictures alone and together with others, from all sides. Everyone was happy up to the pig squeal. I mentally asked Marina to materialize the Man in White and sat down on the bench. A cat materialized out of nowhere and started purring in my arms.

Nina came up to us, «Turn around, Alice! I took a picture of you and the cat on the bench, and right in the frame, there’s a huge lock behind. Look what is written there!»

«Alice + Marina» I read, no longer surprised.

Nina and I were the last to leave the Tree. Nina invited me to look at the male name that would catch my eye first. She came across «Maxim» all the time. But there was no name I needed there!

Early in the morning, we were taken for a tour of Tsvetaeva’s places. After lunch, we stopped at the Peter and Paul Cemetery, put flowers at her monument and went to the Bonfire. There was pandemonium in the courtyard, the director ran up to me, said TV had been waiting for me for an interview for a long time, but she asked to postpone the interview so that we could open the festival. The director introduced me. I told them what fate I had ended up in Elabuga in April, about my book «A Guardian» and recited my poem dedicated to Marina. And then… they gave me a huge match! I lit it from a candle, went around the fireplace clockwise, setting fire to the paper. The magical act was accomplished. The bonfire was burning, and its flame was frantically dancing something unknown to me. A four-year-old girl came out and recited Tsvetaeva’s poems. TV took me to an interview in the rowan bushes. Nina quietly followed me and took pictures.

I answered questions, while simultaneously thinking about the invisible thread that connected me with Marina. Our mothers left us here early. I could emigrate to Prague where she lived for a while. We had met more than once in the Library of the Universe during my meditations at Mansurova’s seminars. The publisher had listed her, Akhmatova and me separated by commas in the title of my first book. I had become the Queen of Poets by reciting my poem that had made me win the Tsvetaeva competition. To survive that summer, the astrologer had sent me to celebrate my birthday in Elabuga, after that I had written my «Guardian». The formula for early departure from Earth in our Heavenly Passports. The Athos icon of St. Marina holding the Devil in one hand and an axe in the other. At the end of the interview, I recited my «Match», written on the eve of departure, when I hadn’t known yet who would have lit up the Bonfire.

In the evening, my roommate and me went to a coffeehouse and told each other mystical stories from life, as I remembered my Venetian dream.

«It’s karma, Alice! I think he buried you in a past life. But you can try a simple ritual to make him appear when you get home. It’s elementary and magic-free, but it works! So…»

At breakfast, Nina informed me that my ring had gone from the Tree of Wishes last night. As well as the amulet of another of our pen colleagues. Someone exclaimed, «Your order has been accepted! The ring dissolved in the corridor of spaces, passed into another dimension!»

After another tour, we had lunch at the tavern of the Museum of the town history. The tour guide signed us her own book of stories. I asked Natasha Osipova to make fortune-telling by the book, «Read me the 111th page, 11th line from the top».

«Alice, this is the title of the story, «Direct Line’!»

An association with cardiac arrest immediately came to my mind, «Direct line appears on the monitor, when the heart stops beating.» I asked the others, but they had only bright thoughts about it.

In the evening, before leaving for the airport, I retired to a coffeehouse to write a letter to Marina. I knew that she could hear me.

The plane was delayed, but we arrived in Moscow almost in time. I had a terrible headache. I entered my flat, turned on the light, went to the kitchen and… No, it couldn’t be real! I found the icon of St. George on the table next to the laptop! The one I had bought in Greece to give to the Man in White, but it had disappeared on the eve of my departure to Elabuga. Well, I was sleeping, yes, just sleeping!

I turned on my laptop, being completely exhausted, and looked through my mail, periodically glancing at the icon of St. George. Suddenly, I found an automatic notification from a social network as a request to make friends with… «Mr. Woland wants to add you as a friend.»

Having once registered there, I made no posts on my page. Anyhow, why did that simple message, exactly nothing significant, sent by an automatic system — a robot! — not by the Man in White, make me feel panic fear and inexplicable horror? At the same time, it attracted me, magically fascinating, mesmerizing me so much that I couldn’t tear myself away from his photo and name. What was happening to me seemed to be deja vu, it had already happened once! But, if everyone assured me that the funeral in Venice had to do with my past life, perhaps, I was already dead. Yes! I might have died already! I was recalling what had happened to me; apparently, some part of my memory had been erased, and I was pulling out separate fragments, starting almost from birth, in order to remember the way I had died, why, where, when… to remember him, the Man in Black…

«Who are you?»


My crucified soul, holding on to the atom,
at the bill of the charges, the last of the moments,
I swear, it’ll burn by exploding at sunset,
and fly like a page with a Lethe river ticket!

The Moon is postponing the game for the evening.
It has to change crosses to clubs — cards, in secret.
You walk to the gods, but in vain, it is useless,
like running in place, — you should go far further.

Just look at the flame! — by erasing to holes
the sadness and memo of every past habit,
I’ll dance a hello to you from my Heaven,
rotating a whirl at the edge of live pages!

The dawn will step on the fakir’s warm ashes.
The star full of ether is childishly laughing,
«Who soared up to Heaven, so tired of earthly,
doesn’t want anymore to be touched by the ground!»