Dear reader, with Series B, I begin a conceptually new cycle of short stories. I hope you like them. Thank you.
Leada was a happy child, for her life was a slew of one joyful experience after another.
It was the time of year when the girls did a space project with Teacher. This year, each student was to create a spacefly (with her mind, using the generator of nano particles), equip it with the necessary instincts and fly it all the way to Mars.
It was exciting to watch your spacefly appear from the generator and keep your fingers crossed while it was en route to Mars, hoping you had programmed it correctly to avoid obstacles. If anyone’s spacefly committed a mistake, the computer produced a report with possible oversights. Sometimes, reasons stated were “unknown obstacle”, “undetectable factor” or others you couldn’t improve on.
One morning the students were headed for the laboratory – and what a beautiful morning it was! All adults in the research center were giving the girls delighted looks. Leada was born into a generation where kids were admired and considered somewhat superior to adults.
Just before that, a cultural revolution took place: adults admitted they had been steering progress in the wrong direction, and only a fresh perception could save the world. People started listening to kids more, trying to draw innovative ideas from them.
The new course lead to a rapid influx of scientific discoveries and new social projects. Leada was born when projects either proposed, or merely fantasized, by kids were beginning to bring fruit, and hopes were high among adults that kids could be the key.
It was indeed a great time to be a kid, because everybody viewed you as a hero. Leada loved the admiration and respect she felt coming from adults. She had already taken her course in Enhanced Empathy – a class that teaches you to perceive emotions of people within minimal distance from you. After you take the class, life becomes more exciting for you.
Leada noted, with joy, that she was paying adults her share of respect by doing her best, acting her best and looking her best. The girls and she had on their beautiful silver costumes with green emblems of the Galactic Research Center attached in 3 places: on the front and on both sleeves.
After the day’s practice, the girls retired to their dormitory. In the evening, they usually had a night out in the woods. They would make a fire and stargaze. Stargazing was another benefit of being on the space project. Leada loved it.
On one of those nights, Leada was sitting by the fire, watching Venus, wondering if she would ever cease to admire the planet.
Suddenly, she saw a shiny object fly across the sky, and it took Leada some time to realize it was moving unlike any space body she knew. The object seemed to have a consciousness of its own, because it was moving forward, then backwards and then to the side. Such free choice of trajectory intrigued Leada. All of a sudden, the bright obejct launched swiftly and flew straight into the woods. Leada gasped.
The girls turned to her. It seemed no one had been watching. “Did you see that?” asked Leada. The girls shook their heads, and Mara, the eldest of the girls, asked “See what?”
“Some shiny thing just fell from the sky”, Leada pointed in the direction of the woods. “I wanna go and see what happened to it. Do you wanna come with me?”
The girls shook their heads. It was so warm and comfy by the fire. “OK, please someone wait for me here”, said Leada and she walked towards the woods.
Right after she lost sight of her girlfriends and the campfire, she felt uncomfortable. Being alone, in the woods… An unknown ancient instinct came over her.
Leada had been walking for about 5 minutes when she saw another extraordinary thing. A shiny shape that looked like a human or an upright-walking animal appeared in the distance and disappeared behind the trees.
Leada shook her head and wondered if she was seeing things. Then suddenly the forest felt comfortable. As if some untraceable presence wanted Leada to relax.
Leada’s head and feet were beginning to get heavy . But then, wow… She clearly saw the same shiny shape even further away this time, and it was approaching her.
Leada could not believe her eyes. The creature looked like a fairy from the drawings of the famous fairy hunter, Ronis Selascu. Thing is, fairies almost never make direct contact with humans. They did appear to Ronis, because he spent 25 years trying to prove fairies had a language, which turned out to be a sign and metaphor language after all.
Leada was afraid to move or breathe. But she knew she had to be careful. From what she had read, fairies were not as sweet-tempered as believed previously. But neither were they mean.
Vessels to vector-free natural energy, fairies were like weather, storms and earthquakes. And like weather, they could do great good or great damage to you.
When the fairy was close enough, Leada saw that It was only semi-solid. Its body was quivering like a reflection of light on water.
The fairy had no distinct facial features, but It had a large head with bellflower-like things sticking out from the top. It also had rather big elvish ears. The rest of its shape was more abstract.
A rustling and jingling sound accompanied the fairy as It moved through the woods. When It got really close to the girl (and Leada was sure they fairy must have seen her by then), It started to slow down until it came to a full halt. The fairy was just standing there, quivering, and Leada could hear barely audible jingles.
Leada did not know what to do.
Eventually, after just standing there for 15 seconds, the fairy moved in the opposite direction. Leada followed the fairy on instinct, keeping some distance, until they both arrived to an open space at the edge of a hill.
There were several water streams running down the hill. They met at the foot of the slope and formed one stream that looked like a little river.
The fairy got to the edge of the hill and swirled on the spot, losing volume and increasing Its brightness, until It became a star-like bright shiny object again. It then shot back into the air and flew across the sky like the UFO Leada followed initially.
As the soft jingling echo from the fairy filled the air, Leada got in incoming telepathic contact. Who could it be at this time? She projected the caller’s presentation card against the night sky, and saw it was a boy about her age.
She did not know the boy! This made her very curious, because she knew it was really difficult to telepathically contact someone you haven’t met in person. You’d have to be a genius to do that.
Leada picked up. The boy said:
– Hello Leada, you don’t know me. My name is Shanzen.
Leada could sense that the boy’s frequency kept changing as he spoke. This was very unusual. It was a miracle he was able to keep the connection up and running. Leada started to have huge respect for the boy. Because they were in a telepathic contact, Shanzen could sense her confusion. He said:
– I don’t want my frequency to be detected, because I’m being watched.. most of the time.
– Why would anyone be watching you? Leada asked in amazement.
– You will understand soon. There is something I want you to learn about the world you live in, Leada. There is something you don’t know about its recent history.
Leada could not detect any trace of modified truth in what he said, so she listened on. Shanzen sent her a zipped memory that felt really low-frequency, like her grandma’s memory from the sad terrible world that ended before Leada was born.
– I’ve done my best to include just the facts, said Shanzen.
She accepted the memory and hesitated a bit before unzipping it. Eventually she did. And what she saw shocked her.
The Great Division. The world government decides there’s not enough resources to provide a high-tech lifestyle for everyone. So, they select a large group of people, about 10% of the population. The rest would provide for the 10%.
Leada saw that wonderful Item Factories where everything was produced by sheer psychic energy, according to mental blueprints… were powered from another world.
There is the invisible pipeline… Kids about Leada’s age live in poor conditions. They go to work every day. No time for research, discovering things or anything else.
To make a living, they’re forced to contribute their mind power to the central power plant. They are like modern-day Duncan Camerons, people in psychic chairs, who power the production of things in Leada’s world. For Leada world-people would never have time or resources for that.
-This can’t be!
-Good morning, Mr. Oldroy, the house echoed.
The morning was good and gorgeous indeed. Gizem walked out onto the white marble balcony and glanced over at the bright blue sea.
One never gets tired of searching for the ever-elusive “sea color”.
He got an incoming call from Kedler. Obviously, the latter knew he was awake. Gizem thought he missed the days when telepathy was reserved for the select few.
Margaritas ante porcos.
-Hello Kedler, what’s up?
-Mr. Oldroy, the delegation from the city of Haey, Alceon, Dimension Beta6 are requesting a meeting on Thursday.
-Tell them I can meet with them at 15:15.
-Will do. Over.
Gizem had a thing for numbers. 15:00 to 16:00 every day was his favorite time to take care of things. That was when he was feeling most relaxed. As were most people to his observation.
Suddenly, Gizem felt that Leada had entered the house. Something was wrong. He could feel unusual rage in her, and scanned her emotional field for other clues. There were none. Just pure rage.
The girl in the silver GRS jacket ran up the staircase and pushed wide open the doors of Gizem’s study.
-Father, we need to talk!
Only then Gizem could get her thought, something that was on the top of her mind. He groaned. Leada had learned the truth.
I started writing this about a year ago. Any resemblance to persons or situations living or dead is purely coincidental.
In no particular oder… Enjoy!
The new Rimsky-Korsakov.
I am happy his star has risen, as it should have.
Can’t say I like all pieces by Hans Zimmer, but this one is moving.
This “Memories of an Angel” piece is so touching; I try not to listen to it too much.
Shiv Kumar Sharma
Although his “Water” piece is better known internationally
They say he co-wrote his first album with the aliens
I feel there is certain deliberate element to his music, but nevertheless he’s rather good.
It was almost twilight when Dad and I caught a glimpse of the village in the distance. Having travelled over 2,000 miles – first by train, then by bus and then on foot – we were finally approaching our destination. I was to meet my Dad’s side of the family for the first time.
Suddenly everything became pink – the sky, the grass and even the bushes – saturated with the warm rays of the setting sun. We were living in the North at that time, almost on the border with Finland. That’s why Ukrainian country-side impressed me so much: there was plenty of tall grass, thick bushes and butterflies flying around. I felt like an Eskimo in Africa.
When we approached the house, from the back side of it, my heart started beating very fast. Was I scared, excited, anxious about the unknown? My Dad lifted the log on the purely metaphorical fence that was separating my Grandma house from the no-man’s land, and we got in.
We scurried along a densely vegetated garden. I noticed strawberries, corn and sunflowers and lots of other things I had seen only in pictures. Then we ducked behind a massive wooden back door and got inside the house.
That was the first time I saw Peter Pan. He was standing by the open fire, looking straight at it, his arms outstretched boldly in front of him. He has the kind of demeanour that suggested he was born to rule and give orders.
Suddenly, he turned to me and looked me straight in the eye. Little fires dances in his eyes the color of clear morning sky. He moved his snub nose from side to side and said to me in a lively and loud voice; “Hey, come here, quick”.
“Look”, he told me nodding in the direction of the fire. “Your hands will become hot if you stand like this for a while”, and he touched my nose with his palm which was indeed rather hot.
Not really knowing what to say to this (I was 4 back then, while Peter Pan was almost 8), I gave him my best shot:”We’ve brought you guys a tabool soccer”, just to show I also had a surprise for Peter Pan.
“Oh really?” and he rushed to look at the game. That very moment, my 2 cousins (uncle Misha’s daughters) walked in. They knew we had arrived, and they wanted to see us. Suddenly, everyone was more interested in the board game than in our arrival.
The next day Peter Pan was teaching me Ukrainian. Although they spoke this mixed version in the village, some words were completely different from their Russian counterparts, and I needed to memorize them.
He told me that instead of videt’ (to see), I had to say bachyty, and instead of slyshat’ (to hear) I had to say chooty. For whatever reason, those words were of immediate necessity, since Peter Pan and his friend were saying “Can you see…?”, and “Did you hear…?” a lot.
Peter Pan’s best friend was this annoying dark-haired boy Pavlo, named in the Ukrainian manner. His was annoying because, while Peter Pan was my cousin and protective of me, Pavlo was trying to flirt with me. I was little back then, and Pavlo was the first boy to ever do that to me.
We visited Pavlo’s house, and I really liked it. It was a very happy house, filled with a lot of light and warmth. These days when I try to recollect its rooms, I only remember sparkling string curtains and the summery, happy feeling it gave me. Since that day, I concluded string curtains were one of the best inventions of the humankind.
On the day me and Peter Pan got in trouble with Grandma Maria, we went for a bicycle ride early in the morning. Of course I didn’t know how to ride a bicycle back then. Peter Pan put me on a metal frame, my 2 little legs hanging freely from it, and we strolled slowly down the sand road.
It had been about five days since we arrived, and I had already gotten to know my Dad’s relatives more or less. So I asked Peter Pan, “Who do like better, my cousin Albina or me?” Thing is, back then Albina was (and still is) very popular with everyone in the family: she was charming, cute, funny, smart – you name it, she was it all. And she had one definite advantage over me – she was several years older.
I don’t know why I asked Peter Pan that question. I guess I wanted to hear that he loved me infinitely and unconditionally. I’m still proud of my Peter Pan, because despite his age, he gave a wise answer: “I like you both the same”, he said shrugging, which prevented further questions from me.
In the afternoon, Peter Pan winked at me while we were eating soup that Grandma had prepared for us, as if he had to tell me a secret. Actually, Grandma’s soup was more like stewed potatoes with just a little broth – so thick it was. But I loved it, for some reason the food cooked in her spacious stove with live fire tasted the best.
After lunch, Peter Pan told me he’d take me far away, to a place nobody knew about. I was super-excited.
While no one was watching, we sneaked out of the house and hurried down the dusty village road. I was trying to run as fast as I could, but we had to stop a few times, because I wasn’t that fast. We ran and ran it seemed forever, untill we reached the outskirts of the village. I had never been outside a city, a town or a village without a adult in my life – so that was new and exciting for me.
We walked into a golden field of grass and some other culture probably, but I didn’t know what it was. The space around us was open and the horizon was low – one could see pretty far away from where we were. We were also on a kind of hill from which we could see many things below: part of the village, some farm, a road, a piece of the forest – a whole bunch of interesting things.
Now I realize that, what Peter Pan really wanted to share with me that day was not the scenery, but the feeling he used to get when we used to come there.
Because it had taken us a while to get to that place, the sun was already rather low. Peter Pan stood up amid the golden sea of wheat, turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes. His arms were wide apart, he seemed to be flying in the golden sea.
I still remember his face, although it’s been so many years. His eyelashes were the color of wheat, too. He looked so organic in that field, like he was part of it. I smiled and felt absolutely at peace with the moment. I bet I was flying, too.
By the time we returned to the house, it was already pretty dark. Turned out, everyone had been looking for us, and the adults were very upset. I remember thinking back then, “Why is everyone so upset with Peter Pan, but no one is upset with me?”
Peter Pan ended up being punished for both of us; he had to stand on small seeds (that served as food for the chicken) with his bare knees for some time. I thought that was cruel, and I still think so. But my Grandma was of old and strict morals – she was the only person I knew at that time who was addressed by her own children as vy (“you” plural) instead of ty (“you” singular) .
But even while he was being punished, Peter Pan winked at me and his face was happy. It was not the first time he had run away. And I thought – he’d probably do this again.
Or else you’d be found out 🙂
Although semena means seeds in Russian and can refer to any kind of seeds, semechki is used in 99% of instances to denote sunflower seeds. There is a long-lasting tradition among Russian folks to crack and eat sunflower seeds or shchelkat semechki as they say. That is, while a Western person would grab a pack of chips and watch TV, a Russian person may as well munch on a pack of sunflower seeds.
There is certain art to it, too. Basically, you position one sunflower seed between your front teeth in such a way that its sharp sides are fixed by the 2 pairs of teeth (top and bottom). Then you close your mouth and the seed cracks easily.
Usually, semechki would be sold whole and fried. Sometimes salt is added. Some vendors had tried to sell pre-cracked sunflower seeds, but the product didn’t get too popular, because it defeats the purpose – it’s the relaxing process people enjoy, not the result.
2. Drivers flashing headlights at you on the road
In Russia, the law exists on paper, but a different kind of law is in effect in reality. So, if you are driving and suddenly the drivers moving in opposite direction start flashing headlights at you, this means there is road police nearby. They won’t do it if the police is on their side of the road – only if they’ve seen it on your side of the road.
It is considered polite to raise your hand and wave at the drivers who have warned you. If you don’t, they will think you’re either blind or rude. Likewise, if you pass by a road police car on the other side of the road, you are supposed to warn other drivers by flashing headlights at them (or flickering high beams for a second if it’s night-time).
3. Olivier is not a person, it’s a salad
If someone asks you “would you like some Olivier”, they’re not talking about a person, they mean a salad. Olivier (the salad) runs so deep in the archetypical memory of the people in Russia, when you say to a Russian person “his name is Olivier”, what they probably think automatically is “oh, like the salad”.
Olivier is an indispensable dish at New Year’s – it has to be on the table. This and many other things made it synonymous with the Russian (or rather Soviet) culture. You may want to read this anthropological study by Anna Kushkova – At the Center of the Table: The Rise and Fall of the Olivier Salad.
They say the Olivier salad was invented by Moscow’s Hermitage Restaurant of 1860, which was a French cuisine restaurant. But I’ve heard a different version of the story o how the Olivier salad came to be.
They say when Napoleon was headed to Moscow, to conquer it of course, his army was experiencing food supply scarcity. One day, Napoleon’s cook who name was Olivier had really no products left to be able to cook any known traditional dish. So, he just used up the products that were left to prepare a salad and serve it to the Emperor. This was how the Olivier salad was born.
And, in case you need a recipe, here is one from Honest Cooking by Elizabeth Lokhova.
4. Never whistle indoors in Russia
This is considered bad luck. If you whistle indoors, like in a house or an office building, people will look at you indignantly. For this is believed to attract lack of financial funds (=money).
At the same time, opening an umbrella and putting it to dry indoors is totally OK in Russia (unlike in the US – one day I got yelled at by my colleagues for trying to do this in NYC :)).
Also, if you break a mirror, you are supposed to have 7 years of bad luck (or rather – “no sight of happiness for 7 years”). While breaking a glass or a plate is on the contrary very good and is supposed to maximize your happiness.
5. Show respect to bread
In Russia they say hleb vsemu golova, which means bread is the head [of all]. By the way, the word hleb is related to hlaef in Old English. The English word lord originates from hlaeford (loaf ward) who was the person in charge of keeping and guarding bread in a settlement in those times. While hlaefdige was his wife – which later evolved into lady.
Bread is present everywhere in the Russian culture. There is a saying “a dinner without bread is no dinner”. Honorable guests are traditionally welcomed with a big round pie of bread and some salt.
Hence, many households still treat bread as something sacred, and you shouldn’t do things like sit on bread, throw it around or anything like that.
So, as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do 🙂
I crave your lips, your voice, your hair
and in the streets I walk unnourished, quiet,
can’t eat the bread; the rising sun is getting on my nerves,
I search for liquid sound of your footsteps in the day
Am dying of hunger for your rapid laughter,
your hands the color of ripe wheat
and for the pale stones of your nails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat a sunbeam of your scorching beauty
the nose that rules that arrogant face
would eat the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes.
And hungry I go, sniffing the twilight,
searching, searching for the heat of your heart
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
This is my own interpretation, because I don’t like that some translators take the liberty of changins thematic/rhematic relations within a poem, thus distorting the impression the poet intended to produce.
You can find the original in Spanish here.
While thinking how I’m going to write the script for “You Go Girl”, I tried to remember some great movie scripts that had inspired me in the past.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (2005)
In terms of its screenplay, this one is number one for me. In the movie, you get a narrator, who narrates the story to you in a fun way.
The movie is centered around Harry Lockhart, a loser and a humble burglar, whose career suddenly skyrockets when Harry lands a part in a Hollywood action movie and travels to LA to take private detective lessons for his role. There, he meets his unrequited school love, Harmony Faith Lane; befriends private detective Perry (whom he takes lessons from), and gets dragged into the turmoil of a real criminal story with real gangsters, real money at stake and real risks for his life.
My favorite dialog from this movie:
Blonde girl: Hi!
Blonde girl: So, what do you do for a living?
Harry: Err, I’m retired, I invented dice when I was a kid.
Blonde girl: Oh!
Harry: How about you?
Blonde girl: I do a little acting.. OK, I’m gonna see who else is here.
Red Lights (2012)
The movie portrays 2 colleagues, Dr. Margaret Matheson and Tom Buckley, whose job is to investigate paranormal phenomena and expose fake psychics. Just when they seem to have run out of serious and interesting cases, Tom is trying to convince Margaret to take on a really challenging task – to expose a living-legend psychic, Simon Silver. However, Margaret is hesitant to do that, because of a traumatic experience she had in the past that also involved Silver.
When speaking about the movie, director Rodrigo Cortés (who also wrote the script) said:
“Actually, your opinion as an audience member changes several times over the film—there are some moments where you don’t know what to believe in, and you start to doubt yourself and your own perception, which is actually the position I wanted everyone to feel.”
By the way, if you are going to watch the film, don’t ruin yourself the pleasure by reading the synopsis prior to watching it – it’s a really great movie if you watch it “unprepared”.
Hello Ghost (2010)
Out of all movies I have watched in my life, this movie had the most shocking surprise ending. I literally wept. Besides, it gives you quiet a few other insights that are valuable.
“Hello Ghost” is a Korean movie that tells a story of a lonely, unemployed orphan-guy who has no one in the entire world, and that’s why he keeps trying to commit suicide, but ends up being rescued each time. After another unsuccessful suicide attempt, he suddenly discovers he can see ghosts, and 4 different ghosts begin to follow him everywhere he goes. It seems they want to use Sang-man’s body to complete something they didn’t manage to finish while they were still alive…
Fortunately or not, the movie was purchased by 1492, an American film production company (didn’t know you could “purchase a film”). So, we’re likely to see its American incarnation in 2014.
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (2005)
Norton, a US-Mexico border patrol man, accidentally shoots Melquiades Estrada, an illegal immigrant working at a ranch in Texas. To conceal the evidence, Norton buries Melquiades and does not report the incident to the police. Melquiades’s best friend, rancher Pete Perkins, finds out the truth and kidnaps Norton to force him to fulfil the last wish of Melquiades – that to be buried in his home town of Jiménez in Mexico.
Guillermo Arriaga won the Best Screenplay awards for this film at the Cannes festival in 2005. Although a bizarre movie at first, it keeps you on the verge of your seat from beginning till the very end.
I Heart Huckabees (2004)
This is a David O. Russel film, which David co-wrote with Jeff Baena.
One of the movie’s central characters is Albert, an emotionally sensitive introvert who has a problem with many people, but especially with his hypocritical, yet disarmingly charming, opponent Brad who is trying to oust Albert from the very environmental group the latter founded.
To make sense of his complex feelings, Albert hires “existential detectives” Bernard and Vivian Jaffe, who are supposed to spy on Albert in all his activities and help him figure his life out. However, as the movie progresses, pretty much everybody around Albert becomes the target of the Jaffes in the never-ending quest to find out what makes people do what they do.
My favorite line from this movie:
[Albert’s poem dedicated to a piece of rock]: Nobody sits like this rock sits. You rock, rock. The rock just sits and is. You show us how to just sit here and that’s what we need.
To Indigo, my dear friend from S.
ON THE COLD November day Dahu was born, two unusual events took place. Dahu’s father left for the mountains early in the morning never to return again. Nobody ever found out what became of him: his body was never located, nor did any news of him arrive in the years that followed. It seemed that the farmer, who was 42 years of age at that time, simply disappeared into thin air.
However, what really made the entire village remember that day so well was the fish rain. Such rain is a rare happening, yet, as extraordinary as this may sound, the skies got dark and it literally rained fish on the day Dahu was born.
Unlike other Highlanders, Dahu wasn’t fair-haired. For God knows what reason, his hair was black as raven feather, and, coupled with his almond-shaped eyes, gave him a bit of a Chinese or Japanese look. Yet, in case you wondered, it was impossible that Dahu was the son of a stranger – strangers were rare in that place, let alone strangers who visited for more than a few hours.
Dahu’s personality was of a most unusual kind as well. He hardly spoke. In fact, he hardly did anything at all. His favorite occupation was “sitting on the edge of time”, as the old Alistair put it. Dahu would sit quietly by a mountain stream or on top of a hill, deep in thought, refusing to leave his “post” unless he decided it was time to.
As if trying to make up for the number of hours he idled, Dahu would other times be very obedient, if not submissive. If Mother asked him to do anything such as to go on a really long trip to the neighboring village, he’d go without saying a word.
The only exception was food. Sometimes, Dahu would not eat certain foods, and it was completely futile to force, threaten or try to convince him – he just wouldn’t eat the thing. He would stare at the empty space around it, as if stunned by the findings of some invisible calculations only he was aware of, and gently push the plate away from himself, giving Mother an apologetic look.
It appeared Dahu had fixed an unspoken deal with the world: he’d do the required minimum not to be a burden to others, but the rest of the time others must leave him alone. It seemed he was saving life force for something in the future.
21 YEARS went by fairly quickly as it often happens in faraway places where not much takes place. Everybody in the village knew Dahu was not like other people, that he’d probably never marry, that he was likely from another world or planet altogether (no one would have been surprised if one day that had turned out to be true), yet every villager guarded the mystery – the Dahu mystery – and hardly ever spoke about Dahu outside of the village.
Mother was largely protective of Dahu. When he was little, she worried lest Dahu should become a laughing-stock for his eccentric behaviour. But as years went by, she grew more and more reassured that Dahu was not easy – if not impossible – to traumatize or even affect in any way.
He clearly had a goal – one only HE was aware of – and that goal had made him indifferent to any other goals, except for his physical well-being and life force maintenance. Sometimes Mother wondered if having Dahu at home was much different from having a pet. But immediately she felt bad for thinking about her son in that way: she knew he was intelligent; he just wasn’t much of a talker.
If Mother were completely honest with herself, she’d say that she loved Dahu immensely, mostly because his presence and his simple (often silent) activities always had a relaxing and heart-warming effect on her.
She liked to watch his hands in particular. For example when Dahu sliced the bread, wrote with a pen or stroke d’Artagnan, their cat. She could never explain it, but when she watched Dahu’s hands it felt as if invisible rays were warming up the invisible essence in her heart, she’d get the feeling one gets from accidentally overhearing a conversation about how nice and beautiful a person they are.
Another thing to admire about Dahu was his love of nature. Nature came for free, so Dahu didn’t have to trade anything to get as much of nature as he could. He’d put his palm in the stream and sit like this for a few minutes. He’d close his eyes and turn his face to the sun, smiling happily. He’d smell flowers, sniff at branches, breathe a lot and deeply. After rain, he’d approach a tree with wide leaves and shake a branch so that the water fell in splashy drops on his head.
If anyone Mother knew was living their life the way they wanted and at peace with themselves, it was Dahu. And she was learning from him. Learning a simple yet mostly unattainable art of being happy for no particular reason – just because.
THE DAY OF THE SHIFT began just like any other day in the Highlands. The only unusual thing was Dahu – he was much deeper in thought than usual and much less willing to talk, move or do anything at all.
He ate his breakfast, very slowly and rhythmically, as if he knew he needed to finish by certain time. He then got up from the table, slowly and ceremoniously, and left for the mountains.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about Dahu leaving for the mountains – he’d go for long walks quite often, sometimes running Mother’s errands, other times because he wanted to. The day of the shift was no exception: Dahu pushed his dining chair back to the table and walked in the direction of the emerald slopes.
Around noon Mother received a phone call from her cousin who lived in the city.
“Susan, how are you?”, said her cousin. “Did you watch the news? I’m worried about you!”
“Why?”, asked Mother who was feeling sleepy that day and hadn’t bothered to turn on TV.
“They just said something big exploded in space last night, like a star system or something. And now this star wind is approaching the planet – that’s what they said. There’s high chance of earthquakes, tsunamis and stuff in some parts of the world. Have you noticed anything unusual?”
Mother looked out of the window, then checked the glass thermometer outside – everything looked normal.
“Nope”, she said. “Who knows, maybe we’re out of the way? Hey, let me go look for Dahu, I think he went to the mountains”.
“Oh, did he? All right then, call me back then if you can, laters”.
Mother hung up and realized, quite to her surprise, that she was incredibly sleepy. If she were a character of a fairy tale, she’d think she’d had some spell cast over her.
But she had to go to the mountains to check on Dahu, and so she set out. The weather had gotten windier, and there was dry grass flying in the air in some places. Mother walked past the last house in the village into the wilderness, and then she was lost for a moment: which way to go? Dahu had several favorite routes he liked to take from there.
In a split second, Mother decided Dahu would probably take the longest route that day, because it was just getting stormy, and Dahu liked storms.
Mother walked on and on, while the weather was quickly getting nastier and nastier. A scary thought was trying to sneak into her mind, the thought of something unprecedented and disastrous, and it made her remember her late husband. The human subconscious works in mysterious ways indeed!
It was as if Dahu’s birth, his appearance, her husband vanishing, stars exploding, and her walking in the windiest weather ever, alone, all fell into places like a puzzle image – she suddenly got a hunch all those things were related.
“I’m gonna remember this day”, thought Mother for some reason. And she wasn’t sentimental or too imaginative.
She finally got a glimpse of Dahu – he was standing on top of a hill. Next to him was a young blonde man Mother had never met before. The young man’s hair was of very unusual color that resembled vanilla icing – so bleached it seemed.
An uneasy feeling of this happening in a dream came over Mother as she approached the 2 men. The wind was getting stronger with each minute, and now the sky got covered in dark heavy clouds that seemed unusually high above ground.
When Mother was within shouting distance of Dahu and the blonde stranger, she for some reason decided to stop. Dahu and the blonde guy were standing with their backs to her, their arms up in the air, as if listening to the music of the wind and the sky, their hands plugged into some organic socket.
As though he just heard Mother’s footsteps, Dahu turned, his face very serious and somehow tired. He gave Mother a “whatever” look, which she knew very well could be interpreted as “you can do whatever you wish, I’ll go on about my business”.
She decided to come closer see who the vanilla-haired man was. As she got near them, she saw that the blonde guy was probably even younger than Dahu, he couldn’t have been older than 18, but might as well have been 16 or even younger.
Suddenly, the blonde guy spoke with his eyes closed:
“What does the brother want of the other? Why does the brother fight; why does he attack?”
Dahu, with his eyes also closed, responded:
“All the brother wants is respect; all he wants is to be treated as equal. The brother is humiliated, and humiliated he fights.”
“Didn’t the other do right by his brother?”
“He sealed equal treatment on paper, but it’s not in his heart. His heart laughs at the brother; his heart mocks the brother.”
“When will the other wake up to his brother?”
“The stars will turn, and the crowns will fall. The other shall need the brother and shall repay his fault.”
Dahu’s last words were barely audible as an extremely stong gust of wind plunged in and carried them away. Dark clouds were swirling faster than ever above the three people’s heads. Suddenly, loud thunder stroke and everything went black for Mother.
WHEN MOTHER woke up, she discovered she was back home, in her very bed. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, she only noticed it was pretty dark outside – so it could have been the evening of the same day or the next one.
On the chair to the left of her bed was Dahu. He was quietly waiting for Mother to wake up, his gaze fixed on the scarce raindrops falling on the window. He felt that Mother was looking at him and turned his head towards her.
Dahu was gleaming with quiet joy. His eyes were unusually kind, warm like 2 mild fires; and a trace of a soft runaway smile still visible on his face. It seemed that Dahu was very much relieved about something.
Mother tried to recollect everything that had happened on the hilltop. She couldn’t remember what happened after she lost consciousness – someone must have brought her home. The blonde guy was nowhere to be seen, so Mother supposed he had left.
As usual, Dahu didn’t say anything. Mother suddenly realized she had learned not to ask questions when it was not necessary.
The phone rang, and Dahu went to pick it up. “This is aunt Margaret for you”, he said passing the phone to Mother.
“Hello”, Mother said.
“Susan, oh my God, how are you? I tried to talk to you all evening yesterday, but the boys said you were not feeling well and were asleep. “
“And I thought, you know, I hope Dahu is telling me the truth, because you know how he is! And this other boy would sometimes pick up, his friend or something. He sounded very serious – is he still there?”
“I suppose he is gone”, Mother rubbed her forehead. “So, what happened? I fainted in the mountains yesterday and have slept until just now.”
“Oh , did you? Are you OK now?”
“Yes, I am. Must have been the weather.”
“Oh, it is horrible, so many earthquakes around the world. I’m surprised you didn’t get any in the Highlands. But they’re waning now”.
“Really? No, I don’t think we’ve had any… But I don’t really know… Look, I have a pretty bad headache, let me call you back.”
“OK, I’m glad you’re fine. Talk to you.”
“Talk to you, bye-bye.”
Mother thought she should probably watch the news, but then she figured she had no energy to. Besides her cousin said the earthquakes were waning. She looked at Dahu who now standing by the window, looking out. There he was – her son she never understood, but always trusted.
Mother put her hand on Dahu’s shoulder. He started as he always did when someone touched him unexpectedly. He then turned to Mother and they hugged. As the last drops of rain drummed on the window frame outside, Mother felt headache leaving her without a trace.
As Mother woke up the next morning, she felt something was different, but she didn’t know what it was. Soft sunrays pierces the curtain in her bedroom, and they looked unusual. Mother got up from her bed, her body light and full of energy. She felt that her entire being was happy and filled with invisible inner light.
In her night-gown, she tiptoed to the window and looked out. Something was off with that morning, but she didn’t immediately realize what it was. After 10 seconds or so she finally got it – it was the way the sun was illuminating the crowns of trees in the distance, which seemed as if it was evening-time . The sun was rising in the West.
Image by: Martin Sojka/Flickr
Dear reader, first off, I’d like to ask you to take a minute and please wish Ukraine well.
It’s the country I was born to, and I care for it.
Think no evil and no evil will come. If enough people think peace, peace will come.
5 myths maintained by pro-Western media
Myth 1: Ukraine is a democratic country that turned authoritarian overnight
Ukraine has never been a democratic country. Make no mistakes, whoever has been in charge of the country since 1991, has been a corrupt individual largely indifferent to the country’s fate.
There’s never been the rule of law there either – a required condition for any society to be called a democracy. In my opinion, the Ukrainian government has successfully faked democracy for over 20 years, and it’s not surprise at all that things that are happening now are taking place. Continue reading
When my Soul woke up, it was still pitch black. No sound, light or other motion was to be sensed in the thick density of the existence. And the Soul thought, “Meh”.
As the very fist particles of light lit up the sky in the East, the Soul stood up and set out on its journey to greet the sun .
It then saw some people dancing in the distance. My soul rejoiced tremendously and started moving towards the people as fast as it could. It was very happy It wasn’t alone in the Universe.
But as It approached the people, It saw something horrible.
Those people’s souls were locked inside them in big cages. Some souls were grim and just sitting quietly. Some were banging violently against the cages, hurting their host’s bodies, but the hosts didn’t seem to notice.
Some souls were even trying to take off together with their cages, but there was not enough room for them to spread their wings… Continue reading
You probably recognize this photo. It was taken by photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt right after Japan surrendered in World War 2. Alfred recalls:
“I was walking through the crowds on V-J Day, looking for pictures. I noticed a sailor coming my way. He was grabbing every female he could find and kissing them all — young girls and old ladies alike. Then I noticed the nurse, standing in that enormous crowd. I focused on her, and just as I’d hoped, the sailor came along, grabbed the nurse, and bent down to kiss her.”
Did the nurse mind? No, she didn’t!
“This guy grabbed me and we kissed,” Edith Shain told the journalists in 2008. “And then I turned one way and he turned the other. There was no way to know who he was, but I didn’t mind because he was someone who had fought for me.”
At certain moments in our lives, the distance between us and other people shrinks. We suddenly remember we are together. We suddenly realize it’s not “me”, it’s “us”. Continue reading