Mission 777 Possible

Meeting Borjka

Borjka appeared like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I felt as if God had thrown him into my life with His huge hands, everything thundered, and my entire being turned upside down. It was all the icon and its light – and then Borjka appeared.

The song “White Roses” by Laskovyi Mai played – Borjka sang on the café stage, and sang very well, with a voice as thin as Shatunov’s:

“White roses,

White roses,

Thorns are defenseless,

What will snow and frost do to them,

Ice of the blue…”

Then we danced awkwardly: Borjka took me by the waist and swayed like a teddy bear, and I had to turn in time with the music, as it was a slow dance.

When we walked along the town’s path, Borjka took my hand, and we found ourselves bathed in a stream of shining divine light, and he said: “We’ll live together!”

It sounded like a verdict. And within a week, we moved our things into one apartment.

Someone is Praying for You

Donetsk. Church near the maternity ward. Marianna, in a warm autumn coat, visibly pregnant, enters a small chapel. A stranger appeared unexpectedly and took Marianna by the hand as she was lighting a candle:

– Someone doesn’t want him to be born. But someone is praying for you. A woman. She is praying for your son.

Marianna widened her eyes, processing the information. The woman, head bowed, stepped away from Marianna. Everything will be fine, Marianna assured herself; previous pregnancies were difficult, but this time everything will be fine. I’m already in the maternity ward, arrived and settled in early. Today the doctors will say everything, but for now, I’ll take a little walk in the frosty air. Early October… And how cold it is…

Donetsk Land

Donetsk. October. Regional maternity hospital.

– Here is a pregnancy of 33 weeks, the heartbeat is hardly audible, immediate delivery is necessary, – a young doctor said to an elderly professor, – obstetric history is burdened, miscarriages, bleeding.

Marianna lies on the couch after an ultrasound.

– Have you eaten anything? – the doctor asks.

– I managed to eat some soup when I entered the ward.

– Bring her to the operating room!

Marianna woke up in the intensive care unit after a cesarean section.

– How is he, my son? – she asked a passing nurse.

Everything is fine, he’s in the neonatal intensive care unit, connected to a mechanical ventilator. Unfortunately, he’s not breathing on his own, but he’s a strong boy, weighing three kilograms six hundred grams.

The young doctor murmured near Marianna: – Now we’ll try to express at least a drop of colostrum.

– I have no milk at all, – Marianna said, pulling out her small breast.

– It’s okay, even a milliliter in a syringe will be enough for him. Marianna winced in pain. After finishing milking Marianna, the young doctor said:

– You understand, he has a chance, a small chance. He was born at thirty-three weeks, his lungs are still immature, they’re completely white on the X-ray, and it’s unknown when he’ll breathe on his own, currently on the ventilator. The doctor left with a syringe of colostrum in hand.

Marianna went to the neonatal department.

She approached the head of the department:

– Will he be able to breathe on his own?

– Oxygenation is dropping, we can’t disconnect him from the ventilator. Thanks to the new equipment for artificial lung ventilation we received last year, we have the opportunity to care for such children, otherwise he wouldn’t have been saved.

Good thing we have this equipment this year (thought Marianna).

First Meeting with Son

I’m going to see him now. Excitement overwhelms me. I step into the neonatal intensive care unit. The sound of the ventilator machine grows louder. I look at the little one. He looks at me. He’s quite dark-skinned, with thick black hair on his head; there’s a tube for artificial lung ventilation in his mouth. The child is struggling; the tube is clearly bothering him.

Marianna and her son lock eyes.

“Mom, I’m your son,” his voice transmits telepathically into Marianna’s head, in waves resembling Morse code; the words come from the area of the child’s forehead and reach Marianna’s forehead.

“My son! You’re my son!” Marianna responds through the airwaves with waves of tender, overwhelming love.

This is my son, and we will call him Albert.

Grandmother from Azerbaijan

Albert’s grandmother came from Azerbaijan to see her son, that is, Borjka’s father, and she briefly visited us upon learning from Borjka’s father that Albert was born.

Why was this meeting necessary… Marianna wondered later, it was necessary for some reason. Albert’s grandmother had dark hair, tied up at the back; her eyes were large and brown. She wasn’t as dark-skinned as Albert. Marianna kept trying to understand: does she resemble a gypsy or not, she wonders: what are Azerbaijani women like? The meeting was brief. The grandmother took Albert in her arms and examined him, but it was obvious she did not feel any kinship towards him, especially since Albert was still an uncircumcised infant and may not be Muslim. Then, as a sign of politeness, the grandmother drank wine from a crystal glass, refused to eat, and left. She said one thing: “He will be the same,” and nodded towards Borjka. Indeed, he is as dark-skinned as Borjka, but to say he is the same… that’s too much, since Borjka is quite plump.

The Boy Grows Up

At 4 months old, Albert still lies there, watching and not smiling.

The nurse sits beside little Albert, massaging his legs. The nurse will come again tomorrow, and the day after…

Albert presses his head hard against Marianna’s hand as she holds him, crying incessantly until he’s hoarse, and nothing helps.

Albert has laryngitis: he has a fever and a barking cough. We manage to get to the nearest hospital in Semivetrinsk.

They call for an air ambulance from Donetsk as Albert struggles to breathe, his wheezing audible. Two guys from the air ambulance bring Albert to me and say, “Say goodbye to your son!”

I manage to say, “Albert! My son…” as the men take him away in the car to the ICU in Donetsk.

He survived, and they discharged him.

At 9 months old, Albert can sit a little, but he still topples over like a doll.

At 1.5 years old, at a pediatric professor’s appointment:

“You’ve accomplished a feat!” praised the professor. “Considering how he was born, you’ve done something incredible. The boy is walking now, slowly catching up in his development.”

A Wolf Cub

A little Albert dashes out the door and runs barefoot in the snow. Marianna hurries after him onto the porch:

“Albert, where are you going? Come back!”

Albert stomps through the snow and runs to the gate. His legs sink into the snow, wearing thin pants and no hat.

“Come back, you’ll catch a cold…” Marianna pleads. After a brief run, Albert returns to the computer screen.

“What are you watching?” Marianna asks, curious.

“The movie ‘Teen Wolf,’ can’t you see?” Albert replies.

“It’s about vampires, turn off this horror immediately,” Marianna says, grimacing.

Nikolash

Nikolash was born on St. Nicholas’ Day – December 19th. I wanted it to happen sooner and kept asking the doctor to speed up the delivery. But the young, beautiful doctor wouldn’t be persuaded. And on December 19th, she said:

“It’s today!”

Already on the stretcher, on our way to the operating room, I felt Nikolash arrive: this little warrior appeared to me like a heat in my belly, fire, an angel who came into my life.

Vasilisa the Wise

Vasilisa the Wise sat on a chair in a long plaid skirt, with one leg crossed over the other; her cheerful blonde curls hung down to her shoulders, and round glasses were visible on her face, with a straightened back. She was intently looking into a book with a thoughtful expression. This was Albert’s teacher. I was called in to discuss Albert’s academic performance.

Vasilisa the Wise raised her head and tore herself away from the book, starting to talk about Albert. Her voice sounded smooth and melodious, as if Vasilisa the Wise were playing a part in a harp performance. After long and intelligent monologues, we decided that Albert needed a tutor for some subjects.

Circumcised

They said that Albert had phimosis. It required surgery. The surgery was to be performed by the best doctor, trained in England and Europe. That day, Marianna brought Albert to the department. Anesthesia was also necessary. Marianna was worried and waited in the corridor while the surgery was in progress. Finally, everything went well, and Albert was brought to the ward. Albert lifted his head, still half-awake from the anesthesia, and quickly came to his senses. Now he was circumcised. The doctor gave recommendations and sent us home.

Later, when Marianna returned to this surgical department, she saw a photo of this doctor with a black ribbon. The doctor had died, likely having fulfilled his great mission.

Women are More Resilient

I don’t know how it all started… Maybe it was a message on Facebook, or perhaps the words of a stranger on the bus. Let’s start with the Facebook message.

I received a message on Facebook. I knew for sure it was meant for me, I just felt it. It read:

– The world is not what you think it is.

I thought: it could mean anything, or nothing.

And the stranger’s words were also meant for me. I got on the bus.

I was carrying two huge bags. I struggled to get them on the bus and stood near the driver. As the bus started moving, I saw a stranger standing next to me. The young man just watched as I dealt with the heavy load and said: – Women are more resilient.

Women are more resilient… echoed in my head.

Bowling Club

Bowling club. The hall next to the café. Albert and Nikolash are playing table air hockey, and Marianna has settled on a chair by the table.

– I will give you everything, – a voice came through the gentle drizzle onto Marianna’s head.

Everything?… Marianna tuned into her feelings.

– I will give you everything…

Marianna froze. The voice of God?…

I’ll step out onto the porch near the Bowling Club while the kids play. It turns out it’s already dark, and there’s a train station nearby, a creepy place. From the darkness, a figure of a man with gleaming eyes rushed towards Marianna, filling her with fear. She started backing away towards the Bowling entrance. She needed to leave.

The figure gritted its teeth, and in a rough voice demanded something from Marianna. She darted into the Bowling door. It was over. What did he even want…

***

Do you want… the leaves to turn brown in an instant,

Do you want… never to grow old;

Do you want… sweet honey,

And the warmth of good health.

Do you want… nights to become white at once,

And weekdays not to be dull gray,

Do you want what is seen and unseen,

To become invisibly shrouded in a misty haze.

Fool

Marianna opened Facebook2 on her phone. New friends, or rather a new friend. In the picture, there was a man in front of a waterfall, with a round face, big sparkling eyes, dark-haired, probably not of Russian nationality. Okay, I’ll add him. The stranger started a conversation, as usual, beginning with “hello.” Marianna responded reluctantly, answering only after she got home. The correspondence continued.

Marianna read on her phone:

– I am alone with my son.

Alone with his son… (Marianna’s thoughts).

– Are you married? – came another message.

– No, – Marianna replied.

The stranger continued:

– How do you think I know? Whether you are married or not?

Strange, maybe he knows… (Marianna’s thoughts).

– Are you from South Africa? – Marianna wrote, concluding from his profile page.

He was probably from Nigeria, as the profile indicated an African country.

Marianna imagined him sitting in a poor shack, while his son ran around barefoot and poor.

The stranger with his son sent a video to Marianna’s messenger:

– Watch the video, what do you understand?

That evening, lying in bed, Marianna watched the video. A globe appeared on the screen, representing Earth, showing continents, forests, mountains, and different countries: what am I supposed to understand? Watching again, maybe he wants to say that Earth is beautiful?

The next day. Marianna in thought: he’s not writing today… what’s going on? Who is he? She looked at the stranger’s profile picture with his son: there was a waterfall like Qi-energy, and in front of the waterfall, the round-faced image of a person.

Marianna decided to ask first and wrote in the messenger:

– Sorry for asking, tell me: what is your name?

A reply came to the messenger. Marianna read the line:

– Fool.

Marianna looked at the word again, not believing her eyes: yes, it said: “Fool.”

Marked

And why did she approach my son… Marianna muttered, stirring the fish soup, “Now we have to go to court.” Marianna replayed the entire incident with Nikolash. Nikolash was playing with a boy on the street, the boys had a spat, and Nikolash kicked the boy. Out of nowhere, the boy’s mother appeared and slapped Nikolash on the cheek, leaving a red mark. And I had to call the police, now we’re being summoned to court. At least let me finish cooking the soup, Marianna continued stirring the fish head in the large pot. Done. She quickly grabbed the hot pot and carried it from the kitchen to the dining room. Ouch, it’s hot… Marianna couldn’t hold the pot, and the boiling water spilled onto her legs, burning her dress. Oh God, quickly under the water. A massive burn formed on her left leg. Will there be a scar? And I had to get involved with this court case…

From the War

Marianna stayed up too long at the computer, it was already half past midnight, her eyes closing in a half-daze. In front of her was a wooden shed, someone was sitting inside: a soldier, looking out through the doorway, leaning against the wooden wall of the shed. Shots were heard. He was scared, peeking through the opening and hiding again, a weapon lay on his legs, whether it was a rifle or not, it was hard to tell. The person was dressed in gray clothing, like a quilted jacket. It felt like a scene from a past war. What happens next… Will he survive or not… the shots sounded closer. The images disappeared.

Accident

Her body was sprawled on the stretcher. The gurney, surrounded by nurses, was being wheeled into the operating room. Her face was a bloody mess, blood stains appearing on her dress.

– Internal bleeding, spleen is gone, bones shattered, – the doctor whispered nearby.

– Does she have insurance? – the doctor asked the nurse.

– She had nothing on her, they brought her like this. People found her by the side of the road.

The gurney was wheeled into the operating room.

– Pulse?

– Blood pressure?

– Let’s begin. The nurse searched for a vein, administered the drugs. The patient on the gurney was Amina. She was simply crossing the road when a car sped by, driven by either drunk or high young men. Amina rolled to the roadside, and the car immediately sped away. Now there was hope in the doctors, hope that she would survive.

***

Marianna sat on a chair opposite her great-grandmother’s icon of Jesus Christ. She crossed herself with her right hand and looked at the icon. Her soul felt uneasy and troubled.

***

They set Amina’s bones, performed numerous surgeries, but she remained disabled.

First, reconcile with your sister

Road from Donetsk to Rostov. Little Nikolash and Albert were a bit tired on the bus. The road was long, a whole twelve hours. They made the journey more bearable with frequent snacks, leaving behind a mess of leftovers. Marianna packed food into bags, then pulled them out again for snacks. Her legs swelled; Marianna’s leg condition, varicose veins, was acting up. After the long journey, Marianna’s legs were swollen, filled with fluid, and there was nowhere to stretch them in the crowded bus.

Towards morning, Rostov appeared before us.

Early dawn. We were supposed to be met. Amina’s husband approached us. Sergey looked thin and tired, with dark circles under his eyes, constantly drinking coffee; Marianna knew he had ulcers. We boarded a local bus, exhausted and disheveled, tossing our bags into the crowded cabin and setting off.

“It’s just around the corner,” Sergey pointed out.

A multi-story gray house, a communal apartment. Climbing to the second floor, we entered the tiny room they rented. A figure appeared in the hallway. It was Amina.

“Marianna!” Amina exclaimed.

Amina’s face was different. Amina sat in an old armchair, trying to push herself away with one crooked leg; the other leg didn’t work. Marianna continued to stand and look at Amina: only her eyes remained from her former face; scars remained on her face after the car accident, her nose turned into a swollen mess, her hands twisted, one leg limp. A lump caught in Amina’s throat. Tears began to flow uncontrollably, impossible to stop, streaming until her eyes swelled and it was impossible to look. It was her, Amina… Marianna’s soul was torn apart, looking at Amina; everything that hadn’t been cried out poured out of her soul. Amina could only be recognized by her eyes; even her voice had changed. And she used to be so beautiful, as slender as a flower, and now her face resembled a flattened Pekingese muzzle because her facial bones were broken. But the worst part was that she couldn’t walk…

“I can’t speak…” (Marianna’s thoughts), only tears flowing from her eyes. They continued to flow like a stream without end.

“First, reconcile with your sister…” – these words echoed in my head. They weren’t my words; I had heard something like this, it seemed written in the Bible, before giving gifts – reconcile with your brother or sister.

“What children you have…” Amina remarked, especially the younger one… so lively.

“Let’s eat, I’ve prepared something,” and Amina reached out with one twisted hand for the plates that inexplicably stood on the floor.

“It’s more convenient for me down here, with the pots; I can’t reach sitting,” Amina explained. Again, a silent stream of tears rolled down Marianna’s face. Then Marianna noticed that Amina was in the chair, she didn’t have a wheelchair: “How do you get around without a wheelchair?”

“You know, I rarely go out,” those idiot neighbors… When Sergey carried me in his arms from the entrance, they laughed, bastards; they laughed at me; well, I told them… couldn’t stand it.

Marianna watches as Amina warms tea and food.

“Sit down, take tea, eat from the road!”

Marianna sat down on a chair near the tea.

“This leg doesn’t move at all,” Amina pointed with a crooked hand – clapper into the twisted leg, “strong pain, I scream… And the other leg… they set the bones wrong, but I’ve learned to crawl if I need something in the bathroom,” and Amina smiled, revealing her toothless mouth.

Marianna had only one wish, to throw her legs up as soon as possible, about which she had forgotten in tears; a couple of hours – and the swelling might subside.

And in the evening, Marianna lay down next to Amina, the children settled on a cot and chatted until Amina fell silent. Marianna saw how Amina suddenly switched off and fell asleep.

One day… we stayed in Rostov – one day.

The farewell began… Amina sat on the couch, yes… she couldn’t approach the door. Like in a haze, Marianna looked at Amina sitting: one thought flashed through her mind – maybe we will never see each other again…

I will go to the Red Sea

I will go to the Red Sea…

Maybe for a second, for a moment,

Let the expanses rush past,

And only my soul speaks within me.

The boundless Red Sea…

Embraces and cherishes me,

With its depth and even in sorrow,

It will heal all my sorrows.

It will pass like a fairy-tale wind,

Like a hot avalanche flow,

I don’t dream of anything in the world,

Only the sea – like a sip of life.

And the sea depths are bottomless,

It’s dark there and a foreign environment,

There souls are like an unconscious refuge,

There their own miracles happen.

I will go to the Red Sea…

And let fate not allow me,

There I will find the majesty of the mountains,

The Red Sea will reward us.

I will dive into the heavy waters,

Blue with blue fountain;

Only red sparkles with freedom,

That was born in the soul, and paradise.

The warm sea seems great,

I will forget earthly matters;

I will only remember that in the Red Sea

I was once happy.

And the sea corals and reefs,

These are wonderful castles for us,

They rush past the gaze swiftly,

To delight the eye with the sea.

The unreal Red Sea…

It rarely makes noise with a wave,

In the silence, it echoes blissfully,

With a touch, it creates a miracle…

A Walk in Hurghada

Egypt. Hurghada.

Marianna flew to Hurghada with Albert and Nikolash. It was her first time in Egypt, it just happened that way, and they didn’t plan it; but then a tour came up, and only $300 for three. Marianna and the kids immediately plunged into Egyptian life, as if they found themselves in another world. Just today they were in Semivetrinsk, and the scenery changed: Marianna is lying on a lounger by the pool and feels the Sun warming her from the inside. And here the Sun is different…

There wasn’t much time to be bored. Marianna met Yana and her mother at the hotel, Yana is a young girl, also from Ukraine. The three of them walk through the market rows in Hurghada, blown by the Egyptian wind and enjoying the Sun. Here are the perfume shops. Now the local sellers will start pushing perfumes. Marianna knew that Arabs literally grab you by the hands just to get you into their shop. Yana and her mother entered a small shop that sold creams and perfumes. Marianna had to wait for them at the entrance. Yana’s mother sat in a chair, and an Arab started applying rejuvenating masks to her.

How long… God, when will he finish?