Kitabı oxu: «Confession of a Ghost. F.M. Dostoevsky award. Playing Another Reality», səhifə 6
Joice the Ghost
Ouranoupoli
Without even having breakfast, I left the house and headed for to the Tower. Unlike many, Ray had never deceived me or said anything for nothing. However, Dimitra, whose icon shop was directly opposite the Tower, couldn’t help but know whether it was open or not.
You could get to the Tower through the central and sea streets, every cat on both of them knew me. I flew along the sea street, praying that no one would call me out, and the prayer worked well. The gate to the courtyard, as well as the door to the Tower, appeared to be open! Two women were talking outside the office on the right.
“Good morning! May I come in? Is it free of charge or not?” I asked, but they continued their conversation, as if nothing had happened and retreated to the room on the left.
“So it’s free,” I decided, and delved inside.
The door in the far left corner led to rooms displaying the finds from excavations on the territory of Athos, including the Zygou Monastery. I froze at the exhibits, studying their description. There were burial vessels dating back to 1100 BC, ritual accessories, copper helmets from the bottom of the sea dated to the 6th century BC, and women’s jewelry in the showcases. I liked especially the ring with a five-pointed star and a bird with open wings, and clay tablets covered with formulas up and down. After examining the exposition of the ground floor, I climbed the wooden stairs and went out to the balcony, with a beautiful view of Mount Athos, the sea and Dimitra’s shop.
Suddenly someone put a hand on my shoulder, I shuddered, “Not free of charge?!” and turned around.
“I’m always glad to welcome guests,” a ghost-woman said smiling.
“Good morning,” I whispered back in confusion.
“I am Joice Mary NanKivell Loch. Call me Joice. I continue to live here, in the Tower, although I left my earthly body in 1982, a little short of my 96th birthday. I’m buried in the local cemetery in Ouranoupoli, and you?”
“I am Alice. I live in Moscow. I’ve come here for summer.”
My answer seemed to surprise Joice. She took my hand.
“Let’s go inside, I’ll tell you about my Tower!”
We entered a tiny room, where there were several narrow and barred windows overlooking the sea, two wooden chairs, a fireplace in the center, a couple of shelves with books, a woven carpet on the wall and a table with … a typewriter!
“Yes, I wrote novels, essays and poems. Here are the survivors.”
I glanced over the old bookshelf, and the title with St. Peter caught my eye.
“Were you born in this Tower?”
“No, in Australia. I loved nature and the country life. However, I wanted to travel. After marriage with Sidney, he was a journalist and also a bit writer, we joined humanitarian missions and in various countries helped people affected by the First World War. In 1923, when the Greek-Turkish War ended, we came here to settle Greek refugees from Turkey. The territory of Ouranoupoli then belonged to the monastery of Vatopedi, the border of Athos was in Trypiti. By agreement with the state, the border was moved to the Zygou monastery, and Vatopedi provided land and buildings, including the Tower, to the refugees. At first, we lived on the island of Ammouliani opposite, and then moved to the Tower. I loved and still love it very much. We are where our heart is, and after death we are drawn to what or to whom we are attached on Earth.”
“Are all souls drawn or only the light ones?”
“Almost every soul has something dark in it. One local resident was tormented by his unfinished business, he lamented and wept, coming to me for consolation. Someone is drawn to the already committed shameful act in order to rewrite the Past, but it’s firmly fixed and unchangeable in the Chronicle of the World. I had a helper called Martha, her son after his death promised to make amends for his fault by helping those still living on Earth.”
“What happened to you after your death?”
“I didn’t realize immediately that I had gone. I continued to ‘eat’ and ‘sleep’, ‘dress me up’ and consider myself a woman. The strongest habit of all ghosts is to visualize belonging to their earthly sex. Having lost the body, you cease to be a woman or a man, you are a soul. Chaotically and unconsciously, I returned to various fragments of the Past, experiencing them again as if ‘here and now’. I saw what hurt me and the people I had helped, the light of their memory warmed the soul. Sometimes I think that we, as earthly individuals, exist as long as we are remembered on Earth. The walls of this Tower keep me in their memory, and some of those who know me personally are still alive in Ouranoupoli.”
“Is Dimitra one of them?”
“Yes, she is, as well as her mother and grandmother. Do you see the outside small building? There was a medical center and medicines were stored there. Once Dimitra, while still a little girl, fell, hurt her knee and ran to me. I washed the wound, bandaged her leg, telling a fairy tale about a sheep, and treated her with sweets.”
“Have you seen the Stairs?”
“Of course, Alice,” Joice smiled. “It’s inside one’s soul. You are moving up or down it even during life. The posthumous state is the soul’s wandering within its Past, crying and grieving over wrong things, getting joy from the Good and Light that it has brought into the world, and as a result, its self-determination based on its attraction to this or that. Everyone has their own Stairway to Heaven. On Athos, the deceased monk resurrected at his own funeral to tell the brothers how the devils nearly had taken him to Hell for his addiction to wine drinking, but good deeds stood up for him and outweighed the cup. Someone is present at the Judgment, someone is not, perhaps being unaware of what is happening.”
“And when the memory of the deceased disappears, then …?”
“It disappears on Earth, not in Heaven. The soul will gradually calm down, freed from memories, both others’ and its own, and …”
A tourist came into the room with a five-year-old daughter. I got frightened that they would see me sitting on an exhibit chair and talking with a ghost, so I abruptly stood up and took a step towards the window, with peripheral vision I noticed the girl approaching Joice and looking at her and at me in surprise.
“Kids see us sometimes,” Joice smiled. “I was really fond of children! We set up an elementary school in Ouranoupoli, and later I got a flock of sheep and taught women to weave woolen carpets. Our works got many awards, all the masterpieces were sold out. The only carpet that left is on the wall here.”
The tourist’s daughter instantly shifted her gaze to the carpet, but her father took her by the hand and led into the next room, while I came up to the bookshelf and noticed a niche with awards.
“Mine ones, yes, though everything earthly is conditional. It’s the unconditional love of the heart that counts. During my lifetime, I felt the support of Heaven. Sometimes I was about to give up, but circumstances changed, and it worked out even better than planned. I saw a lot of suffering and loved people for the courage with which they endured adversity. Every soul comes into the world to serve others, but not every soul remembers this on Earth.”
“I… write too,” I admitted timidly.
“Come at night, let’s read our poems to each other! In the Tower by the sea, at the open Heavenly Gates, where the Other World voices are heard whispering at night, it’s good to write! You know, many writers regret that they had no time to write something important. Earthly affairs drag us into the swamp of fuss, and the most important things are often postponed for the Future. Many ghosts try to whisper the unsaid lines to their colleagues.”
“Joice, have you seen a… Monk here?”
“Monks often come here. There is a chapel on the top floor. It’s closed to tourists, not to ghosts. I don’t want to disturb them. I have two rooms and a balcony, where I watch my village go to sleep in the evening and meet the Sun in the morning. Monks come at night along the underground corridor that connects the Tower with the Zygou monastery, where the border control point is located. Apparently, they are not allowed to Mount Athos, and Zygou is destroyed, the closest option is my chapel.”
“Is there a dungeon in the Tower?!”
“A great labyrinth, yeah! I went down once, but I was afraid to get lost. Perhaps it connects the Tower to all the monasteries. Would you like to explore it?”
Somewhere in the Mist
The Moonlight Sonata… It begins to sound in me softly. From somewhere far away, where everything is foggy, but through the Mist I see …
…black furniture. And I feel sick, that’s how I feel all the Bad, associated with Death, hellish portals to the Lower Astral.
“Sit down,” a male voice says commanding, and I shake my head negatively. “I said, SIT DOWN!”
I want to run away, into the Moonlight Sonata, which sounds louder and louder, but a female voice brings me back, “Don’t leave him! Help him!” Who is it screaming? I don’t know. I can’t remember. I step into the Mist, where the Moonlight Sonata sounds, but out of the Mist emerges…
…a black luxury car.
“You consider me like your man, don’t you?” says a male powerful voice grinning maliciously.
I turn sharply to the right and take a step into the Mist, but I find myself…
…onto a stage flooded with light, where, blinded by the spotlights, they hand me something, I don’t remember what it was. And again, I hear the voice of the one whose face is hidden from me by the Mist,
“I’ll go with you to Venice, and we’ll take Eugene to keep us company.”
Who is Eugene? Why Venice? I don’t understand, but it hurts. I turn sharply to the left and step into the Mist, towards the Moonlight Sonata, which calls me to it, but out of the Mist appears
…my mother. All in black. She doesn’t want… what? – me to go to Venice?
And the voice, that imperious male voice, shouts at me,
“Why did Eugene give you a rose?! And what about you with Victor?!”
Who are these Eugene and Victor? The Mist creeps over my Consciousness, and I start running away, towards the Moon, it’s getting closer and closer, but the female voice stops me, “Don’t leave him! Help him!”
I pause for a moment to remember who they are. In vain! The Moonlight Sonata merges their voices into one, and the Mist draws trees in the park, it beckons me to where … I turn around sharply, take a step in the opposite direction and fall down…
…into a white room, where the same male voice sounds,
“Make me this project, and we’ll definitely go somewhere with you.”
Who is he? And why do I feel so bad that I want to dissolve in the Moonlight Sonata, which pours into me in waves, and I’m no longer pacing, I’m running again, trying to get out of the nightmarish labyrinth, however, out of the Mist emerges…
…a table with candles … I don’t see his face, but he hands me a glass of wine.
“Happy birthday, darling! I want to drink for you to die before me!” and he drinks to the bottom.
“Don’t leave him! Help him!” a female voice is heard, though already much weaker, while the Moonlight Sonata sounds louder and louder, and I hear him shouting,
“Who the hell are you?”
I abruptly get up and leave, without turning around, farther and farther, to the place where the Moonlight Sonata sounds so loudly that I can no longer hear anyone’s voices … No one’s at all… Absolutely …
36 Before/5 After. House No. I
Magic Ring
Somewhere in the Universe
We returned to the Tower and found ourselves in a secret room with book shelves along the walls and a table with a single candlestick in the center. Saturn lit candles, materialized armchairs and invited us to sit down.
“Here is the most interesting, Rukh. These are copies of books from the Library of the Universe. Why do you think they are here?”
“Are they important to you?”
“They are interesting to me. I study them, highlighting and writing something out. I re-read them and underline. Thematically, they relate to one of the Spheres that I’m in charge of. See which one.”
“Death and Magic?!”
“Exactly. Staying in your House of Life, I’m in charge of your Death and Magic (House No. 8), and I help Uranus with his House No. 9 – the Spiritual Path, Teachers.”
“Wow!” I exclaimed, unable to restrain myself, and instantly remembered the Future. “My main planet is you the Death, and you live in my Self?! The major Saturn events will occur before my 13th birthday, so will I die as a child?”
“Not bad for a start,” Saturn looked at the Guardian. “Phenomenal speed of learning. I don’t like splashes of the Moon and chaotic knowledge. The energy of Death is that of Scorpio-Pluto, and in your case, I carry it. Such Saturn-Pluto. The Master of Death in the House of Life is a hard case, it leads either to self-destruction, because Scorpio is inclined to sting himself, being depressed, or to a colossal transformation of personality, giving a person extraordinary vitality and cool blood in extreme situations, such ones survive where all others go to Heaven in a heartbeat. I’ll constantly put you on the threshold of Death. You are a magnet that attracts life-critical situations. However, having experienced Death and the exit of the soul from the body in childhood – I immerse a person in something with head, make one sink to the very bottom instead of floating on the surface – you’ll cease to be afraid of Death! You’ll explore Death with great interest, as a scientist dissects an insect under a microscope! – all types, methods, causes, as well as states of the soul after the transition to the Subtle World. You’ll have an extremely keen sense of Death!”
I silently listened to Saturn and refused to believe it.
“Now about the Magic. The energy of Pluto endows me with magical powers. Our conjunction with Procyon inclines towards the occult. Sirius, the star under which you incarnate, is a sign of those initiated into secret knowledge. And the location of your hypersensitive Moon means an open door to Subtle World. The danger for you is in the following.
First, Pluto throws a person into the pool of earthly passions of carnal love. You’ll be charming and attractive. Plutonic energy turns people into sexual magnets. There is a danger that you’ll sink into the realm of sexual practices, connecting to the energies of the Lower Astral. We’ll have to prematurely recall you from Earth, because such behavior contradicts the Creator’s plans for your incarnation.
Second, having innate paranormal abilities and knowing all the mechanisms of magic, experimenting with the Space of Time, calculating scenarios for the development of events, like a chess player tries to foresee the game 10 moves ahead, and possessing mathematical abilities, as well as influence on people, you’ll start practicing magic and become a hacker of the Matrix.
Third. I’m in charge of the Sphere of Partnership and Marriage, you are attracted to magical people with pronounced Pluto. The relation of Spheres 1—7 (“I” and “they”) means “like attracts the like”, but you are interested in the older, stronger and smarter ones. Sphere No. 7 shows your enemies as well. Sorcerer partners are capable of destroying you. I’m in the degree called “Moth flying to the Light”, of Mars and Pluto energies, which gives painful susceptibility, excessive gullibility, a tendency to fall under the influence of others, a predisposition to violent and mysterious death. The Master of Death in the House of Life is 1 of the 2 components of the self-destruction formula with a return ahead of schedule.”
I jumped in my chair, since the windowsill from the Future appeared in front of me.
“Yes, the second component is also available, it’s the assistant of your Death, Uranus,” Saturn continued gloomily, “a sudden collapse, sudden death.”
“No!” I jumped up from my chair. “I don’t want to be incarnated like that!”
“My soul, calm down,” the Guardian embraced me with wings. “Only in 8 out of 10 cases, people with such formula leave Earth ahead of schedule and on their own. Selene guarantees the Higher Forces support! We’ll do our best to keep you safe!”
“We’ll discuss the options of Death in House No. 8,” Saturn said with a heavy sigh. “Now we are inside your Self, personality. Saturn is the planet of the old ones. Some of your grandparents will be white magician with strong Selene, and someone black magician with strong Pluto. Your childhood will be spent in the atmosphere of Death and Magic. If you survive, you’ll get a chance for a radical transformation of your personality. I plan to send you to the church school at the main Patriarch’s cathedral. You’ll study there about five years, reading a lot and, given my friendship with Venus, writing. Later, Uranus and I will send you some spiritual teachers. Make right conclusions, or at least one,” Saturn smiled. “It seems to be a tiny House with only 13 degrees inside, and how many energies intersect in it!”
I smiled, and we moved into the dungeon to the Well of Memory. Saturn unrolled the tub, the silver bucket fell into the depths and scooped up water.
“Come closer,” he asked.
I stood nearby. Saturn doused me smiling with… no, not with water – a silver stream of flowing ether filled my soul with energy and washed my fears away. He removed the ring with the engraved sign of Saturn from the middle finger of his right hand and gave it to me.
“Accept my tiny gift. One day you’ll find it on Earth, in the monastery of St. Anastasia in Greece. If you don’t pass by, it’ll help you remember me and our conversation.”
Library of the Universe
“Angel, are there 12 Houses in total? Each of them has got something interesting for me like that?”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m nervous myself! You’ll incarnate and immediately forget everything, and I’ll have to lead you all your life along the edge of the abyss. Unlike others, you need an eye upon you! It doesn’t work just to lay a straw on the ground.”
“Tell me, why will all that happen to me?” I didn’t let up.
“Like Saturn, you’ll never say or do anything without a purpose. What happens to a child is not ‘Why?’, but ‘For what?’, ‘What’s the purpose?’. Many great personalities have the House of Death accented.”
“Who were they on Earth?”
“Well, presidents of countries. You’ll live in the country where…”
“When will I see my mother? Why will she leave me?”
“Nobody said that, it’s just that everything has its time.”
The book about ghosts opened at the page with “The Seal” story about a little girl who saw the seal of Death on people and tried in vain to save them.
“She dialed someone’s number, but no one answered. Anyway, did anyone live in the abandoned house, except… ghosts? Why and to whom did she keep trying to get through?”
Broken Watch
Ammouliani
The sea in the bay nearby Nicolette’s house was heavenly, but for a change I went for magic! Vourvourou was a group of uninhabited islands off the neighboring peninsula of Sithonia. Having floated into the bay, one found oneself in a fairy tale, remembering pirates, a map of hidden treasures, parrots… When the ship stopped, one jumped from the deck into the sea and swam to the island feeling like Robinson.
All the way, the Holy Mountain looked at me, and I looked at it. There were no clouds even over the top, so the Virgin was away on important business. Dimitra told me the day before the abyss at the cape of Athos with a drop of 80 to 1,000 meters really existed, but according to legend, the depth of the abyss was equal to the height of the Mountain – 2,033 meters, which led me to no less deep reflections. Dimitra’s husband, a sailor, answering my question – if anyone had ever fished in that place – said it would have been tantamount to suicide.
The day before, I tortured local residents about a bright yellow multi-beam star moving across the sky. As it turned out, that was Arcturus, “the Guardian of Heaven”, a pulsating giant star, over 7 billion years old, more than 100 times brighter than the Sun. Yes, on the border with the Holy pyramid-like Mountain, located right by the abyss, in the area called by the Greeks the Great Guard, there was the City of Heaven (Uranus-polis), above which the Guardian of Heaven was scanning the space. I jumped off the ship the first, it was magical!
Every time I came to Athos, I received a piece of news about the Gold-Mines, evil gold miners, and I got scared. What would happen to Athos then? Not far from there, a foreign company decided to mine gold. The locals tried to fight against it in every possible way, because highly toxic fumes would poison the sea and the nature of all the peninsulas of Chalkidiki, and drinking water was already disappearing from the mountain of Skouries, where mines were being built. Given the seismological activity, the protective structures, such as a dome over the mine, wouldn’t save anything. However, the protest rallies, as happened in stories with large sums involved, ended in failure. All my acquaintances on Athos were in gloomy expectation of their Apocalypse, when they would have to leave the City of Heaven forever. I asked Janis what the Athos monks said, and he replied, “They pray weeping.”
I returned to the ship by swimming, and it sailed to Ammouliani, the island opposite my bay. In the meantime, dinner was ripe, but someone shouted, “Dolphins!” All the tourists instantly turned into children – they jumped up from their seats, forgot about everything in the world and took pictures of the playful dolphins accompanying the ship. The Holy Mountain looked at me again, and I looked at it. “One of the monks said that the Virgin Mary appeared to him crying for she was leaving Athos,” Janis told me the other day.
We sailed to the luxury beach of Ammouliani – Alikes, and again enjoyed the sea, and then we circled the island on the ship and moored at the pier for a walk around the village. I was wandering down the tiny street, immersed in sad musings over the Gold-Mines, when I was drawn to a gift shop. Having passed the showcases with jewelry, I turned to the exit, but for some reason I took a step back, and my gaze fell on the far table. It couldn’t be true! I swam closer and closer, afraid to frighten my vision away. I didn’t know who He was, but… I knew Him, and silently froze at the hand-painted icon of the Saint standing at the well with a silver bucket in his hand.
“Do you know him?” the store owner called out to me.
“No, but…” I didn’t know how to explain to the Greek that I had repeatedly attended during meditations an unknown monastery on the mountain, where exactly at the very same well the same Monk was pouring holy water from the same bucket on me, what I told the world about in the first part of my novel “The Book of Secret Knowledge” back in September 2009.
“Nobody here knows Him,” the shop owner sighed. “Hieromartyr Philoumenos. They chopped Him with an axe. This Greek monk served in Palestine. He was an archimandrite of the Jerusalem Orthodox Church and the Guardian of Jacob’s Well on the mountain in Samaria, where the meeting of Christ with the Samaritan woman took place, as described in the Gospel of John the Theologian. The water in the Well symbolizes the living water of the Faith, after drinking which one becomes liberated. Philoumenos was canonized on September 11, 2009. His relics were on Mount Zion. He is referred to as ‘Vanquisher of daemons, dispeller of the powers of Darkness’.”
“How much does the icon cost?” I asked and remembered that there was clearly not enough money on the card for a hand-painted one of that size. The store owner hesitated. My heart sank. And he announced exactly the amount I had!
Ouranoupoli
I heard the muffled trill of the phone and opened my eyes – it was easy and even very pleasant to doze off there: the olive tree branches were swaying in the breeze, and the cicadas were providing a lulling background.
“Where are you now?” Ray, as always, appeared unexpectedly.
“On the beach. Dozing off a bit.”
“Do you take your phone with you to the beach?” He chuckled, and he was right.
“Not usually, but apparently I’ve got a premonition you would call!”
“What time is it now?”
“What’s the difference for you?” I was surprised.
“I wonder what time you go to the sea.”
“I don’t know. My watch has been showing something wrong for a long time. I keep wearing it out of habit.”
“Look at the shade of the olives and at the Sun.”
“Aah! It’s about six in the evening!”
“Are you hungry already?”
“Do you want to invite me to dinner?”
“A little later. What did you eat last night?”
I tried to remember, but, apparently, I hadn’t yet fully woken up, and everything was in a heap and foggy in my mind.
“What’s the difference, seafood salad or chicken?”
“It makes no difference. Is there anyone else on the beach?”
“A family by the shore.”
“Come and ask what time it is now. Go with your phone.”
“Excuse me, what time is it now?” I turned to the man, who had already packed their things while his wife was changing the clothes to their children.
The man, having glanced at me briefly, turned to his wife,
“I’m off. Waiting for you in the car.”
I repeated my question to the woman, but she ignored me point-blank.
“Alice, leave them alone, go back to the olives.”
“Ray… Are they ghosts?” I whispered in horror.
“Quite possible. Where were you yesterday?”
“Well… yesterday… what was I doing here yesterday? You know, on Athos you live in such a relaxed way… Ah! I remembered! I took a boat trip to the Mountain!”
“Did the monks bring the Gifts of the Magi from St. Pavlou?”
“No, the Gifts of the Magi were brought last summer. The relics from Xenophontos were yesterday!”
“Did you happen to see the ghost of Joice in Ouranoupoli?”
“There are a lot of ghosts here! Who is that Joice?”
“Don’t go back to your place now. Try dozing off again. Okay?”
Ray’s words alerted me, but I immediately remembered a funny incident and laughed.
“Is there a spider hiding in there? So do I have to wait until you drive it away with the power of thought?”
“Almost there,” Ray chuckled.
Somewhere in the Mist
I hear the Moonlight Sonata and fall into the Mist…
A Christmas skating rink was set up on Red Square. It was fabulous in the evening there as it should be on New Year’s Eve. Valery kept me company. He had visited the monastery of St. Panteleimon on Athos, stayed in Ouranoupoli, met Dimitra and Janis, bought icons. I took him to Nea Roda to the icon painted by Luke the Evangelist, but he felt nothing as well as in Russik.
The phone rang, and the inscription on the screen in English said “Mount Athos”.
“Alice, Merry Christmas!” I heard the familiar voice of Janis.
“Merry Christmas, Janis!”
We exchanged congratulations and said goodbye until August. I sent him a photo of our Red Square with chimes. He sent me a photo from an Athos monastery. I smiled and made a wish – to return to Athos, while Valery dreamt of a hot discount trip to Turkey.
The Moonlight Sonata is getting louder…
Eugene terrorized me with calls, and I hadn’t even switched to work with them yet. We had been introduced a fortnight before, they offered me to make a project from scratch. He asked my address, but I came to the center myself. We were sitting in a restaurant. He retold me his biography and offered to live with him in Thailand.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s what I’ve said. I live abroad. I visit Moscow from time to time. You’ll work on the project in absentia. That’s how we worked last winter. You can’t imagine how great it is! I had a mistress, but we have already broken up, and all sorts of drugs, and when we made love, it was very hot!”
Ray looked at us, sitting at the next table, and laughed.
“You are lucky, Alice!”
I could hear nothing anymore, except for the Moonlight Sonata, getting louder and louder inside me, but…
…
Victor drove me to the underground and stopped the car. Recently, we had often communicated working on that project.
“I can’t kiss you with his lips, but…” he said, and there was an awkward pause, and I saw Ray in the mirror, in the back seat, behind us, he said to me,
“Hug him, Alice, as a friend. Don’t be cruel, you’re not me. He’s just like you, one of the few who means no harm to you.”
I took Victor’s hand keeping silent, but suddenly… Oh no! The Moonlight Sonata was stopped by the sound of a slamming door! I saw myself walking out into the night. And I was still inside there, holding Victor by the hand! As a friend, as one who knew how much I was hurt, to whom I could tell everything, and who …
“Ray! No!!!” I screamed into the mirror.
“Yes, Alice, yes…”
And I instantly woke up… On Athos…
