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Aznavour – someone’s name echoes in my head, maybe I misheard the sounds. Who is this Aznavour…
Marianna of the Future
Marianna was trying to cook soup over the pot. Her hand with the lid jerked like she had Parkinson’s disease, twitched, and the carrot scattered across the stove. I must be really bad… Marianna looked at herself from the side. And then, near the stove, she had a revelation: the present Marianna felt in her thoughts and image somewhere above the future Marianna she would become, with iron strength, firmness, and radiant light. She mentally reached out to her: Marianna of the future! Help! You are stronger! I don’t have enough strength! I can’t! I am too weak… I am not ready… Standing by the stove, Marianna felt the strength of the future Marianna, like God, like a source of salvation.
You!
Semivetrinsk. Evening. Marianna at home by the TV. She had no strength left. If I don’t sleep a little, I’ll start hallucinating. Okay… I need to control myself, I drank tea, slept for an hour, that’s good. Now I’ll watch TV.
The TV was old, though color, without a back cover, and the tubes just stuck out from the back panel. Recently, a repairman had fixed it and replaced some tubes, so it should work now. But it seemed to be acting up, stripes appeared on the screen again. Marianna slapped the TV with her fist, and it suddenly started working.
Marianna couldn’t fall asleep, the fire inside and anxiety kept her awake. I wonder how long I can last like this, maybe I’ll die. Marianna examined her gaunt face and dull eyes. Salvation came suddenly. Voices sparkled on the TV screen, lulling in different tunes. Heavenly music played on a colorful background, and voices: – Marianna! It’s you! You! You will bear a son! You will bear a son! – the voices sang to Marianna.
From the TV screen, the melodic voices continued: – Don’t lie down, get up, you are doing great! We praise you! You will bear a son!
Marianna got up and went to the kitchen.
– What kind of son will I bear…
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,
