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“Your name is good too,” the little boy said. “A significant one!”
“Whose are you?” Father Konstantin held out his hand to the boy.
“Yours,” Vlad said, standing up.
Hand in hand, they went home, a grown man and a little boy.
***
9 years later, Molyobka village
June was slowly coming to an end in the small village of a hundred households. The intense summer sun was shining and its light was refracting and dispersing in raindrops sparkling on emerald green leaves after the morning thunderstorm.
The church was the main attraction of the village. Made of logs, designed as an Old Russian tower house, it was the spiritual center for the congregation of the whole village, filling the surroundings with the silvery clamor of bells.
This time Father Konstantin was conducting the morning service, and the parishioners were praying for their nearest and dearest, begging for forgiveness for the mistakes they made, crossing themselves and bowing. Some of them were standing and reading the prayer in front of the icons, others were silently sitting on the benches along the wall near the door.
Turning his face to the congregation and blessing the people, the father cast a casual glance at the church choir, which was led by a boy of about twelve years old. There was nothing special about the boy: He was lean-bodied, with greyish blue eyes and neatly combed fair hair. His young age seemed to be no problem for the young choirmaster.
High-pitched and clear children’s voices filled the church with the crystal-clear sound. The harmoniously intertwined voices flowed freely over the church, reaching the ears and passionate hearts of each and every grateful listener. It seemed impossible that a child could lead the choir of regular village boys with such confidence. Smooth, but expressive movements of his hands led the church choir, as if he and the choirboys were a single whole. The melody was flowing, giving a sense of peace to everyone in the church and filling their hearts with light.
When the sermon was over and the congregation left the church, the priest disappeared behind the holy doors. Meanwhile the choirboys came down from the balcony. Most of them immediately changed into their casual clothes and hastened home. The young choirmaster did not leave and settled down to the usual novitiate work: He put away the burnt-out candles, fixed a crooked icon, and added fresh oil to the altar lamp.
Vladislav Viggin
“Vlad!” the priest called him. “Breakfast is on the table! Hurry up, son!”
“Alright, father!” Vlad replied.
He closed the psalter, reverently ran his hand over the artfully embossed leather binding, and went to the refectory at a leisurely pace.
Father Konstantin and Mark, the bell-ringer, were sitting at the table and talking quietly. The cook named Anna was putting the steaming porridge into plates.
The boy took his place and Father Konstantin began saying grace. The cook, standing by the table, and the bell-ringer closed their eyes, folded their arms on the chest and moved their lips while silently praying. Vlad was looking at Father Konstantin and echoing him, saying the prayer he knew by heart.
“Our merciful Lord, bless this food before us so that our souls could soar to you, our Lord, in their universal love! Amen!”
“Amen,” everyone repeated after him.
Mark was eating loudly and hastily. Father Konstantin and Vlad were eating tidily and without any haste. Anna was modestly standing by the table, taking some porridge with the tip of the spoon, and meditatively putting it in her mouth.
“What a singing it was today!” the bell-ringer exclaimed, unable to hold back his emotions. “But wait. It couldn’t be otherwise!”
Vlad gave a shy smile, but did not say a word.
“It used to be different. Many years ago, there weren’t even any choirboys,” Father Konstantin pointed out.
“Except for those two vociferous cockerels,” Mark said with a sniff.
The priest gave him a steady look.
“Don’t get me wrong, Father!” Mark crossed himself. “But you do remember how they used to wheeze, don’t you? I even spared a thought whether it was time to cast out demons from them!”
Father Konstantin only shook his head at this.
“There is no denying the truth, Father,” Anna said in a rather muffled voice. “It wasn’t very long ago that things started looking up, by the grace of God. The church is growing in numbers, and it is clean and tidy. The people seem to be more open-hearted.”
“And all the thanks should go to the boy!” Mark gave Vlad a wink, and the boy blushed all over.
“Uncle Mark, I don’t…”
“No, no, no, I won’t listen to it!” the bell-ringer covered his face with his hand in a dramatic gesture.
“He is right, my dear,” Anna cast him a smile and stroked his hair. “You are doing a lot for all of us. For the church and for the villagers.”
“Yeah, ‘at’s wha’ I’m ‘alking a’ou’! ” the bell-ringer made encouraging noises with his mouth full. “One canno’ coun’ i’ on ‘e fin’ers of one ghan’!”
“They are right,” Father Konstantin gave Vlad a sharp look. “You are humble, and it is very commendable. But people can see you doing your best. We have never had a church choir before. You turned regular village boys into choirboys, whose voices would be duly appreciated even in privileged circles. I lend my ears to the people who come here in my line of work. And guess what they say? They come not so much for the prayer, as for the choir. Your choir, Vlad.”
“But why?” the boy asked.
“You may not notice it, but when I stay there, downstairs, I marvel at the incredible concord of voices. These voices make people happier and kinder.”
Though they spoke highly of him, Vlad was sitting with his head low, as if they were chastising him.
“Not to mention this clear head full of knowledge. Father Konstantin, do you know many teachers who could teach reading and writing, the Bible, mathematics and other sciences at a parish school at this age?” Mark kept harping on the same old theme.
Vlad shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment. He genuinely struggled to understand what he had done to deserve such praise. He had been doing all of this without effort; moreover, he felt he was wasting time.
From his first day in the house of Father Konstantin, he was very passionate about every book he got hold of. Within a short time, he learnt the art of reading and writing, and read all the books in the local library. He read everything and anything, ecclesiastical writing, theology and philosophy books, geographic atlases, and periodicals. He had an amazing memory and could remember the texts by heart almost word for word. But when he was retelling these books to his peers, he didn’t do it parrot-fashion; he was able to explain the main idea, conveying it in simple words, which could be understood even by a bell-ringer or a cook. No one asked him to do anything, but very soon he was the center of attention of village boys and girls. They did not come to him for fun and play. They came to listen to his never-ending stories. That is how he became their teacher. Father Konstantin was happy to entrust him with the keys from the classroom.
“Talking about the studies! What classes do you have today?” Anna looked at the boy with respect.
“Hmm…” Vlad hurried to swallow a bite. “Astronomy. We are going to learn more about the solar system.”
“I’d be glad to join,” the cook said and dabbed away tears with a handkerchief, “but I will make a sight of myself, uneducated old woman!”
They finished their meal. Father Konstantin addressed his children with words of encouragement:
“You both have things to do. Go in peace. And you, Vlad, should go to your pupils. I want to have a serious talk with you after that.”
Vlad’s heart gave a leap at these words, but he didn’t give himself away.
The small church school was attached to the church building. Vlad told the other children about the composition of the solar system in plain language he got used to. He told them about the huge and hot Sun, explained why it was shining, and what planets revolved around it. He chalked the planets as circles of different sizes and their orbits, and told a fascinating story.
“And where do we live?” the children asked him.
“It’s the third planet from the Sun,” Vlad showed them.
“Why are you saying that Jupiter is the biggest planet which is three hundred times as massive as Earth, if we can’t even see it? The Moon is small, but we can see it.”
Vlad brought the children to a hill behind the church fence.
“Can you see the hen?” he pointed at a crested hen shuffling its legs back and forth in the dust on the road.
“Yes, we can,” the children nodded.
“And can you see the cow there, on the grass beyond the river?” he looked into the distance.
“Where? Where?”
“I can see! It’s like a tiny dot!”
“What is bigger, a cow or a hen?” Vlad asked.
“Of course, a cow!”
“But you see it as a tiny dot. Do you know why?”
“Because it is far away!”
“That’s right! The same goes for Jupiter and the Moon. The Moon is right there, close to us, it goes around the Earth. And as for Jupiter, a lifetime won’t be enough to reach it, even if you go there by car.”
“And we will run out of gasoline,” the children laughed.
They were standing in circle a while longer and talking of this and that. Their classes always ended this way.
Vlad saw the children off and got back to the church. Father Konstantin walked out from the refectory to meet him and greeted him with a smile.
“Are you done?”
“Yes, father.”
“Very well,” Father Konstantin said approvingly. He drew Vlad to him and held him tight.
“There is something you want to talk about, isn’t there?” Vlad looked up.
“I have a task for you, son,” Father Konstantin was hiding his face. “We’ve got a batch of church candles, and I need you to take them to the old Fedotya. I can never understand why she needs so many.”
“She probably prays a lot,” the boy suggested.
“I wish it was true,” the priest smiled. “Vlad…” he brushed the boy aside and looked into his fair face. “When you come back from her, I won’t be here,” there was a touch of sadness in his voice.
“Are you going to the city?”
“No… it’s just something that I need to do for the church… here, in the village,” the Father assured Vlad. “The candles are on the table in the refectory.”
“I got it, father!”
“When you come back from Fedotya…”
“You won’t be here,” Vlad repeated.
“No, it’s not that… there will be a present waiting for you in the refectory.”
“A present?”
Father Konstantin gave him a warm smile.
“Happy birthday, son!”
Vlad couldn’t even say anything in reply. He just gave the priest a hug.
“There, there,” the priest pushed the boy aside somewhat nervously and hid his face again, “hurry up.”
“Alright, father. It won’t take long.”
Father Konstantin left the church without a backward glance. Vlad went to the refectory. There was a bunch of church candles on the table, just like the priest had told him.
Chapter Two. A hard choice
Vlad knew the village well, so he chose the shortest way to the house of old Fedotya. On his way, he turned off into a few alleys and streets, scared off a gaggle of geese that burst out squawking and cackling in indignation. Vlad jumped over a low fence, leaving an old mongrel bewildered with his agility, and knocked on the hand-carved door.
The old lady answered the door almost immediately: She had seen the boy in the window. The boy smelled fresh baked pastries through the open door.
“Come in, honey!” old Fedotya greeted him warmly. “You are just in time, I have just milked the cow and now I am baking griddle cakes.”
The thought of cakes made Vlad’s mouth water (Fedotya’s treats were hard to resist), but he replied in a voice, crisp after the recent running:
“Thank you, but I won’t stay long.”
“Of course, you won’t,” the old lady nodded and let the boy in.
The door closed by itself.
As soon as Vlad stepped over the threshold, he got a feeling he had hopped into another dimension. The air was thick and redolent. He felt like being immersed in warm water; the warmth soaked in, relaxing his body and mind. His train of thoughts slowed down, and his brisk movements acquired smoothness. The need for haste had gone away. With the old woman, Vlad always felt like her well-behaved grandson, mesmerized by her deep throaty voice and loving kindness.
A wide reader, he always gave a good deal of thought to everything and could easily explain such transformations. No magic was involved. The wood stove in Fedotya’s house was always burning hot, even in summertime, and the windows were always closed; no wonder that the air was stuffy. As for the smells, the house was full of dry forest herbs tied in bundles hanging on the walls, fresh spruce branches and clusters of rowan berries.
“I brought you candles from Father Konstantin,” Vlad remembered the purpose of his visit.
“Oh, how nice of him!” the old woman took the candles happily. “I almost gave up thoughts of coming to see you. It’s quite a long walk for my old legs!”
“It is,” Vlad agreed.
“I can still do some chores around the house and milk the cow,” she flung her hands up and turned back to the oven. “My cakes! They are going to burn!”
Vlad helped Fedotya rescue the last of the cakes from the hot hugs of the oven. They smelled wonderful.
