My Angel

by Tetiana Brooks

  Natasha called me one day and suggested we take our dogs out to the field, “to catch bunnies,” as we called it. Our dogs were not able to catch anything like that, but a long run would be good for their health. As soon as we went and removed the leashes, they sped away and disappeared behind the hill. We were not really worried, we just kept talking, and following the same direction our dogs had taken. From the top of the hill we saw Vesta, Natasha’s Afghan, squirming on her back with enormous pleasure. My Onega was nearby, eating something horrible, with an incredible appetite.

  “Oh!”

  “Not again!” We cried out almost simultaneously.

  “Again, some stinky carrion!” Natasha was stupefied.

  “Eating poop again!” I exclaimed.

  And we rushed to our pets. I must say that hunting hounds like ours retain some habits of their wild predator ancestors. With such actions, the dogs destroy the smell of the delicious shampoos that the loving owners use for washing them, so the sweet scent does not prevent them from a successful hunt.

  We walked home with dignity and pride, but at the same time trying not to breathe in too deeply. Night was coming, so the benches in the yards near the entrances were already occupied by curious old ladies, retirees who loved to know all the local news, discussed the gossip, and were always anxious to give advice to the guilty ones who passed their bench. That was a rule of socialist reality: never be indifferent to the shortcomings of others.

  But that night, everything was going its special way. As soon as the old ladies saw our silhouettes in the distance, they opened their mouths as usual, to scold us for wasting money on feeding such huge dogs, but not our own children. But as the “fragrance” from our four-legged creatures reached them, their mouths were shut instantly. Immediately after, the old women disappeared into their apartments to hide from the unbearable stench. We had no other choice but to continue our journey home and pretend that nothing was happening.

  Poor grannies! I could only imagine the many things they wanted to tell us, what they thought of Natasha and me.

  Once we got home we washed our dogs with shampoo, with soap, and then again with shampoo, trying to get the stink out. I even tried to brush Onega’s teeth. But the stench was so strong that we had to punish our pets, by closing them off on the balconies of our apartments. The nasty smell disappeared in a couple of days only after we repeated bathing them two or three times per day.

  Now, recalling this incident on my hospital bed, we laughed our tails off.

  Laughter, and the solicitude of now truly close and caring people put me back on my emotional feet. It also helped me to know who was not truly caring.

  One day, about a month after the explosion, I noticed that, by biting the bullet, it was possible to hang my legs over the side of the bed. It made me so happy that I started doing that ten times a day. Meanwhile, life in the ward was taking its course. Everyone was busy with her own recuperation.

  Maria Vasilievna continued, with curiosity, to watch my attempts to get back on my feet. And one day she said, “Polina, honey, do you want to tell me about that dream that you saw three days before the explosion?”

  “But how do you know that, Maria Vasilievna? I didn’t tell anyone about it. Was I delirious under the drugs?”

  “No, you did not say anything.” She smiled. “How do I know? Does it matter? So, do you want to tell me?”

  That night just Maria and I were in the ward, and I decided to tell her about my dream. I thought there must be something special in her that made her look at me like that. She was clearly not your usual old lady. Moreover, she was going to be discharged tomorrow. So, why not tell her?

  Perhaps I was ready for it, because each word that woman told me that night vibrated within me. I would remember them forever. And so, I told her my dream.

  “I came back again to my city. It was a sunny summer’s day. As usual, I came down the tail of the streets that formed the letter Y, a strange, incomplete crossroads. I had two hounds on the leash—Onega and a very beautiful black male dog. People were scurrying around. A lot of people. They were dressed in bright clothes and looked very busy. Some of them were selling things, others were buying them. Some were hurrying somewhere, others were having conversations.

  “I decided that I finally wanted to learn about this city, the name of this street, and who lived in the gray stone building. I tried to talk to several people, but it seemed as though they didn’t pay any attention to me or my dogs.

  “I thought I needed to take a closer look around and search for some of my friends. And suddenly everyone began to scatter in different directions, running to their houses and closing the doors and shutters. Perplexed, I watched this stampede, trying to ask what was happening, but everyone looked at me with horror in their eyes, as though I had caused this panic.

  “In a few minutes I was left totally alone with my dogs, at the intersection of the roads. It became completely silent, and then I felt a distinct tremor in the earth, as if an incredibly huge dinosaur was walking on the pavement, coming toward me. My dogs tensed, going on full alert. Step by slow earthshaking step, the thing came toward us.

  “From around the corner there appeared an extraordinarily large and beautiful black bull with silver horns. It halted thirty feet from me. I was surprised, but for some unexplainable reason, not scared. I admired it. It was so beautiful, so powerful. Its eyes were bloodshot, its black body glistened in the sun, and its silver horns looked perfect. It was both terrifying and wonderful, and I could not take my eyes off of it. The black bull also seemed to stare at me and then slowly began to approach.

  “Everything else in my dream was wrapped in an intense silence. I could hear only the sound of his hooves. And then I began to worry. Frightened, I began to look for some place to hide, instantly realizing it was useless to try. Then suddenly my black dog, tearing the leash out of my hand, raced toward the bull.

  “‘No,’” I cried. “Come here, right now! I slapped my hip, but he ignored his training.

  “The dog ran up to the bull, and, as if teasing it, ran around to the left. The angry creature chased him. Onega ran after them, and I realized I was left alone.

  “I had to get them away from that creature and make sure they were safe.

  “For some reason I didn’t think of myself. I ran after them, shouting, and looking for help. Onega came back to me after a while, but my Black Defender did not. I wandered around the city until nightfall. I called and called for him, weeping from my feelings of unbearable guilt. I was so sorry, and I knew that something terrible had happened to my dog.

  “When I awoke, my face was wet with tears. My heart was heavy inside of me. I could hardly breathe because my throat was closing up with grief. I had lost someone dear and beloved. That feeling has never left me.”

  “I thought so,” replied Maria Vasilievna, after a rather long pause. “I have something to say to you, but please, do not ask me anything. I will tell you only what I can tell. The rest you will understand yourself. If not now, then later. So, listen.”

  She leaned toward me.

  “I’ve been watching you all this time, and I know you are not a simple person, and there is a reason why your life is filled with so many difficulties. Everything happens for a reason, but if you do not change yourself, your attitude towards people and life, you will die. The black bull is your death. You were supposed to die.

  “And the black dog that saved you was your guardian angel. You lost him that night. He had vowed to watch over you, even to the cost of his life, to give you another chance. But now you have to live without him.

  “I do not know exactly what is wrong in your life, if it’s something you’ve done that was wrong, or done incorrectly. Or perhaps something you haven’t done.”

  I burst into tears. They suddenly start rolling out of my eyes like a hall from the sky. I covered my face with palms. Shoulders began to shudder. First gently, then more and more. Eventually I started to cry like a litt
le girl of five years old.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. I don’t know,” I whispered, not certain I was making any sound. But Maria Vasilievna heard me, because, with a sad smile, she continued. “And have you done any good? You know, in this life it’s not enough not do anything wrong. Apparently, you have a mission that you must fulfill. In fact, you’re a kind and clever girl, no doubt. But now you’ll have to prove that you understand everything and are ready to change. It will be very difficult, very hard, because you no longer have your defender. You didn’t notice him, didn’t listen to him, you betrayed him, but he still believed in you and sacrificed his life for the sake of your salvation.

  “But if you can, if you manage to get through all the difficulties and change yourself, he, your guardian angel, will revive like a phoenix and come back to you. But you have to prove your worth with all of your actions, and even your thoughts, that you deserve this.”

  I would not have predicted anything this woman had said. I was expecting some of the usual platitudes, stories about God, church, life. But such depth and awareness in her conversation! I was greatly surprised.

  “I’m sorry, Maria Vasilievna, but to whom should I prove myself?”

  “Darling, I said no questions. But I’ll answer this one. I think that you have to prove it to yourself. As soon as you learn how to honestly and sincerely look yourself in the eyes, or rather, in your heart, you’ll know it. You will understand everything. And your life will change. Very much. If you do not manage to do this, then, as I said, you will die. And let that not frighten you, either. Everyone dies. This is normal. Natural.”

  Maria Vasilievna smiled, a little sad, but somehow at the same time, so filled with light.

  I did not know why, but I believed every word from this strange woman, even though all my life I was persuaded that the world was material. There were no angels, especially not guardian angels. Everything told to me today by this woman was strange, even ludicrous to me, but I believed it. [I saw that she was talking about things I had been wondering about for many years.]Somehow, I believed every word and I knew that if I did not listen to her now, I would die. So I did pay attention, very carefully. I wanted to live.

  Besides, I suddenly recollected a man I had met in college. But just then I wasn’t so certain that he was a man.

  Chapter Eleven

  At the time I was studying at Uman Teacher Training School, hoping to devote my life to the communistic education of the younger generation. I was a good student, but as always, I wanted to be loved and needed, which, again, as always, created problems for me.

  One day I was walking along the central square of the glorious city of Uman with one of the most popular girls. Liuda, my good friend, was very beautiful according to the standards of those times, and my own idea of a beautiful woman. Large, expressive eyes, perfect eyebrows, a high, clean forehead, and long silken hair. I wasn’t jealous of her looks, but I also wanted to be the same—beautiful, popular, and desired. I did my best. Now, I do not recall where we were going, but I definitely remember this feeling of admiration and pride I always felt near her. Such a beautiful girl as my friend!

  A man was walking from the opposite direction. He looked terrible. So pale. Very pale. His skin was covered with spots and scabs. At least that’s how I saw him. The man was almost bald, and the little bit of gray, and white hair only emphasized the pale color of his face. He looked as if he just came out from the grave. It gave me the creeps when he started talking. His voice was hollow and weak and sounded as if he’d just crawled out from a crypt.

  “You,” he said, turning to my girlfriend, “will have a difficult, not very happy life. Your daughter is going to be your Damocles’ sword, but it will be your own fault.”

  “And you,” he looked at me with his pale blue, almost colorless eyes, “you will be rich, loved, and happy.”

  I thought he even smiled a little. And then he just walked away.

  Liuda said nothing.

  “This can’t be happening!” I was stunned, and turned around to take another look at him and ask him who he was, but the man had disappeared.

  “Did you see how scary that man was?” I asked Liuda.

  “What man?”

  “The one that has just passed by.”

  “Are you okay, Polina? I didn’t see anyone!”

  How could it be, I thought then, that she didn’t see him? Probably she just didn’t pay attention. Anyway, who was beautiful Liuda and who was I? How could it happen that she would be unhappy, and me, rich and loved.

  Later, when life was particularly hard, after I understood much of what had to be understood, I thought about this strange man. With bitterness. Back then I really wanted to believe it was not a hallucination: that prophets did exist, and that happiness, wealth, and love were waiting for me. But what was happening to me was anything but happiness, wealth, or love. It couldn’t have been just a delusion, I thought sometimes. Or could it?

  Now, after this unexpected conversation with Maria Vasilievna, I remembered, for some reason, that strange man. And I believed both him and her.

  “Maria Vasilievna, please, just one question. Only one.”

  “Depends on the question,” the woman said.

  “Tell me, this explosion, was it an accident, or was someone trying to kill me?”

  “No, it was not an accident. There are no accidents. But the person who tried to do it was only an instrument, and you have to forgive him.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Well, my dear, I will definitely not tell you that.”

  “Do you know who that was?”

  “Yes, of course. But I cannot tell you. And I don’t want to. I do not want to plant any seed of hatred and vengeance in your soul. Though, you will know who it is, and it will be better for you if you forgive that person.”

  “Forgive him? But will he, this almost-killer, bear any punishment?”

  “Oh, he will. But, believe me, you will not want him to undergo that punishment.”

  “What? Why wouldn’t I want him to pay for his crime? He tried to kill me!”

  “You’ll see, my dear. Sometimes life is so confusing and difficult. But remember, your future depends on the rectitude of your decisions. And not only your future, as you will see someday for yourself.”

  Those words were spoken with finality. Maria rummaged around in the basket of fruit that her friend had brought. And she handed me a perfectly ripe apple.

  “Here, take this. Very tasty apples this time.”

  And she spoke no more of my dream.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, Maria Vasilievna was discharged and another woman became my ward neighbor. Her name was Olga Soroka. She was very sick, in a severe stage of diabetes, and terrible gangrene was spreading all over her legs. So it was only Svetlana, with her legs plastered, and me now.

  Svetlana couldn’t get up from bed by herself. I was doing my first unsure steps with the help of Vera, my hospital angel. I felt so dizzy during each of these attempts that I could not keep my balance. Something must have happened to my brain; I had no idea what part of my body I needed to move to take a step.

  That’s probably how God created the world. First, there was an idea. The same for me, first a thought: what to do, what muscles to use to put my right foot in front of my left. Okay, good, I would say, talking myself through it. Then I needed somehow to transfer my body weight onto the right leg, and on it would go from there. Step by step, with the help of my teachers, I learned to walk again. Was it as hard to learn how to walk when I was a child? I didn’t remember.

  This is really when you start appreciating the simple actions that are available to you. You learn to enjoy the little things that are given to you together with your life. “Be grateful and rejoice in all that surrounds you,” says one of the cosmic laws. I was grateful. Very grateful. And it was another lesson I had learnt.

  Learning to walk was progressing quite well, and on the
third day I could take a few independent steps. It was still very painful, but the joy of success and the pride from my achievements made me overcome this pain. So, the first challenge completed, I thought to myself. I was happy and thanked those who had helped, the doctors, and everyone around me.

  When I met Olga Soroka, life with my pain seemed a picnic compared to the suffering of that poor woman. That was the next lesson to learn: Everything in this world is relative.

  Olga was being prepared for double leg amputation, but the diabetes made doctors keep postponing it. They were expecting Olga’s daughter to come by to discuss the potential consequences of the operation. Perhaps even her mother’s death.

  But her daughter was not in a hurry to come for a visit, even though Olga was brought to the hospital emergency room by ambulance on a Saturday night.

  Additionally, in the emergency, Maria forgot to bring her medicines, and as ill luck would have it, at that moment there was nothing in the hospital that could stand in as replacements.

  Her first night in the ward, this poor woman could not sleep a wink. It was hot. The flies were swarming to the terrible odor coming from her legs, especially strong when she changed the bandages. She cried and moaned all night. On Sunday morning the admitting physician tried to do everything he could, first, to keep her alive until Monday, and second, to somehow to ease her suffering. Svetlana and I also did our best to support the poor woman, demonstrating our recovery and firmly promising Olga that by next week we would all be up and dancing, if not to rock and roll then at least some 7:40 with the klezmer or some Sirtaki from Zorba the Greek.

  Olga’s daughter didn’t come Sunday, either. In the evening, exhausted from pain and suffering, Olga begged me to call her daughter, and to see if she would bring her medication to the hospital. She wrote a phone number on a piece of paper, and thus I went into the first crusade of my new life, down the hallway, some thirty or forty feet. To me it seemed like a mile over broken glass. Carefully, supporting myself with the wall, I reached the nurse’s station where the phone sat on the desk.