My Angel

by Tetiana Brooks

  After we finished talking, I ran home. It’s not an exaggeration. I ran as fast as I could. And each time that I stopped for breath, I almost turned back to do what I was thinking about, could not stop myself from thinking about. When I finally made it home, I poured myself a glass of vodka. Full. Then plunked myself to the foot of the couch and emptied another glass of vodka at one gulp. I felt no taste, no alcoholic content. After that I passed out.

  In the morning my usual heartache and desire to end it all was mixed with a terrible headache and booze breath. But I didn’t pay attention to anything and again ran. I ran to the same hospital where I was once treated for vegetative-vascular dystonia and migraine, the result of this very dystonia.

  I was lucky again. The doctor on duty was understanding, and I didn’t have to explain very much to him. After only a few words, he realized instantly why I had appeared in his hospital. He admitted me at once.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I stayed an entire month at the hospital. I had two weeks of treatment and strict restriction to the hospital and grounds, then two more weeks of much more pleasant therapy, along with a relative freedom of movement about the city.

  I was lucky to have such good doctors. Perhaps it was only my personal impression, but I couldn’t help but notice that Dr. Bagreev was a well-built, muscular man. One could say the same about his character. Even his jokes were too direct and strong. But no one took offense.

  There was a remarkable woman with me in the ward. I had no idea why Valentina was here medically, but she was the owner of a very unusual and rare surname: Netahata, a name out of Ukrainian legend. The one that means that the bearer of the name isn’t living in their own home. Actually, in the sense that those of the family Netahata have toys in the attic.

  After I found out about this unfortunate last name, I decided to give a little moral support to the woman.

  “Don’t worry, Valentina, soon you’ll get married and will finally be able to change your last name to a normal one.”

  “Oh, I am married,” said Valentina serenly.

  “Really? Then why didn’t you keep your maiden name?”

  “Well, my maiden name was also Netahata.”

  “That cannot be!”

  “That’s right, Polina. All my youth I dreamed of getting married one day, just so I could change my name,” Valentina said. “Then I met a guy right in our own village. Fell in love with him without asking for the family name first.”

  “Who would have thought!”

  “You know there are a lot of Ukrainian villages where one last name dominates. In some there are a lot of Ponamarenkos. In others, it’s Kotsiuba. In our village there are several families with the last name of Netahata.”

  “Hmmm,” I could only mumble.

  Our kind Dr. Bagreev always cracked jokes about that name of Valentina’s.

  “So, Valentina, still not that hata? It’s okay. Soon we will heal you and your hata will become the right one. Then you could change your last name to Tahata, the Correct House!”

  Valentina was ready to take offense, and the doctor knew he was in hot water.

  Bagreev saw a jar of pickled cucumbers on the table and said, “Ah, pickled cucumbers! All we need is a glass of bathtub vodka and a nice fat piece of salo–the perfect combination!”

  “I will call my mom, she will bring everything immediately!” Valentina mouthed in pure Ukrainian and with the strong accent specific to her village.

  We all laughed together.

  On the day of my discharge, Dr. Bagreev invited me into his office and said, “Sit down and listen.”

  Dr. Bagreev was sitting at the table and doing nothing just looked at the paperwork. A minute. Two. I start wondering: Does he going to speak? Then he got up. Gathered folders that were there in a pile and put them on the edge of the table. He didn’t look at me but walked through the room to window. Then he start talking. Quietly, slowly and surely, like a bud was talking to himself.

  This all seemed very familiar. But I sat down and listened.

  “I have been working as a psychiatrist for nearly thirty years. During my rather extensive practice, I’ve had more than a hundred cases of people who decided to commit suicide, thus to solve their accumulated problems, or to get rid of their pain. Some of them survived, but mostly they didn’t. As a doctor, I know that at such moments, solving those horrible problems and getting rid of the mental or physical pain looks like the sweetest candy; the achievement of the most cherished dream.

  “The human brain can lose, for a short time, the most powerful feeling in the world, the instinct of self-preservation. Only a very strong person, I repeat, only a very strong person can find the strength to resist this temptation and ask for help.

  “The greatest complication is the realization that you cannot cope with this by yourself. Understand and accept this fact. You have to find the strength to ask for help, to confess your weakness. So you should know, my dear, that only really strong people can accomplish such a feat.”

  At this moment, apparently, a doubt reflected on my face because Bagreev repeated, “Yes, yes. For a person in such a situation, this is a feat. In my practice I’ve had only three cases like this. One of them is yours.”

  I stared at him with my eyes wide open, and listening as if his voice was the voice of an angel. Something in my soul started growing and strengthening. Something was changing.

  “And now I’m going to tell you the most important thing of all. Listen, my dear, and never forget what I tell you. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are a smart and dauntless woman. And if you are able to overcome this, you’ll be able to overcome everything, and achieve anything you want in your life.”

  He leaned over the desk toward me. “Do you understand? Anything.” And then he sat down behind his desk and looked at me.

  This man, so rigorous? and so kind at the same time, Doctor Bagreev, settled a feeling of strength and confidence in me. The belief that I was strong, that I could do anything, and would be able to achieve all my desires and dreams.

  And things started to work out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My first task was to get rid of my obsessive hatred. I thought about Maria Vasilievna and her supernatural, as it seemed to me, gift. I remembered the stories of people and how they were saved by the church and faith in God. So I decided to go to church.

  Truth be told, as long as people are happy they are not in a hurry to turn to God. They live their lives, not always saintly, and sometimes expiate their sins with good deeds and thoughts.

  But when you get into a difficult situation, start having problems with health, or worse, get sick with something incurable, that’s when you begin to look for God. For this people tend to go to church. Where else? Only there you can atone for your sins, get help and hear God’s voice.

  I looked for salvation there also. But God and church? They are not the same thing. I do not want to offend any religious people who go to various churches and find comfort there. Moreover, many of them can’t even imagine their lives without church and the people with whom they pray. And very often such people are connected with each other by something much deeper and intimate than belonging to the same Act of Contrition.

  I’d been to this particular church before, looked at the icons framed in gold, lit candles for health and for peace. But never had I been so lonely and undeserving as I was now. All the recent events ached in my heart and soul.

  I was told for a start, to make a confession so the priest could grant me absolution and bless me in order that I could begin to lead a saintly life.

  As a supplicant should, I went to the church early in the morning, without having breakfast, and partook of the entire service.

  For my confession, the priest asked me to come close to him, very close. He pushed my shoulders, making me lean over, so that my nose was almost touching his porky belly, and covered me with his vestments. Then he put the Bible on my head. He asked me about something and I answer
ed automatically, could not even hear what, exactly. Hunger had sharpened my sense of smell, and the smell from underneath his robe was so terrible that the only thing I could think of was to get out from under it so I could breathe. Then he gave me a cross to kiss, a cross that had been kissed before me by everyone who came for confession.

  So I didn’t experience, I did not feel the main thing which made me go there to that church, that the Lord had forgiven my sins. I would say, on the contrary, I felt humiliated and unworthy of forgiveness, though my thoughts and soul must have been in full repentance. I never visited this church again.

  The second attempt was spontaneous. My friend’s father had died and I was helping with the funeral. After the funeral, we went with her to the church for the funeral service and the sealing. With us we brought everything required: some dirt from the grave, bread, eggs, wine, money, and a dozen handkerchiefs.

  A woman from the church told us to put everything on the table prepared for the ritual. We had to wait for the priest. Meanwhile, another family arrived for the sealing of their deceased loved one. They probably did not have enough handkerchiefs, so the seller of icons and crosses came from behind her desk, took our handkerchiefs, and started selling them to the newcomers.

  The next church I went to shocked me with its cheerfulness. The church members were singing and dancing on the stage, captivating everyone around with rhythm and their good mood. They were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, which didn’t correspond to my inner state. So I realized that I had to cope with all the pain inside of me without a church, and perhaps even without God’s help.

  Chapter Seventeen

  But I couldn’t have managed without His help. One day I decided to visit my friend with the beautiful name, Svetlana. Svetlana always inspired me with her strength of mind, hard work, and constant desire to improve something in the interior of her apartment. She got married when she already had a daughter, Marina, and her new husband had two children from his previous marriage. His first wife was sick, and after her death, his children got a new mom, Marina for a little sister and another brother, Andrei, who was born soon after the wedding.

  It was a mystery to me how Svetlana was managing to raise four children. Anton, her husband, was working a lot, and the children, household, a dog, and a cat were Svetlana’s duty. She even managed to earn some extra money by knitting. She had a real talent for that, so there was always a demand for her work. Only Heaven knew exactly how she survived.

  They lived in a small two-bedroom apartment near the city center. I still can’t understand how all of them fit in it. I always dropped by to see her when something went wrong in my life. Seeing she was always busy as a bee but never lost her good mood and strength of spirit, I would come back home ashamed. I would think, This woman has a life much harder than mine, but never complains, unlike me, and other thoughts like that.

  And now, years later, nothing had changed in Svetlana’s life. Her daughter, Marina, went to work in London, leaving two daughters to be raised by their grandma. Apparently, my friend did not now have enough of her own resources, so she joined a church community. After learning about my situation, she invited me to go to church with her, and I did not dare to offend her by my refusal.

  “Polina, I want to introduce you to our pastor, Vladislav Petrovich. Tell him everything, and he is sure to help you.”

  I smiled ironically at heart, but didn’t want to show my real attitude to the questions of religion and church.

  Vladislav Petrovich was, to my surprise, an ordinary man with an ugly, but not repulsive appearance, dressed in an ordinary suit. Even in his eyes, which are supposed to be the windows of his soul, I saw nothing special. It was only when he started talking I realized he was a priest with a God-given talent. His voice, a deep, soft baritone, penetrated deep inside and settled comfortably in my brain.

  “Hello, Polina” he said.

  “Hello.”

  “Tell me about your doubts, Polina, and I’ll try to help you make the right decision.”

  I liked the fact that he did not offer to help me cope with my problems. I had already realized by this time that each person had to handle his or her problems independently. Apparently, my face reflected surprise because Vladislav Petrovich smiled gently and said, “Many people are waiting for God to solve all their problems. My task is to explain what’s really going on and help them make the right decisions. I don’t need to explain that to you. You already know that.”

  I was even more surprised.

  “Why do you think so?” I asked.

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  Oh, I am lucky to meet the people in the know, I thought, and said, “Svetlana brought me here, and I did not want to offend her, so I came. After so many years of atheistic communist education, many people tried to return to a life of faith. I also tried. I visited various parishes in search of the path to God. Unfortunately, after all my attempts I feel nothing but disappointment.”

  “Do you believe that He really exists?”

  “Previously I did, but now I am not sure. But I do not want to go to a church. I feel too uncomfortable there.”

  Vladislav Petrovich approached to me and looked at my eyes. Carefuly. I do not know what he was going to see there, but he, suddenly, smiled and shook his head affirmatively. I wondered what would it mean?

  “For an exemple”, he said, “If you need money, and you want to borrow it on your father, you don’t need to go to your neighbor and ask him to do that. You can go directly to your father and ask him, can’t you?”

  “Well, in general, yes.”

  “And some can’t. They can be shy, or just feel better in a company.”

  And then it hit me.

  “So you’re saying I do not have to go to church? That I can turn to Him directly with my gratitude or for the help and advice I need?”

  “Yes.” Vladislav Petrovich smiled. “That’s what I’m trying to say. God knows how to read our hearts. Moreover, he created us each different. Yes, in His own likeness, but different. Someone needs to go to church, to be among people. You have a different case. That is not by accident. God has plans for everyone. You’re not an exception.”

  I was struck by the fact that the priest was not agitating for me to go to his church, to bring a tithe and sing prayers.

  “What are His plans for me?”

  “I do not know, I’m not God. But I have to give you some important advice. You must find strength to forgive the person or people who did this to you.”

  “How do you know?” I was surprised. “Did Svetlana tell you?”

  “No. I do not know. Just my experience. You came here.”

  “But I came with Svetlana, not by myself.”

  “But you did come. Tell me, don’t worry,” his voice insisted and fascinated at the same time.

  And I told him everything. I just could not resist the temptation to complain, to unload. But Vladislav Petrovich was a great listener. He didn’t interrupt. Sympathy and outrage reflected on his face, depending on the nature of the narrative.

  And then he said, “You poor thing. How could you live all this time with so much hatred and???? love! You should go to your ex-husband, bring him a gift, something he loved when you were living together, and say out loud the words of forgiveness. Out loud, do you understand?”

  “What’s the difference, aloud or not,” I was angry. “I can’t forgive him. I just can’t.”

  “Did you try?” His voice became gentle and cushioned as an Angora scarf, making you warm on a winter evening.

  “No.”

  “So how do you know you can’t?”

  I walked away with a determined desire to try. I wanted to do as Vladislav Petrovich advised me to, but just the same I determined my conviction that I couldn’t forgive.

  And only a fragile hope flickered somewhere inside, somewhere in my head or in my heart: what if? What if I manage to get rid of this pain, anger, hatred and self-pity?

&
nbsp; Chapter Eighteen

  That same evening, in order to not to put off this hard decision, or most likely I would change my mind, I called Aleksei.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said, after a rather long pause.

  “Can we meet? I need to talk to you.”

  For a moment he didn’t say anything.

  “Sure.” Suddenly he agreed. “Only, come see me in my flat. I can’t...” His voice trailed off.

  I was surprised at how easily he agreed and how weak his voice was.

  “Tell me where.”

  I found the address easily. It was the mouse’s flat. He had rented it while waiting for the money from the sale of our house. The Marina-mouse had left and moved to Israel. Without him. But that fact was less shocking than the way Aleksei looked. He was obviously ill. Extremely thin, just a set of bones, all pale and toothless.

  I immediately recollected his old joke: “I have only two teeth, and they are not against each other.” People have to think about what they say, even if it’s just a joke. [where did he say this?]

  Looking at my ex, I realized that he was very close to the point after which came complete silence. And again, it was as though my son was in front of me. And I knew that I could forgive Aleksei. I knew that Vova would suffer much if he lost his father. And I also thought that he would blame me for his father’s death. Perhaps that’s exactly what the wise Maria Vasilievna and Vladislav Petrovich were trying to tell me. I felt sorry for everyone: my son who could lose his father; my ex, because he was definitely in pain now, afraid, and certainly regretting what he did; and me, because of all the Hell I had gone through.

  It reminded me of the suitcase of roses.

  Vova and I were celebrating our birthdays. In fact, he was actually born the day before my own birthday. The doctor who was delivering my son offered to change the date on the birth certificate to one day forward, like mine, but I demurred. I already knew that the day, month, and year of birth made a difference in the life of each person. And I did not want to create confusion in my son’s fate from the earliest days of his life.???? Destiny.