Shootik

by Aleksya Sokol

  ’Up to now, we have tried to receive from our gods: grace, guidance, love, fortune, wisdom. By staying in a state of expectancy, we have also been in a state of expectations and therefore, in a state conducive to blaming, to being disappointed, insecure, fearful, when that which we had expected was not given to us in the expected way.

  It may now be time to change from expectancy to readiness to start acting in a god-like manner. To start giving. It is stopping identifying with one’s “I can’t” and “I don’t dare” and “I’m afraid”, as well as so many other self-imposed restrictions. To start giving is to start tapping into the potential of one’s own resources. And by realising that the resources are not only there but that they can be used to give courage, support and love to other beings. By doing this, our confidence may grow and we may finally stop thinking of ourselves as helpless infants thrown out into this cruel world by some cruel god.

  We may need to finally redeem ourselves from the condemnation which we, not some god, has pronounced upon ourselves, and that we, not gods, create our universe, our hells and paradises in which we, then, believe. But afraid to open our eyes, we fall asleep, faced again and again with our self-made mess, and we sink into it deeper and deeper, until it takes possession of us and creeps into our senses, obstructing them.’

  These were Anna’s private writings, a sort of a journal. Some parts from it found themselves re-phrased in answers to letters she received. Meant to encourage readers to explore their thoughts and topics of interest, Anna’s column soon became very popular. ‘We don’t see the world as it is; we see it as we are…’ A reader sent her this saying. How true it was!

  ‘Just look at times gone by…’ Solveig-Anna suggested to one reader, ‘put your pen to paper and start writing down words as they come to your mind. You’ll find yourself in them.’

  Gone by…she wrote for herself, those times are not. Only what the pictures show is past. The you in them is still here. It has never been anywhere else. The little girl, the little boy…The purity of their childhood. But then, who are the others? Those, who one by one stood up, appeared from nowhere? Another period of time. Look at what happened there! By accident? But then…

  We all need the passage through the desert in our relationships sooner or later, in order to disconnect ourselves from compulsive, habitual ways of being. The factor of change in relationships is commitment. This is love of a special kind. Neither good intentions nor sacrifice will do. And in order to initiate a process of change, we have to start by accepting things and situations as they are. Otherwise, no change is possible. This acceptance implies the experience of the point of no return, which amounts to a state beyond hope and despair.

  Life had to be experienced first, in as much light and shadow as one could bear, to be understood later. But even then, wasn’t each understanding just another interpretation of the experience? Was it not a desperate attempt to find sense in a series of happenings?

  Solveig-Anna was about to leave the office, deciding to have her lunch in a small café nearby, when an express letter was handed to her. ’Dear Anna, please open this as soon as possible’, it read on the envelope. She tucked the letter into her handbag, deciding to open it as soon as she was seated in the café. After ordering her food, she took it out and searched for the sender. None. The envelope was not the ordinary mail size. A card, perhaps? It was. On the front was a photograph which she immediately recognised. A view of the village, with the riverside. Such a nostalgic view! She saw herself immediately as a teenager walking towards it. Who was sending her this relic from the past? On the back of the card, she read:

  ‘Dear Anna, or may I say Solveig? I guess it is you. I’m in this city for only this week, and need to speak to you! Hence this request. Would you please call me and tell me when and where this might be possible?’ Name and telephone number of a hotel followed. Signed: Marusja

  Reading that name, Solveig felt as though she had been hit on the head. The last person she would have expected to meet again! But then, why not? Why not see her and hear what she had to say? She would call the given number from her office. Her food came and she took her time enjoying it. In the meantime, her mind flew back into that past of nearly thirty years ago that was no longer past. It was present, with all feelings as vivid and fresh as the magnolia blossoms growing right in front of the terrace of the café. On return to the office, Solveig picked up the phone and dialled the number.

  “Here is Anna,” she said, when her call was answered. A short silence followed.

  “Yes, of course…Thank you so much Anna, for responding! When can we meet?”

  “I can be free tomorrow afternoon.”

  “That will be fine. Any time it suits you. Where?”

  “I can come to your hotel, at two o’clock if that’s all right?”

  “Yes. Very much so.” Marusja sounded pleased.

  It was settled then, with a day in between to allow for things to calm down, Solveig thought. Instead, things spread even more, like a huge box full of photographs turned upside down on the floor, all vividly portraying scenes of her life in that village. Picking them up at random, in her imagination, there was a mental photo of Marusja Solveig used to admire her from a distance. Her upright walk, her blond curly hair, her fullness without being fat. Marusja was the exotic among them, with an air of I’m just passing by…which she transmitted. She never really belonged there, in the village. What about her, Solveig…? Did she belong there? And Jurij…?

  With nothing special to be attended to, Solveig-Anna decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. She could not concentrate on her work in the office, anyway. She went straight home. Her flexible working time allowed undisturbed space when she needed it, to be in touch with some of her readers’ stories. Now, her own story was taking her back and forth in time in a totally illogical sequence of images overlapping each other. The night turned out not to be better. She dreamt a whole saga of events to which she was a witness, unable to step out of the scenery or make any sense of it. Dreams had a peculiar way of transmitting a message. If they had a message at all, she thought.

  ‘Dear Anna, why do people dream…?’ This half-serious address to herself recomposed her mind to a certain extent. A prolonged bath with a revitalising, as it said on the pot, herbal essence did the rest. By the time she changed her clothes, dressing carefully and putting on some make-up, her mood was quite peaceful and the meeting with Marusja felt exciting.

  She took a tram, which left her almost at the door of the hotel. A nice, a bit old-fashioned four-star hotel in the older part of the city. Marusja was waiting for her in the lobby and came forward with a big smile to greet her. Her arms opened in a spontaneous move to embrace her, then she held back, to extend a hand instead.

  “How wonderful that you could come, Solveig…Anna, I mean!”

  “Solveig is all right. Between us, Anna is my pen-name.”

  “Come…there is a nice quiet place where we can sit.”

  Marusja took her arm to guide her through the lobby and onto a terrace at the back, furnished with small tables and chairs. Few were occupied.

  “What can I offer you? Coffee, tea? They have quite a selection of fruit-juices here too!”

  “A tea would be nice.”

  “Okay then.” Marusja waved to a waitress, who took the order.

  Marusja has matured, her naturally blond hair had silver strands in it, Solveig observed, but this did not detract from her all-over femininity. In fact, it accentuated it. The two women looked intently at each other for a moment, both taking in the new images. Then it was Solveig who spoke:

  “I was a bit anxious about meeting you…Now I’m glad I came.”

  “That’s great. I was anxious too. To tell the truth, I debated with myself whether I should contact you. It’s been a long time…”

  They laughed. The waitress came with the tea service and a selection of tea-bags. It was a welcome breathing pause for both of them.

  “Well,
now that we’ve shared our secret fears,” Marusja spoke, “we may share the rest, can’t we? What happened…after we left the village?”

  “Tell me.” Solveig leaned back.

  “All right, this is fair. After all it was my request for us to meet. First of all…and this is what I have been carrying with me all these years, I think I’ve messed up your life. Do you know? Or must I tell you more?”

  Solveig was for a moment taken aback by such a direct approach. But the ice was broken and it felt good.

  “I know,” she replied. “No need for details. Please go on.”

  Marusja told in brief episodes about her life after leaving the village. First, she went to see her father, a medical doctor and hobby-landscape architect in Helsinki, with whom she had a good relationship. Then she travelled to New York, not knowing exactly what she had to do there. Far away, that’s where she needed to be, she said, somewhere where nobody knew her. Not that she had something to hide, oh no, it was a challenge. New York, or Sidney or any other place outside the European continent would be all right. She jobbed in supermarkets, as a waitress, even as a photo-model for a while. Her father would have supported her financially, no doubt, if he knew that she needed money. But she had decided to make her own living. Then she became a tourist-guide and this became, in the course of the last years, her main profession. Now she travelled with people from all around the world, showing them Europe!

  “That’s it,” she finished. “Nothing sensational, as you see. I’ve been coming to Holland regularly, even learned the language, enough to be understood! And one day…” she opened her voluminous handbag to take a magazine out of it, “look what fell into my hands!”

  The magazine was dated more than seven years ago and was the edition in which Solveig’s first story was published.

  “This magazine,” Marusja held it with both hands, “it’s amazing, was left in a seat pocket on an inland-flight here in Holland. At that time I was practicing my Dutch, so I picked it up and opened it directly on this page.” The page was marked. “Look…” She pointed at the headline: ‘Once upon a time…’ it read. Solveig felt a lump in her throat.

  “Of course, I recognised the writer,” Marusja continued, “by recognising the scene. I have kept this magazine all these years. Though I could have contacted you earlier, I didn’t. Until now…when I had to…”

  “Do you want to know about Jurij? Are you looking for him?” Solveig interrupted, unable to see a plausible reason for Marusja telling her all this.

  “Oh, no! Not particularly. I would like to know, of course, how he is, or where he is, but I am not looking for him, as you put it. That’s not the reason for me contacting you. You are no longer together, I guess?”

  “No, we are not. And I wouldn’t know where to find him now. That is, if you were looking for him!”

  “Okay. That’s clear then. But now…can you tell me about yourself and what happened to you?”

  “That’s a very long story and I’m not sure I really can tell it so easily…Would you allow me a little break? Perhaps…” Solveig hesitated, “when we meet again? I’ll give you my card, come to see me sometime. I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” She produced her card.

  “I will,” Marusja took the card. “Thank you so much!”

  Solveig stood up to go. “By the way," she said,”you have not messed up my life! Don’t worry about that." Then she embraced Marusja, holding her close for quite a while. They parted.

  Stepping out of the hotel, Solveig-Anna decided to walk back to her place. It was a good way of digesting the happening. What was it really that Marusja wanted of her? She was not sure about this. And what she said to her in the end: you have not messed up my life…surprised herself. It was true, however. It was not she, Marusja, and it was not he, Jurij who fell for her charms. It was not even A and his club…Nobody, really. The mess…was it a mess? Searching for the answer which was there in the back of her mind, as this so often happened when she paid attention to the appearing thoughts, Solveig stopped on the bridge over a gracht, one of Amsterdam’s channels, and lent over its rail, staring at the slow flow of the brownish water. She hardly noticed somebody stopping near to her. Not until she heard a voice saying:

  “Hello…Remember me?”

  “Oh no! Yes! It’s you again!” Solveig felt her heart beating in her throat, recognising the waiter from the Beauty Farm…Who had presented her with a tea-rose. Heavens, how many years ago? But now…no, it could not be possible, here he was…and not a bit older! All these thoughts rushed through her mind in a split second, as she stared at his red-golden curls over his brow and his playful look.

  “Who are you? How do you know me? What…I mean, how…”

  “I’m your friend,” he calmly responded.

  “Yes, but…”

  “No buts, just trust me. Here…take this.”

  Taking a folded paper out of his jacket pocket, he handed it to Solveig. "There will be a conference. In Copenhagen. You should attend it."

  “A…what? I don’t usually attend conferences!” Solveig was about to hand the paper back to him.

  “This one is different. You’ll see.”

  Before she could recover from both the surprise at seeing this fellow and the unusual suggestion, almost a command, he was gone, waving to her as he turned the corner at the end of the bridge.

  Solveig tucked the paper in her coat pocket without reading it. This was too much for a day! Almost angrily, she started walking in the opposite direction to that in which the young man had disappeared. How could he have stayed that young? Angry at herself in the first place for not having had the presence of mind to get proper hold of him and insist upon knowing more about him, taken by surprise as before, she put her hand into the pocket, feeling the piece of paper. It was there to give her evidence of his existence.

  By the time she reached her apartment door, her anger subsided to a feeling of sheer astonishment. There was a small bouquet of tea roses, nicely wrapped in cellophane, lying on the floor. He knew where she lived! What else did he know about her?

  Next morning at her work, Henk, her boss, asked her to come to his office.

  “Anna,” he said with a bright smile, “I have here something special for you.”

  Taking a folder from his desk, he continued:

  “We thought…I mean, it’s not only my personal opinion, that your writing and observational abilities could be employed on a broader basis within our publishing company. As you know, we have other publications besides the magazine in which your collaboration is very much appreciated indeed. So…well,” he opened the folder, “Here we have received an invitation to a conference. In Copenhagen.”

  Oh no! Anna almost jumped up from her chair, All good things were supposed to be three, crossed her mind. This was sorcery, magic. What was happening to her?

  “Are you all right?” Henk noticed her sudden commotion and stopped in the middle of his sentence. Anna made an effort to calm herself, forcing a smile.

  “Yes, thank you, I’m all right. I guess I was not prepared for any change…in my daily schedule!”

  “Okay, but this will take you, at least for a while, out of your daily schedule. If you agree, of course! We intend to send you to Copenhagen in two weeks’ time, to attend this conference. As a reporter.”

  He handed her the folder.

  “All expenses paid, of course,” he added.

  Anna-Solveig was speechless when she left her boss’s office. She kept asking herself what was happening. In two weeks she was going to Copenhagen. And what was it all about? She opened the folder. Then she remembered the folded piece of paper in her coat pocket, which she had left there, unread. She went to get it, unfolded it and, yes, of course, it was a copy of the front page of the folder!

  ‘Invitation to a symposium on the latest developments in medical equipment and scientific research…’ Good heavens, that is the branch in which A and Jurij had been involved. Had been…or still are? Might they
be there? And what had the young fellow, her friend, as he called himself, to do with this?

  One thing was certain. Anna had to go. Too many coincidences pointing the way. Suddenly, Solveig felt catapulted from her quiet, safe place into the open. Reading under the main topics of the conference, there it was, Green Dolphin Research Centre! Aha, this might in fact be interesting.

  Eighth Picture

  It had been too long really, since Shootik’s last visit to the Old Man. Even Staretz thought it to be so. Where might the young fellow be hanging around? Might something have happened to him? Of course not, what could it be? Staretz chased away this typically human paternal concern, making it obvious that that part of him was still alive…

  Once human, one can’t stop being it…one can’t go back. The gate is closed to where one came from…

  Whether one liked the experience or not, he pursued his thought, one had to go on. Through this phase called humanity. One had to complete it; otherwise, there was no evolution. He was parked on the edge of the road, it was true, for the time being. On this extra job, between the worlds…because…He knew why. Because he also had left something behind, yet to be completed. His memory of it was as fresh as daisies in the spring, and if it were to fail him, there it was, recorded in his book. It was obviously the right time to re-open it and to read his own records. There it was, in his own handwriting, vibrating:

  "It is quite a primitively built raft on which we start our journey on the Relationship River. This river comes from behind that gate…and flows down to Earth into the human world. The raft is not the kind of vessel to last us forever and once launched, it cannot be held still or steered according to our wishes. It provides us with no security.

  Sometimes the river does us the favour of streaming slowly, making us hardly aware of its flow. It washes us gently onto a nice riverbank, where we are left to enjoy the nice landscape and warm weather. We bathe in the sun and the water, enjoy our young and healthy bodies. The river generously grants us time to awaken and to satisfy our bodily desires. We take our time and soon we forget that it still flows…