I was slowly going up by concrete steps to the third floor, and suddenly I saw that all the doors to apartments were of metal. And therefore, my dear reader, I understand that we are in Russia again. I was seized with fear of these three or four days that I would have to stay behind such a door. «That’s OK,» I tried to reassure myself: «I will get through it somehow.» I endured the whole way to the airport. I endured until the very takeoff, until the plane rocketed into the sky… And even there, where the plane was hovering over the white fluffy clouds, it seemed to me that I still heard these metal sounds and saw these dirty plastered walls. And every time I scrolled that nightmare in my head, I asked myself the same question: «How?» How could this be true?
Does a person deserve to be treated in such a way? Is it really that it is their destiny, the destiny of simple Russian people, to see these creaky metal doors, iron staircases, small dusty windows with cobwebs and greasy walls every day till the very end? There was a time when I lived in the midst of the nightmare, just as my neighbor Tatiana did. For her and for many other people this was normal. But now it is not. Now I can’t bear seeing the harshness of Russians’ everyday life, their gloomy faces, rude taxi drivers, and armed people at the store entrances, whose images haunted me almost till my arrival to the airport of New York. And then in America a completely different life started. Of course, no one can ignore memories, escape or hide from them. And now I have to go back to my homeland, to my close friend Tatyana and sister Vera who still live there. But the true reason for me to come here is the only one — my parents’ graves. My dear friends, do not believe me if I ever say: «That’s enough…! No more visits to Russia!» I will never leave my parents, my kind and beloved ones. They gave me first breath, raised me, fed and surrounded me with their warmth, so I have to come here again and again. I have to come towards their silent graves, stand for hours in stormy wind or in pouring rain, listen to them, utter my questions into this emptiness and find my answers.
There, at the grave of my parents, all my innocent and sinful life passes once again before my eyes. There I want to sing a song about my mother’s hands and heart. And it does not matter in what language, English, Russian or in the language of our souls. This very song that I once rehearsed for hours at my school before a performance. And when I went onto the stage, I couldn’t say a single word. No matter what they did I couldn’t make a sound. Those memories make me laugh and cry over my airy childhood. If only my mother would have seen me now… If only she would have heard that song in English, Russian or in the language of our hearts… I’m sure she would laugh with me and cry with me, remembering those funny moments of my performance at the school stage. Why am I recalling these words only now? Why couldn’t I recall them then? Why can’t we turn these times back…? Oh, mother… Mom… I remember we used to go to a village orthodox church every Sunday. These very minutes will forever remain in my memory, just as a sign of the Lord God in each of us.
I remember, Mom, how we used to make our way through a crowd of people, and you tipped my head asking to kiss the icon. I was very young then and didn’t understand why this was necessary. After all, thanks to you, Mom, mostly due to those first minutes spent with you in the church, after years, I would become an orthodox parishioner. You gave me faith in God long before I really was able to appreciate your priceless gift! I hope that now you praise the Lord with me in heavens. I hope you hear the words of my prayers and Christian hymns… I hope you hear now this song about mothers’ hands and hearts, which I now remember word in word: «Mother’s hands, mother’s heart gently keep the minutes of her child… Mother’s heart, mother’s tears… Understand them before it’s too late…» Now I am standing here by your grave, and it seems that I understand everything, but it does not make it any easier.
Читайте Далее = Meeting with the lord god =
В материале представлены кадры из фильма «Вдали от нее» от режиссера Сары Полли.