Chapter Ten

Natasha began to visit me every day as soon as she learned what a misfortune had happened to me. She was a nurse, and either because of her professional habits or her moral virtues, she travelled from the other side of the city after her round-the-clock shift in the cancer hospital to visit. She didn’t snivel, never lathered false sympathy onto me. But she did her best to entertain me with meaningless stories, news, and jokes. She washed my hair and wiped my face and hands with a cloth soaked in warm soapy water. But most importantly Natasha came every day and kept talking, talking, and talking. Telling me the news, keeping me in touch with the outside world.

I saw how tired she was, and asked not to come every single day, but she came anyway. In addition, she was checking on Vova and helped him with the household.

I had known her for a long time. She lived nearby and we used to walk our dogs on the same World War II tank training area that was now a park. She had an Afghan hound, and I had my three—a German shepherd and a pair of Russian borzois, all top of their class in national dog shows. We were pals, but without ever getting too deep into each other’s lives.

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 little 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.