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.