An Easter Carol - Part III
Russkiy Mir Edition - Easter 2023
Part III - Ghost of Easter Present
There was a cosy fire burning when Vladimir Vladimirovich came back to his room. Remembering his past and especially seeing it, had been exhausting, and for a while he stared into the fire with glazed eyes. He was thinking about Dresden and Victoria, and how happy he had been, but slowly his eyes grew heavy, and he fell asleep in his chair.
He woke up to a feeling that he was not alone. The fire was still burning, and as he looked around the room, he noticed that there was someone sitting in the other chair.
“Thought you would never wake up. A rough trip, was it? They said you might be tired after your first trip.”
This one was a ghost as well, Vladimir Vladimirovich realised. It was transparent like the ones before, and knew about his previous trip. “And, who might you be?”
“Me? I am a Spirit,” the Ghost replied as he stood up, “we should be going.”
Vladimir Vladimirovich looked at the Ghost and recognised him, “you are Boris Nemtsov.”
“I used to be. Tonight I am the Ghost of Easter Present,” the Ghost replied.
“Why you?”
“Well, the Professor has a wicked sense of humour. And the others thought this was a hilarious idea,” the Ghost said, “but, now we have to go.” As soon as he had said that, the room disappeared, and they were standing on a street, which was definitely not in Russia. The afternoon sun was shining, there was a canal in the middle of the street, and the houses had three or four stories, and were painted with different colours.
“Joseph Vissarionovich insisted that I bring you here. Normally I would not do anything he says, but this really is a good idea,” the Ghost said.
“Amsterdam, maybe,” Vladimir Vladimirovich thought.
“Just in time,” the Ghost said, and pointed up the street.
A sports car, with its top down, was coming down the street. As it approached them, it slowed down, obviously looking for a suitable place to park. There was a space on the canal side, and once the car was parked, the driver got out.
It was Victoria. She was older now, and her hair was different, but no doubt about it, it was Victoria. And she still looked beautiful. She took a small bag from the car, crossed the street, and entered the house in front of them.
“Nice ride. 718 Boxster. I wouldn’t mind having one of these,” the Ghost said examining the car. “Looks like red is still her favourite colour.” He turned to Vladimir Vladimirovich, “got it from her husband, a birthday present,” and pointing at the house, continued, “want to look inside?”
Through the second floor window they saw a dining room and a lot of people setting the table, and bringing food from the kitchen.
“The one setting the plates is their younger daughter, and the one setting the glasses is her boyfriend,” the Ghost explained, “the pregnant one is their older daughter, and her husband is the one bringing the roast.”
Victoria entered, and the young man with the wine bottles shouted, “she’s here.”
“And that is their son,” the Ghost added. A man came from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne, and a pretty young woman carried a tray of tall glasses. “The husband, and the son’s girlfriend.”
The champagne bottle opened with a pop, and he filled the glasses. The girlfriend served everyone a glass, and they gathered around the table, Victoria by the side of her husband.
“We did not have a big celebration for your mother’s birthday, I was busy at work as always, and anyway she did not want to celebrate without all of you here,” the husband started, “she did get a nice car though.” Everyone laughed, and Victoria gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. “But, now that you are all here, we can celebrate her birthday and Easter at the same time.”
“I do love the car,” Victoria said, “but more than that, I love it that the people I love the most in this world are here today,” and turning to her husband, “and I do love you.” And she gave him another kiss.
“Happy Birthday,” her husband said, as he raised his glass, “and happy Easter.”
“I bet that champagne is better than the one you managed to get her in Dresden,” the Ghost commented.
Vladimir Vladimirovich turned away from the window, “Why did you bring me here? And where are we anyway?”
“Why show you this? She made her choice,” the Ghost replied, “and you made yours.”
Vladimir Vladimirovich did not reply, and the Ghost continued, “she married a human rights lawyer, remember?”
“We’re in The Hague.”
*****
Before Vladimir Vladimirovich could say a word, the city around them disappeared, and they were in what seemed to be a dark room. There was a small green wooden box in the middle and a small light on top of it.
Vladimir Vladimirovich looked around and saw that there were bunks along the walls and men sitting or sleeping in them. Maybe five or six in the room, he could not tell for sure. The floor was muddy, and when his eyes got used to the dark, he saw that the walls were made of logs. He then looked at the men closer, and saw that they were all in uniform. They had assault rifles and other weapons and there were ammunition boxes scattered on the floor. “This is a dugout,” he thought, “we are somewhere on the front.”
He heard what sounded like automatic gunfire and distant explosions, but no one in the dugout reacted to the sounds, everyone looked dirty and tired.
“Boys, it’s Easter today,” someone said from the darkness.
“Well, Happy Easter then,” came the tired reply.
“What exactly is happy with it,” someone added sarcastically.
“Guys, I have a question. If you die on Good Friday, do you go straight to Heaven, or do you have to wait for three days like Jesus.”
Laughter.
“If you are going to get all religious, why don’t you convert to Islam while you are at it. I hear they get virgins as well,” said the one looking at the maps.
Laughter.
“A day or three days, or virgins. You don’t have to worry about that,” added the one cleaning his rifle, “it won’t be Heaven we will be going to, and no rush to get to the other place.”
There was silence, apart from the explosions and gunfire from outside.
After a while the door opened, and light streamed into the dugout and the sounds from the outside became clearer. A man entered carrying a rifle in one hand and a bundle in the other.
“Boys, look what I managed to get for us.”
He sat down and started opening the bundle on the box in the middle. A black cat jumped down from a bunk, and walked carefully across the muddy floor to the box.
“See, even the cat knows this is something good,” he said as he unwrapped a small cake with yellow frosting on it. “Happy Easter boys.”
“How did you manage to get that,” said the one with the rifle, he was loading magazines now.
“Bought it from a Babushka in a village at the back. Spent all I had left for it.”
“Wise decision, better spend than save. Can’t take it with you, and can’t bribe your way into heaven with it.”
Laughter. The cat was licking the sugary wrapping, and glanced at the man with the cake.
“Go on, you had your share,” he pushed the cat gently off the box, and took out a big knife, “Now I just have to work out how to cut this into seven pieces.”
“Make it six. The new boy got it in the morning.”
Silence. The cat walked to the door, stopped and turned to look back inside. It stayed there for a moment, and then walked out, probably to chase some unfortunate mouse.
“Six pieces then.” He cut the cake in silence and gave everyone a slice. “Well boys, Happy Easter anyway.”
There was a bright flash, and Vladimir Vladimirovich saw the men, the weapons, the ammunition boxes, the bunks, the dugout itself and everything in it, dissolve into the bright white light.
*****
They were in a courtyard. There was a young woman with two children there, one of them, about five years old, was on the swing, and the younger one was playing with some sticks. The woman looked up, and her face lit up. “Look, who’s coming,” she said to the children.
Vladimir Vladimirovich saw his secretary Ivan Ivanovich enter the courtyard. The children ran to him and he hugged them. “They wanted to wait for you,” she said, and kissed him.
Ivan Ivanovich picked up the younger child, “Let’s go in, let’s see who else is here.”
They entered the building, and the Ghost and Vladimir Vladimirovich followed. They came to a big apartment that was full of people.
“Natasha and Ivan are here,” someone shouted. Everyone greeted them and soon the children ran in and disappeared somewhere into the crowd. It looked like everyone who lived in the building was in this apartment.
There was a table full of food and drink, and people standing around it eating and talking.
“Ivan, you made it,” an older woman exclaimed, and embraced him. “Happy Easter mother,” Ivan replied.
“Come, have something to eat,” she said, and led him to the table. While his mother was filling his plate, he noticed his wife talking to a young woman holding a baby. They were obviously talking about the baby, who could not be more than a few months old.
An older man next to Ivan gave him a small glass and filled it from a bottle of vodka, “looks like Natasha would not mind giving me another grandchild,” he said.
“I am working on it father, I am working on it,” Ivan replied smiling. He raised his glass, “Happy Easter.”
“To the future,” the older man replied, “Na Zdorovie.”
Vladimir Vladimirovich noticed a big black cat jump on to a chair by the table. It took the vodka bottle in its paws, filled a glass, and drank it in one go. Then it wiped its whiskers with its paw, took a pickled gherkin from a plate and jumped on top of a bookshelf to eat it.
“Did you see that,” Vladimir Vladimirovich said astonished.
“Well, he does have a taste for vodka,” the Ghost replied, “come on, I need to show you something.”
*****
They appeared on an empty cold street. There were three emaciated children huddled among some cardboard boxes trying to stay warm. They were dressed in rags, and anyone could see that they were hungry and miserable.
Unlike other people, the children noticed them, and Vladimir Vladimirovich realised that they could see him and the Ghost. “They can see us.”
“Yes, they can. You see, they are not exactly real,” the Ghost said, as the children slowly stood up and walked towards them. “They are the brothers Bezdomny, representations of possible futures. He is called Ignorance,” the Ghost introduced the oldest one.
“My name is Freedom,” the skinny one said, “and I am called War,” the one with the limp added.
“And where is your little brother,” the Ghost asked.
“He’s there,” Ignorance said, pointing to a small bundle of rags among the boxes.
Now Vladimir Vladimirovich could see that there was a fourth very small child sitting in a corner of a cardboard box, shivering in the cold.
“He is too weak to stand up,” Freedom added. And War asked, “Can you give us something to eat, mister?”
“They don’t have anything to give us,” Ignorance said.
“I know that. But it is always worth a try,” War replied.
Still looking at the smallest child Vladimir Vladimirovich asked, “and what is his name?”
“Hope,” the Ghost replied, “and, if things do not change, he will be the first one to die.” And looking straight at Vladimir Vladimirovich, he added, “If You do not change.”
“What do you mean? If I don’t change.”
“You have the power to shape the future,” the Ghost said, “the power to save these children or to let them die.”
“But you just said they weren’t real.”
“I did. You are right, they are not real, but, in the future, they can be. It’s Your decision.” And as the Ghost said that, the street started to disappear, and soon Vladimir Vladimirovich was back in his room.
