Mission 777 Possible - Marina Sprouz

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the Gospel… The stars were shining outside the window. Marianna opened Bible pages on the internet and began reading aloud in Russian. This would drive away evil forces if they were attacking. But, the miracle didn’t happen, and the fire in her body flared up even more, and insomnia wouldn’t let go. After browsing the internet, Marianna read: you shouldn’t read the Gospel at night; dark forces could even kill you.

      The spiritual path had begun…

      In the Mirror

      Today, a young priest visited my apartment, sprinkling holy water and drawing symbols on the wallpaper. Nothing helped, it even got worse. I couldn’t sleep at night and didn’t even read the Gospel. Electric shocks tormented me all night; closing my eyes, I only saw graves.

      I simply died… I ate only because I had to, my body refused to digest food, and my body was exhausted from endless agony and insomnia, I lost weight.

      “It feels like I’m dead…

      They buried me, there… a hill behind the garden,

      Where the eternal frost is, where they melted the soul,

      Burned it, poisoned it with a potion.

      I barely breathed, the lilacs bloomed,

      I inhaled their aromas and scents;

      And in the evenings I walked somewhere,

      I walked in the morning, by the clock and thoughts.

      I talked to my soul, is it dead?..

      Do you hear, where are you? In which direction?

      It froze as if inside me,

      Give me the number of the soul’s ICU urgently.

      I spoke again… the blizzard blew,

      Howled, scattered tracks,

      Along which I quietly walked again,

      To the soul’s ICU, if I have enough strength…”

      Evening. My face in the mirror, no… not mine. I see the face of a monster in flames, two bumps or horns on the head; eyes – two bulging spheres burning with a ruthless fire, who is this… The image changes to another face – it’s Jesus, with long hair, I feel Jesus in me, in my body. And again – the Devil – Jesus, flickering like slides in the mirror.

      Aznavour – someone’s name echoes in my head, maybe I misheard the sounds. Who is this Aznavour…

      Marianna of the Future

      Marianna was trying to cook soup over the pot. Her hand with the lid jerked like she had Parkinson’s disease, twitched, and the carrot scattered across the stove. I must be really bad… Marianna looked at herself from the side. And then, near the stove, she had a revelation: the present Marianna felt in her thoughts and image somewhere above the future Marianna she would become, with iron strength, firmness, and radiant light. She mentally reached out to her: Marianna of the future! Help! You are stronger! I don’t have enough strength! I can’t! I am too weak… I am not ready… Standing by the stove, Marianna felt the strength of the future Marianna, like God, like a source of salvation.

      You!

      Semivetrinsk. Evening. Marianna at home by the TV. She had no strength left. If I don’t sleep a little, I’ll start hallucinating. Okay… I need to control myself, I drank tea, slept for an hour, that’s good. Now I’ll watch TV.

      The TV was old, though color, without a back cover, and the tubes just stuck out from the back panel. Recently, a repairman had fixed it and replaced some tubes, so it should work now. But it seemed to be acting up, stripes appeared on the screen again. Marianna slapped the TV with her fist, and it suddenly started working.

      Marianna couldn’t fall asleep, the fire inside and anxiety kept her awake. I wonder how long I can last like this, maybe I’ll die. Marianna examined her gaunt face and dull eyes. Salvation came suddenly. Voices sparkled on the TV screen, lulling in different tunes. Heavenly music played on a colorful background, and voices: – Marianna! It’s you! You! You will bear a son! You will bear a son! – the voices sang to Marianna.

      From the TV screen, the melodic voices continued: – Don’t lie down, get up, you are doing great! We praise you! You will bear a son!

      Marianna got up and went to the kitchen.

      – What kind of son will I bear…

      Meeting Borjka

      Borjka appeared like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I felt as if God had thrown him into my life with His huge hands, everything thundered, and my entire being turned upside down. It was all the icon and its light – and then Borjka appeared.

      The song “White Roses” by Laskovyi Mai played – Borjka sang on the café stage, and sang very well, with a voice as thin as Shatunov’s:

      “White roses,

      White roses,

      Thorns are defenseless,

      What will snow and frost do to them,

      Ice of the blue…”

      Then we danced awkwardly: Borjka took me by the waist and swayed like a teddy bear, and I had to turn in time with the music, as it was a slow dance.

      When we walked along the town’s path, Borjka took my hand, and we found ourselves bathed in a stream of shining divine light, and he said: “We’ll live together!”

      It sounded like a verdict. And within a week, we moved our things into one apartment.

      Someone is Praying for You

      Donetsk. Church near the maternity ward. Marianna, in a warm autumn coat, visibly pregnant, enters a small chapel. A stranger appeared unexpectedly and took Marianna by the hand as she was lighting a candle:

      – Someone doesn’t want him to be born. But someone is praying for you. A woman. She is praying for your son.

      Marianna widened her eyes, processing the information. The woman, head bowed, stepped away from Marianna. Everything will be fine, Marianna assured herself; previous pregnancies were difficult, but this time everything will be fine. I’m already in the maternity ward, arrived and settled in early. Today the doctors will say everything, but for now, I’ll take a little walk in the frosty air. Early October… And how cold it is…

      Donetsk Land

      Donetsk. October. Regional maternity hospital.

      – Here is a pregnancy of 33 weeks, the heartbeat is hardly audible, immediate delivery is necessary, – a young doctor said to an elderly professor, – obstetric history is burdened, miscarriages, bleeding.

      Marianna lies on the couch after an ultrasound.

      – Have you eaten anything? – the doctor asks.

      – I managed to eat some soup when I entered the ward.

      – Bring her to the operating room!

      Marianna woke up in the intensive care unit after a cesarean section.

      – How is he, my son? – she asked a passing nurse.

      Everything is fine, he’s in the neonatal intensive care unit, connected to a mechanical ventilator. Unfortunately, he’s not breathing on his own, but he’s a strong boy, weighing three kilograms six hundred grams.

      The young doctor murmured

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