Mission 777 Possible - Marina Sprouz

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silently noted that she wanted everyone to know, bursting with pride. She chuckled to herself so no one would notice. From then on, in various situations throughout her life, Marianna remembered that phrase: “Here’s how we are!”

      Grandmother Klavdiya

      Grandfather Anton had departed to the other world. Six months passed… Marianna visited Grandmother Klavdiya.

      “Why don’t they allow visits…” Grandmother Klavdiya sadly lowered her face onto the table. Marianna looked at her sitting at the table.

      Indeed… I never thought about that. It’s very cruel not to allow visits with departed loved ones, never! Notice – never to see them again.

      Only memories come alive…

      Losses, living with pain…

      Who is to blame? You don’t know.

      Where’s the place? To endure…

      There, crows are flying…

      They are still circling,

      And they tell us the truth,

      They speak to the soul.

      That moment – cannot be returned,

      That minute – cannot be regained!

      Freedom is like a bird,

      But this path is difficult.

      Before the fateful meeting

      Year 2000.

      Marianna lives in her small town called Semivetrinsk.

      How slow everything is here… The tram moves slowly, people board the bus slowly, they rush slowly, even thoughts move slowly.

      I was doing my internship, practical training after college.

      I planned to visit Kharkiv for a day or two.

      Hotel room. Peeling walls, wallpaper coming off in places, dust on the wardrobe, and Marianna standing near the wardrobe.

      What’s happening… Images pierce her consciousness, head, with difficulty, she tries to discern, closes her eyes. I see a girl, her face, by the sea, something shiny on her chest, large like a round locket, glinting, and her face gleaming in the sunlight’s rays, she squints. The images stopped piercing and disappeared.

      Marianna reads Kharkiv newspapers, advertisements. She looks at one advertisement: “Black wizard predicts, removes the crown of spinsterhood.”

      Like in a dream, Marianna dials the number and calls. A voice on the phone said to Marianna, “Let’s meet at Cold Mountain.”

      Meeting with Bulgakov

      Marianna loved Kharkiv, as it was where her student years had passed. As her teacher used to say, “These are the best years.” Now during her internship, everyone had scattered in different directions. Marianna popped into a bakery, strolled through the center of Kharkiv, bought a bundle of fish (taranka) in case she got hungry later. She was dressed in a light green blouse with frills on the shoulders that tied at the bottom like a scarf with flowing tips.

      It was summer. Everything sang and fluttered, and Marianna turned from one main street to another. She unexpectedly bumped into Bulgakov. He appeared at the intersection as Marianna was turning onto Sumskaya Street. They literally collided.

      Yes, it was Sasha Bulgakov, her classmate, a true Kharkiv local. He lived nearby, in the center. They struck up a conversation, and Marianna quickly found herself invited to Bulgakov’s home.

      Bulgakov’s apartment, his room. Marianna put the bundle of fish on the bedside table, and they sat down for tea. Bulgakov settled into an armchair. He looked much the same as he did in college, just more mature with neatly styled hair.

      “I work as a surgeon, currently doing my internship. My wife works as a saleswoman,” Bulgakov told me.

      “You always dreamed of being a surgeon, right? Your father is a surgeon, if I’m not mistaken,” Marianna replied.

      “My wife is at the dacha today. Maybe you’d like to stay; it’s already late.”

      Marianna pondered. “I still have things to do. Oh, I almost forgot about my meeting with the black wizard.”

      “I need to run,” Marianna hurriedly started putting on her shoes.

      “Maybe I’ll do my errands first, then I’ll come by. Don’t be upset; I really am in a rush,” Marianna said.

      “Don’t go anywhere,” Bulgakov tried to stop Marianna. “I’ll wait for you to return when you’re done.”

      Some compelling force urged Marianna on. She dashed out of Bulgakov’s apartment, even forgetting her bundle of fish (taranka) on the bedside table.

      If Marianna had met Bulgakov, then the tale was just beginning…

      At the Black Sorcerer

      He waited on Cold Mountain. I saw him from afar. Tall, thin, hair slicked back with gel. He resembled air, a swift spirit that could break free and soar at any second; his voice slicing through space with a metallic tone, seemingly changeable; now cunning, now mocking, now playful, now roguish. This was the Black Sorcerer.

      What he completely lacked – I later realized: kindness, soulfulness, and truthfulness. Room in the apartment. Marianna sits on the couch. Footage appears on the black-and-white TV screen, the announcer talks about the sinking of the submarine “Kursk.”

      – What’s this? – Marianna.

      – A submarine sank – says Tall.

      Marianna continues to gaze thoughtfully at the TV screen for a long time.

      Marianna will remember this August date forever.

      Living room of the apartment. There is a single red rose in a vase on the table. It catches Marianna’s eye fleetingly and constantly.

      – Can you meditate? – Tall.

      – You have to look at one point, here, practice, look at the rose. Marianna looked at the rose. Nothing, some nonsense.

      When Round-faced appeared in the room, Marianna didn’t even notice. It probably happened in the kitchen, during a conversation with him. He sat at the same table as Marianna.

      Marianna examined Round-faced: big brown eyes, clothes like a priest’s robe, a large medallion or emblem hung on his chest on a chain, round, but not entirely, something was along the edge. Round-faced set the topic of conversation. Tall sat nearby on a chair, inserting his lines lively. Marianna sometimes remained silent, sometimes answered sporadically.

      The conversation turned to age.

      – How old are you? – Marianna to Round-faced.

      He jokingly lifted his head:

      – Maybe three hundred… or…

      – Five hundred… – Tall interjected. They glanced at each other and heard laughter.

      I got the impression that he was lying, that they were lying all the time and mocking me. (Marianna’s thoughts.)

      – Look how she sits. – Round-faced to Tall. – She holds her hands correctly.

      Marianna’s hands were turned palms up when she sat at the table. Marianna looked at her hands and understood nothing. Then Round-faced read poems. Strange, long poems. Marianna watched and struggled to grasp the meanings

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