My great love

               

        There were four of us – four single women in their late thirties, sitting at a kitchen table in a comforting light from a sconce, sharply bordered by its lamp-shade. The whole picture might have looked the reminiscence to a Rembrandt painting: our faces, lit on the one side and dark on the other, merging into the deep darkness of the shaded background of the brownish kitchen space. Long shadows distorted our features a bit, but also added the expression of pensive meditation to them.
        It was a late October night, and the depressing drizzle permeated through the whole of the deserted outside. But we did not care – we celebrated. The divorce.
        Each of us had gone through her own love life and marital experience, that seemed unique and turned out to be trivial, especially the usual devastating end. Ira endured longer than the others did. But today she finally freed herself and joined our congregation. Certainly as a novice, not a full-right member yet. But our sisterhood was sure to help her to come though the adaptation period.
"Oh, girls, even now I’m not completely sure that I’ve done the right thing", - sighed Ira, her complaints seemed to come to an end, her eyes fixed on an unseen point in the damp darkness behind the window.
        "You’ve done exactly what you should have done a year or two ago. You’ve been waiting for too long". – Tanya was the most decisive of us, the mother superior of our small group.
        "The worst of all is that I still love him!"
        "No, you don’t. It’s just a matter of habit. Subconsciously you don’t want to lose what you’ve got so accustomed to, don’t want to change the standard life-style. You are afraid of making a new start. Look! You are a free woman now. So many new chances, so many new men"!
        "I love him"! -- Ira slowly closed her eyes as if afraid that a quick blink may push tears out and hid her face in her arms.
        "Be reasonable, dear. How quickly you’ve forgotten about the endless string of his women. Those wild drunk bouts of his jealousy. The stinking breath of a drunkard in your bed. Remember how he wasted all you had on his drinks and his girls, how you had to borrow the money to hold out till the end of the month and how he stole that money from you. It’s a great luck you do not have children"!
         "Oh, he is a sick man now"!
         "A sick selfish drunkard"!
They were both right. Oleg was a poet, talented and rather known. His tragedy was that he had fallen out of the time. Who needs poets these days? Time threw him to the curb, to the outskirts of life. Some of his former friends violated their soles, started their own businesses and passed by him into the glamorous world of expensive cars, empty-headed Barby-models and the leisure enchantment of the Seychelles. He could be nothing but himself, getting friends with only those to whom he felt natural attraction and interest, he could not count the bills and compute the right person to deal with, never in his life had he bribed an official. A good-for-nothing guy! Oleg could not accept the evidence that he had become a complete failure, a looser, - in an up-to-date viewpoint. With a crazy theatrical wildness and absurdity he tried to prove – God knows to whom! -- that he had not been finished yet, that he should be taken into consideration. Poor creature! No, Ira did not love the today him – she adhered to her memories of what he had been and pitied all her girl’s hopes that died unrealized.
I did not say a word though. They did not treat me seriously. They loved me, I mean, but they were rather condescendingly sympathetic after that incident nearly eighteen years ago.
Our celebration grew too sad – if not gloomy – to be called by such a word. We pocked in our plates with forks, deep in our reveries about our own hopes, each recollecting the disillusionments and betrayals she had undergone. Every woman had her Love. But even these best friends of mine do not know about the Great Love I had! I shall never tell them. They will not believe. Besides, they think I am not fully in my right mind. Furthermore, I had tried once – and lost my boy-friend, who decided that I was insane.

          It had happened fifteen years ago. I had successfully finished my first working year after graduation from the literature faculty and spent my first holiday on the Caucasian seashore. I was a member of a tourist group. Though we spent plenty of time leisurely relaxing on the beach, still sometimes we went on excursions to the neighboring places of interest. We went to Sukhumi that day and visited the botanic garden. We were lucky to see the real mimosa in blossom (the lilac one from Australia, not the common yellow balls of the Caucasian wormwood). I amused myself by touching its leaves, watching them to fold down, as if the small branches, like weak baby’s arms, desperately tried to protect the fragile plant from the brutal intrusion. I did not notice how the group went on the rout and left me behind. I was nearly glad to be left alone in that exotic world with a lot of strange and unknown trees and flowers. Forgetting about time, I slowly moved from one plant to another, recollecting the adventures of the book and film characters in the tropical seas, that I had been so fond of in my teens. I was so quiet that the attendants did not notice my presence and closed the garden for the night, leaving me inside.
         I did not realize at first what had happened, and only noted in my mind the growing silence that was slowly aggravating as the birds stopped singing one by one, preparing for the night.
         Day’s stuffy heat had ceased, giving way to the cool sunset wetness from exhaling trees and other tropical plants. There was some plant or flower, which smell would have been pleasant if not so strong and aggressively penetrating – I could not get rid of it whatever way I went. Moreover, it grew still more and more haunting, annoying. I felt dizzy, my heart was beating faster and faster – one second more, it seemed, and it will stop to beat and become just a vibrant piece of flesh. In the meanwhile it got nearly completely dark, and I could hardly distinguish a path between the two black walls of tropical vegetation that suddenly became menacing and threatening. I did not know where I was dragging myself along step by step – I lost any sense of direction, any sense at all it seemed. Besides there was something strange with  my eyesight – it was completely dark, with no stars or the Moon in the sky (or did I possibly not see them?), but sometimes there were very short moments, like sparks, when I saw everything with unusual clarity. The landscape was different from what I had seen in the day, though, – possibly the strange-smelling evaporation was hallucinogenic.
That poisonous smell had its final effect on me – I fell and lost any consciousness.
I do not know how long I lay there – evidently through the night. When I opened my eyes it was early dawn, and I decided that I must be in some distant part of the botanic garden. I remember that I was surprised because the garden, that had not produced an impression of a big territory, turned out to be so vast: I was laying on a flat field near some reservoir, which was obviously not the Black sea, but some other sea, the Dead sea, for instance, or a big lake, as there were no waves on the water surface. Actually it was absolutely still, like a polished glass surface. There was dark, nearly, brown sand everywhere around me with sparse and low grass blades, and softly curved low hills and dark-green woods in a mist on the horizon. «Stillness» was the key word to denote the aura of these parts, maybe even “dead stillness”. The sky was of uniformly pale-blue colour, as if faded, with no merge to other shade of blue, with no suggestion of  a cloud, no breeze, no air movement – actually no movement at all. Nevertheless the place did not give rise to a suppressing sensation. On the contrary this stillness was caressingly quiet and calm.
         Suddenly I felt someone else’s presence. I turned my head and saw a handsome young man – the ideal sample of a male, of whom I could only dream, the man, who must have been created with the only aim to complete me – reposing beside my back in the posture of the Michelangelo’s Adam. However, this one was in the usual man dress, looking not in the Creator’s, but my face. I could not take my eyes off his – so kind and deep were they that I dived into them and forgot about time, enchanted and delighted. I remember that all the enigmas and mysteries of the Universe instantly ceased to exist for me – I got the complete knowledge of everything, the past, the present and the future, the core structure of Life, of the Whole, that was amazingly simple. I remember nothing now. Sometimes I recollect something  in a night dream, but forget it in the morning. My universal competence did not surprise me; it came naturally and was natural in that place.
         The most precious thing was the feeling of completeness that I experienced in the presence of this man, who became my dearest from the first glance, who immediately became a part of my entity.  There was no need of speaking – we conversed through eyes, through skins and fleshes, no wonder: we were one in the other, we were the oneness, and had the same thoughts. We enjoyed each other, we caressed each other with waves of love, that with every inhale ran along our arms and chests, our backs and legs, bubbling on the skin, penetrating it, tickling the flesh under the skin, culminating in tiny sharp splashes, softly pricking through the whole of the body before dissolving in it, leaving the fine sensual memory and then ebbing back together with the exhale. We did not touch each other, we did not need it; it was so delightful without touch that I seemed to be melting to molecules from pleasure, both physical and beyond, that I had never experienced before. Besides, the energy was so enormously great, with no effort to exert it, that if we did such an effort, a lightning would have flashed. We played with this love energy like children in the sea.
         There was a mute dialogue between us in the meanwhile.
«Who are you and what are you doing here?» I asked him
         «I am (I’d rather disguise his identity with a name of ... let it be He, why not?) And I live here».
         «What place is it»?
         «A special place where only selected individuals are allowed».
         «Am I a selected one»?
         «Sure, as you are here»
         «Who selected me and why?»
         «You know that».
         I immediately realized who had done it and why as there were no secrets for me at that moment. I forgot that. Miserable remnants of the information are as such: I got to a place, which was located somewhere on the Earth (but is inaccessible to ordinary people), where these superhumans lived, who, unseen and unnoticed, watched what was going on the outer Earth and intervened, if the circumstances demanded such an intervention, to correct the direction of the human race «development». They appeared here together with the birth of the planet and they have been successfully fulfilling their task for quite a long time, but now life and events accelerated the progress so much that they could not cope with it without help from the outside. That was why they accepted some of the humans with the specific mental and spiritual qualities (at least, potential), who could give birth to those, on whom they might rely in the future. Now it was my turn. And the proper time – I understood it, when I looked around and saw several couples, naked, who were standing here and there a bit apart from each other in the water, having their arms on the shoulders of each other. They were in the distance, and I could not see them clearly.
        «He» raised and taking me by my hand showed to the sea. I followed him, my whole self filled with the awe of the event coming. I had never been married and consequently never went through the wedding ceremony, but I guess this is the feeling a bride has when marching to the ceremonial table in the registry office. We stood there with the water up to our knees. I loved him so much!  My heart was overfilled with that love and a moment more, it seemed – and it would burst up. No strain or tension, just a great desire to splash this unbearable love out! My earthly instinct pushed me towards him – I wanted to press my body to his, to squeeze his athletic torso, to sense him in me. I did not feel shy – there was no place for that feeling at that moment! I took my dress off and threw it to the shore, not caring whether it fell on the ground or in the water; my underware followed the dress. He smiled softly and took off his shirt, presenting his perfect build to my admiring eyes. Then he turned from me and took off his pants. I was waiting him to turn to me with a spasm in my throat – and I nearly cried when he did so.
I could not expect that. There was nothing in the place to which I fixed my eyes! Nothing! A flat area under the stomach – like a male dummy.
        I was shocked. Was it a silly joke? Or was he a poor invalid with perverted sexual habits? I looked round for help. Now the sun was already shining, and I could make out the details. Other people standing in the sea were also devoid of any male of female attributes. I was the only one there, whose sexual belong might be distinctly told. It was the norm there. I looked into his bottomless eyes and suddenly calmed down: «Don’t worry, -- told me the warm wave that came from him, -- Everything will be all right! Put your arms on my shoulders».
        I did so. And so did he. We were standing there, a little apart, like other couples, looking into each other’s eyes, caressing each other with love waves as we had done on the shore. But now sexual tension grew. My desire was so great; I do not remember anything similar either before or after that.
        There were growing some changes in nature, as if raised by the accumulated tensile turbulence of energy in the waiting bodies. Rather a strong wind was swinging us back and forth, the water was ruffling, and a big dense cloud right over our heads covered the greater part of the sky.
        Tension was growing greater and greater. Sexual energy circulated through our bodies, ran through locked arms, penetrated the whole flesh and organs, producing absolutely indescribable, but strong and acute sensations. The world outside us stopped to exist, we did not see anything  – there were only our bodies, overfilled with unbearably strong sensuality, intensified and accelerated with every fracture of a moment.
        With the corner of my eye I saw that the cloud had covered nearly the whole of the sky. It became even more dense and tense and lowered to nearly our heads as if waiting for something. A muffled roar of a thunder being suppressed could be heard from it, and obscure scattered lights were pulsating in its thickness.
Finally we burst out into the climax: our bodies stretched erect and began to vibrate, our heads thrown back with the faces to the cloud, our flesh got rid of the nearly tormenting tension, and the released energy was shot into the sky. The sky replied with a stunning thunderbolt, and the lightning cut it from one end to the other. It seems to me now that I even saw it  -- a ball of plasma -- flying into the sky and joining the cloud’s animated denseness.
        We stood there, still with our arms on each other’s shoulders, unaware of our bodies that suddenly became weightless, nearly non-existing, smiling at each other in the sweetest exhaustion. But this was not the end – we, together with other couples, were waiting for something, while taking rest and gradually coming to senses. I felt that something sacredly serious was going on in the living cloud. Some really important process was in progress there, and the movements inside the cloud echoed somewhere deep in my body, in its mere core. We were waiting for quite a long time and I never lost contact with the life of the cloud above. The whole procedure seemed to take up the greater part of the day – the sun was already rather low in the sky.
Finally the cloud became to drag apart into separate sections in accordance with the number of couples,  then fractured into small separate clouds that were rapidly rotating and spinning, tightening, becoming still less and less in size and lowering closer and closer to our heads. At last they became the form and size of a rugby ball and so compacted and evidently heavy that could not stay in the air any longer and fell onto the sea.
        Our «ball» fell between us (I suppose that the same happened with the others). It was transparent, and it would not possibly be easy to distinguish it from the surrounding water, if not for it constant and persistent turbulent turning. Gradually it became visible and looked like a big ball-like jellyfish. This jelly substance seemed to be in the process of consolidation as it was becoming more and more distinct. The colour was also slowly altering and became gently pink. Suddenly, to my great surprise, I noticed that this swinging and spinning ball little by little was taking the form of a human baby! His small arms and legs, his head were seen as if through some veil. Unlike the embryo’s, the body and the limbs were fully in their final form from the very beginning, but they were gradually developing as if on a photo in a reactive solution. It was a clod of flesh, on which the Sculptor only marked the future details. These details got clearer and clearer: the head, formed to the full, jerked backwards, small hands spread their tiny fingers wide and flapped already on the water surface, splashing salty water around. The small pink legs did the same.
        I got scared that the baby might drown and took the small body out. He (it was undoubtedly a boy – my genes proved their earthly power) opened his little mouth and gave his first cry. It made my heart contract in a spasm of motherly love, and tears of joy and gratitude came to my eyes. I was full of reverence at the sight of this blessed wonder of the new life’s birth. This fragrant piece of flesh – this was my son! My blood! I did not think of the real wonder of his birth – the soft warm life at my breast was the greatest wonder to me! Then he opened his eyes – these were surely the eyes of his father: equally deep and all-understanding.  It was nearly unpleasant to see such a universal knowledge in the eyes of a newly-born child, but in a moment I stopped noticing it.
        «He» took the baby from me and carried him to the shore with the greatest care possible. We put on our clothes and sat down in the place where I had woken up at dawn. So many events had taken place; so much energy had been emitted. Suddenly the irresistible desire to sleep overwhelmed me, my heavy lids were closing – I could not help it. The last thing I saw in the coming dusk was «Him», holding the small head of our son in his hands and staring straight into his eyes as if telling him some secrets that I must not know. This looked like a farewell talk of a father to his son whom he would not see soon, if ever.

        When I regained consciousness there were people around with their faces over my head. It was morning, and I was in the same botanic garden where I had got locked yesterday. Such a strange dream! Or vision due to toxic fumes. But I felt pretty well – no dizziness, no weakness, I easily rose to my feet, spread the crumpled skirt of my dress, refused the offer to call the ambulance and wanted to go. But at that moment a small boy of three snatched at my hand and raised his eyes to me. I looked at him – this was my son, I felt it! No dream, no vision – reality, strange, but beautiful. And this small touchy creature beside me!
        When I returned home, my neighbours were astonished – I had got lost four years before that, and they were sure that I had died. It was only my mother, who had become an old woman in these four years, and who did not want to believe in my death. The militia version was that the Caucasian mountaineers, who kept me in a distant mountain aul, had abducted me. They searched for me but with no great effort as, first, it was the Caucasian militia, and they believed it was fully my fault that I had not been careful enough, second, it was practically impossible to look through all the hide-places in the mountains, and, third, they could raise hostility and got blood enemies with those, who possibly had taken me in their family as a third or fourth wife of one of their sons. When I returned to Moscow, I wrote a declaration saying that I did not lay any claims with anybody and ask to quit the investigation. The militiamen were most satisfied to get such a paper.
        It was not so easy with my mother. Subconsciously she did not believe to the official version. Besides, my son’s hair was gold-blond. No matter how many times I told her that the Caucasians, who lived high in the mountains, do not have the admixture of «Palestinian»-type genes, she still looked at me with suspicion. Why did I not tell her the truth? The reality had been so unreal, that I was afraid she would not believe me and would take me to a doctor. That was what I would do in her place. But she loved her grandson with perfect devotion, and we tried not to raise this question.

        That late autumn night I crawled into our flat tiptoeing not to awaken my already fifteen-year-old son. He fell asleep at the desk. Several perfectly done colour drawings lay near his elbow. One depicted tropical trees, the others – the sea with the still water and the shore of dark sand with a big condensing cloud over it in the sky.

1997 ã.