Vasily squatted under a doorway canopy, diligently hiding his face from a pouring rain. Drops of rain drummed on his head, rolled up under his clothes through a torn raincoat, squelched in worn out sneakers. It appeared as if the rain in some uncontrollable mad rush was trying to clear country's “second capital” from all that he could qualify as dirt by his unknown motive.
As if he couldn't do only one thing – to wash away sins of humans. Servants of the temple, which was sparkling in this cloudy day with washed gilded domes, for instance, could – for a well-known payment, of course. Yet only not that rain. How could he, a simple rain, ascend to these heights?
Passersby promptly rushed under this storm from one building to another, overflowed cars on sidewalks loudly urged to stand aside each and every one except themselves, and Vasily – what's in Vasily? – to him, this marvelous new world of as-if-sanctity was totally far away in all possible meanings.
Karma became a new fashion by the will of moral's observers. For several years already every resident of this cultural capital – and not only it – has been trying to correct own karma without correcting himself. Show-windows of charitable shops called for it, newspapers and central television constantly reminded of it, even the face of some orphan on a huge advertising billboard appeared to silently offer all of its contemplators, who have been rushing through a central street's ring each day, to bring another portion of their savings to children's church shelter for the sake of clearing of own Karma. For several years already people have been insincerely smiling to each other on city streets, inquiring of a state of health of their interlocutors along with a weather's forecast, buying various discounted knickknacks in numerous charitable shops which have grown as if mushrooms from a heavy rain and stated that they were giving a part of their profits on “good deeds”. Even banks offered an increased “cashback” for purchases in such little shops. It all became a question of fashion – to purify one's karma, feeling infallible.
Vasily had no idea how it all worked out – but the union of marketing specialists and those, from temples, turned out to be surprisingly productive. He, being watered in this very moment by a storm, didn't know that in terms of marketing this was called “rebranding”, and in terms of finances, it could be measured by a sum which only they – devout collectors of treasures – were able to afford. Anyway, this certainly helped to save themselves in own eyes for many, – except Vasily.
Five years without a home – is it much or is it little? Someone will spend out eternity in the dirt, feeling no flight of time at all, – and for him, these five years became their own eternity. Five years through cold and snow, dirt and such rains which were washing streets of St. Petersburg from time to time. Five years in worn-out clothes under disapproval looks of passersby and without a single chance to find a constant shelter. Sleepless nights, spent in open entrances, hundreds of shouts and kicks from residents of these buildings. It all has been – it all will be going. This is a vicious circle.
***
Ultimately our memory saves only the best of moments for us – ones which are worthy of living in the ocean of memories. And sparks of these memoirs don't fade away up to our last day on this rock.
…First year of his wanderings. Late evening. The sound of footfall behind his back.
“Hide me away, please!” a girl of seven or so years desperately shouted. “Hide me from them!”
When two adult figures, wrapped up in shadows, appeared on a pavement's horizon, there was no more time for reflections.
“Here, come with me!” Vasily shouted to a child.
Several dozens of meters, absolutely close. Here, in a yard, broken door entrances were always open. When you wander through the entire city, which has become your final resting place, your memory tenaciously stores inside such spots, where you can spend your next night – or at least several remaining hours till dawn when law-abiding citizens will once again go for their most important and significant jobs. Like in a vicious circle.
The child ran after Vasily in door openings and went silent.
This was a day – or a night if we are to judge by time – when he saved future great ballerina from thugs and rapists. Yet in that very day, he didn't know of all that – that kind of knowledge came so much later – and in another world.
…Third year of his wanderings. The rain, drumming on a bridge his strange rhythm and drawing circles in waters of Neva river. Vicious circles.
A little kitten with orange fur, who is desperately beating on a water with legs and trying to reach a high stone embankment with a meter's height above him. He would drown that day if not for Vasily's aid. Would drown as many are being drowned by force – whether they are cats or people. What is some saved kitten, after all? Just a clear distinction between compassion and indifference.
…That very day, those very minutes which few mortal ones are capable to predict in advance. Winter wind, freezing a face. The glacial face of Neva. Group of school students not far away, moving as a chain to another coast.
Here a weak ice breaks from their measured step and one of them falls down into icy waters with a splash. A cry of despair, being carried around.
When Vasily ran up to the place of that ice break, the student was still on a water surface, yet none of the surrounding children had any power to pull him out. They pulled their hands to him, trying to grasp – but small weak hands of theirs have been sliding off over and over again, accompanied by cries of despair.
It happens that we don't know the exact limits of own powers until the moment they are truly needed… and neither did Vasily. Having grabbed him by a wrist, he pulled the child with both of his hands with such a force that he has flown away on a surface and landed two meters behind. But this breakthrough shook Vasily, turning him around, his legs slid off and he fell into icy waters himself.
Time and again, up to the moment when hands and legs finally refused to obey him, he has been fighting for life. Over and over again he was trying to get out on the ice, but forces were fleeing from him – or perhaps this so memorable for his soul and destiny winter has finally decided to take its toll. Here icy water flows into his mouth, forcing to stop breathing. Flashes of light – last messengers of this world – and he is drowning to the bottom of the river…
***
…In that last farewell instant of his life he had no idea of what would happen afterward when the very concept of time will change itself. He had no idea how in a world of immense beauty, which was unimaginable for his tormented and exhausted mortal body, three golden drops – one for each soul that he has saved – would fall one day down on a bowl of great Scales, forgotten by many. How these drops, similar to ones of rain, – so small and so big at the same time! – would touch its surface, and in that instant, one of two bowls will bend and light up with inextinguishable fire. During that instant these three drops, which were seeming too small for many, will overweight all mistakes and pain of his past, lighting up his way. At that moment – a moment of fading link between this world and another one which is being constantly forgotten by those born in this, – Vasily by no means could know this. Mortal beings are rarely granted a privilege to know their future in advance. He didn't know that these drops would become his – absolutely sincerely and disinterestedly coming to the rescue – most significant Justification.
He couldn't think of how shortly after this moment two glowing with warm and soft light figures would stand to right and left from him and lead him into the Great Hall – a divine place where only worthy ones will once be gathered.
Where there is a place for justified and expiated and no place for paying off ones.
19.01.2016