Rada Anpilova. "Whole this dull world never could be missed".
***
PROLOGUE
"First of all, at the very beginning, I wanted to assure everybody who will read this article: I SWEAR TO BE ABSOLUTELY SINCERE AND WRITE THERE NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. I do swear... and I beg you to believe me: it's very important for me now.
Please, don't ask me, why I suddenly decided to type this story in the local newspaper: it's not because I have no answers for you, but only because you will never believe me anyway. I understood pretty well, that most of the people will just consider me to be a foolish buffoon or a sick man, who lost his mind after the freaky catastrophe, and so most of the things, written in this article, is nothing else but only the jokes of his destroyed consciousness... well, I'm not really going to steal from everyone, who will read this story, his essential right for the own opinion: let all the people think about it only what they want to think, and that will be right, each of their opinions will be right and wrong at the same time, because... because I still can't realize on my own, what has really happened with me at that day... I have so many questions, so many doubts, so many thoughts and fears, that I'm feeling absolutely confused and drowned in all this chaos... maybe, this publication in the newspaper is just another of chances to follow the right way, leading to the clear answer, though I don't really believe that such answer exists... but anyway, in spite of it... I still hope that among the readers of this newspaper could be somebody, who would agree to help me, to support or maybe just to explain me something very, VERY, important, that I still can't understand and because of it forget about the peace... I'm suffering from sleeplessness and almost daily nervous breakdowns, and, to be absolutely honest as I promised, I'm very scared of myself and of my own future: I can see nothing but the black thick colors there... it seemed to be too gloom to be worth of waiting for, but... maybe, I love the life, that has been so wonderfully presented to me at the second time, too much... or maybe, I just need somebody to listen to me until the very end, without any breaks, questions, doubts or proves... I need somebody, THOUGH ANYBODY, who could believe in my story... and the last thing I want to make clear for everybody is that I'm not gointg to prove or decline nothing by this article: I just want to share it, and nothing more..."
Milan Bezhenskey, 26 y.o., from Vineri, Bulgaria
***
"THE NAMELESS STORY" by Milan Bezhenskey
THE ARTICLE FROM THE NEWSPAPER "THE TESTIMONY", Љ66, FROM THE JUNE 6TH, 2006:
"I still can't understand completely, why I made that decision - to move exactly to Vineri. Yes, maybe, it really was a very beautiful cosy town, situated not faraway from Sofia, but it wasn't the only such town in Bulgaria! And of course, after everything that has happened, after that freaky autocatastrophe, happened on my way back to capital through Vineri and nearly taken my life away, I must never wish to live in that town, as any normal man could easily guess. Yes, six years have already passed since the day of that road accident - it happened at 6th of June, 2000 - but how could I ever forget IT? Anyone, listening about it, would say just that there's been a miracle, sent from the Paradise, that saved me from the death at that scary day. Maybe I was willing so much to find that miracle, to feel it's blessing touch once again - how could I stop myself, thinking that a faceless sinner isn't worth of it, at THAT TIME, when I felt I've been fullfilled by that desire?! It was absolutely impossible for me, and I would better prick out my eyes by my own hands, than order myself to forget about that mysterious salvation. That's why I strangely was sure, that Vineri is the only place in whole the world where I could find my home... and felt painfully excited that I must rush to that town even sooner than it could be possible, that I had no right to lose even the only moment. And so I left Sofia, following the 40 kilometres long route to Vineri, realizing that there will be the one-way journey. No, nobody did assure me that I will be doomed to spend the rest of my life in that town: but I just KNEW, as well as I know my name, that I will never cross the boards of Vineri again.
The town met me really unfriendly: there was a deadly heat, like in the very heart of Hell, in front of millions of fires, and as stuffy as at the last hours before the freaky thunderstorm. My things must have been already arrived to the new house, and so I, feeling terribly excited, bought a bus ticket and led the destination, according to the new home address, written in my notebook. I was discovering the local landscapes, looking at the window of the bus, but each corner of that town seemed to be exactly the same with the previous or next ones, and the street of Vineri have been empty and lifeless, like the deserts... though it was already about eight o'clock of the evening, when summer streets are usually fullfilled by the walking people, who are wishing to save themselves from the heat and suffocating. The road to the University street, where my new house has been situated, took about an hour: the bus stopped almost at the end of the narrow highway, and I saw the lightly brown walls of that building in a few metres away from me. The trade agent from the Sofia company was standing next to it and waiting for me; he asked me to sign some papers, wished me to enjoy the happy easy life in Vineri and then went away, leaving me alone in front of the house, with the keys in my hand. The outside image of my new sanctuary became the first thing I really disliked: that place looked like a cut piece of the ghost-town, died because of the epidemia or burnt above the endless peat fires; my house has been only surrounded by the dusty ring of highway and a few old buildings, seemed to be left many years ago. There were neither birds, nor flowers, neither benches, nor childish sandbox - no casual obvious signs, that this place is inhabitable... only bus stop and the street lantern, throwing a goldish light on the ground. The silence and movelessness, so powerful here, seemed to be absolute, supernatural after all that unstoppable fuss of Sofia, and whole the town has been already turning into the lost graveyard in my imagination. And so, trying to hide from this gloom feeling, I opened the door with my key and came into the house. Turning on the light in the small, white, like a hospital corridor, hall, I noticed three shut doors, leading to the kitchen, dining-room and living-room, and a wood stairs. Slightly discovered the rooms on the ground-floor, I realized that I've been absolutely indifferent to it: I could change something in the furniture, could leave everything as it's been before my arrival - it didn't matter at all for me, and I was annoyed and angry on myself for this feeling or, to say better, lack of feelings. Throwing my bag somewhere in the hall, I went upstairs to find out the premises on the first floor. There were a large bathroom, bedroom, a corner room for the guests and a small balcony. There was a high glass vase with a huge bloodred roses, pouring out the sweet heavy aromate, - the only thing I could save as a memory about my mother, as she's always been in love with the flowers and nobody in whole this world could create such a beautiful flower compositions, as she created everyday... but her death... it was a freaky tragical story, happened to her and hurt me so much, that I felt myself already dead too... mother died at the very first days of this year. It was the suicide: she cut her veins off, just without any reason... she only left a note for me, for herself or for somebody else... "I cannot live with this feeling anymore. I'm sorry, Milan... and please, ask Mara to try to forgive me too" - that was all she wrote there. This note didn't explain me nothing, in contrary, it made me absolutely confused: I couldn't even suppose what killing feeling mother mentioned, and who was that Mara she beg to ask for forgiveness from... how strangely, how silly... the thoughts about mother's suicide brought me it's gloom present - my darkest memories about the road accident, happened on the street of Vineri six years agp, about the endless, destructive, terrifying pain, about a sudden unimaginable salvation, about the doctors, repeating that, if the transfusion of blood wouldn't be possible or done at time, nothing would save me from the death... I remembered even my sick powerfull desire to learn, who gifted me his or her blood and so let this little miracle happen, but the doctors answered that this person decided to stay anonymous. Yes, anonymous... but why? For so many times I've heard the happy stories, how the patients and the donors turn into a close friends after the succesful operations, so why it couldn't happen with me too? It's impossible for me to explain, but somehow exactly this unpleasant thought made me feeling so sadly and hopelessly, that I, losing my last strength and being panically scared to stay inside of this house, quickly rushed downstairs, widely opened the door and... stopped, like if the abyss appearred right in front of me, - because I saw a white envelope, lying on the porch steps of my new house. Oh God, I felt so frustrated and broken, like if it was a head, cut off from the shoulders of the corpse, not just the envelope... maybe, somebody will say it looked absolutely silly and even ridiculously, but I was really at loss what to do and just nervously tried to suppose, who could learn my address in advance, so early, that this letter arrived to my house right after I crossed it's threshold!... the only thing I hoped about was the possibility, that somebody just confused the addresses, so I took the envelope from the step to check out what was written on it. 83666, Bulgaria, Vineri, the University street, 9 - no, no mistakes, it was the correct address of my new house, and there were my name and surname as well... I quickly looked at the opposite fields: there graph "Sender's address" has been left empty, there was only a postal stamp with the date 06.06.2005, and the name of that one, who wrote me this letter - Mara Kollarova. I strained my mind, trying to remember any, even the sudden, familiar with this surname, but that's all been in vain and I knew it would be in vain - because I've never heard this surname before, and even at those confused, hard, strange days I was absolutely sure in it.
- Mara Kollarova... who are you? WHO ARE YOU?!
The desire to learn it as soon as possible has become even stronger than desire to survive through all the chaos, surrounding me, than desire to begin a new life, that MUST be happier than my previous one, and so I panically, with a shivering hands, did tear the envelope and, rushing back into the room, started to read the letter... it was the longest and the most important letter I've ever received or could imagine I'd somewhen receive. Here is what was written in it: I swear that I didn't hide from you even the only word from it.
***
"Hello. I finally have the chance just to say you "hello"... and it's making me happy.
This letter has been written for you already a long ago, Milan, and just kept at safe till the exact moment when you MUST receive and read it. It is a doom. It always happens like this, when the life is tearing apart to save another one. I can't know what feelings you will be reading this letter with, but I'm still sure that you'll wish you could meet Mara, who wrote it to you... please, don't be scared or frustrated: we have already met each other and we will meet again, when the time comes. At the very end.
For the very first and the very last time I saw you at the 11th of November, 1980: yes, at the day of your birth. I saw you sleeping on the mother's hands, blood from the blood and flesh from the flesh: I had a mystical, supernatural feeling that I could never forget your face or not to recognize you in the crowd - no matter, how many years will be passed since your birthday... and I happily wasn't mistaken. Don't doubt that I know for sure - mother hid from you a huge part of the past of our family or just told you the fairy-tales, created in her imagination. Maybe, somebody would say she has been right: the truth was freaky and it could hurt you, but I believe that anyone in this world has the right for the truth, no matter if it is bitter or sweetest, - because without it you just can't live in the peace. So please, let me tell you everything I kept for you during all these years, you deserved to learn it.
We seemed to be a perfect happy family, but it was just an illusion, and in fact we've never been. Mother told you that she had only one husband and only one child, but it's a lie. You've never heard the family Kollarova, though it was the family of your mother's first husband and your elder sister Mara, who was six years old, when you were born. But at 1980 mother has been already turned into the widow, and her daughter was the only reminding about Kollarov. The girl was nice and obedient, but, unfortunately, very weak, silent and exhausted, like if she was suffering from the serious disease. The doctors couldn't understand, what was killing her, but they all were pretty sure that a girl is already standing at the last line and her short life will be soon ended. Mother and step-father were hopelessly asking if a child needed an expensive treatment or medicines, but doctors adviced them not to torment themselves by such thoughts, because it's been almost clear that everything would be done in vain, and the little girl will die anyway... I understand that you will be totally lost and broken, reading these lines, because in fact it's really very hard to accept the things you have already learned from my letter and the things you'll learn very soon, but please, just try to imagine what did your parents feel at those days before you take the final decision about their act. They knew that Mara will be suffering all the rest of her life, all those months or weeks, or maybe even days, and at the same time they understood they will NEVER survive through it. They wouldn't dare to spend with Mara her last moments even if they would be alone and have no responsibility for the destiny of the newborn child: they just decided they had no right to risk so much. You may think what you want, but it was their choise. So at the very end of November mother took her daughter to the town, named Vineri, and left her there in a shelter for the orphans. Then she did ride away from Vineri, back to her son and husband, wishing nobody from her family would somewhen come to that town, but of course, she was freaky wrong, because sometimes a connection between two souls, especcially between the souls of brother and sister, could be unbreakable and eternal, more eternal than even the death. That's why all the main days of your life you spent and will spend here, not in Sofia, where you were born and grown up: you didn't decide to move in Vineri occassionally, and didn't nearly die in Vineri occassionally too. I know everything that happens in your life because of our connection as well. I remember every little thing about that auto-catastrophe - the time, the reasons, the fear, the pain, the tears... I remember the heat and the scarlet color of blood, taken out of my veins and poured into your heart. I remember, how it started to beat again, how you finally made the breath, how you opened your eyes... I remember everytime somebody in this town called your salvation as a miracle. Yes, maybe, it was the only thing I made for you during all your life, but who else could make it for you, even if he or she would dream about your salvation? Nobody could, because we, two orphans, have nobody in this world except each other. We have one blood in our bodies. It was a miracle that I lived for so long that even received from God the precious gift to see you once again, but miracles create miracles, and that's why you are breathing now. I just wanted to add... your new house here, on the University street, 9, is built exactly at the place where the shelter I grew up has been situated - until the 6th of December, 2003, when the shelter was closed. It doesn't exist anymore, but it changes nothing, as the place you're now living in was, is and will always be the piece from our past.
I'm sorry, if I hurt you, forcing you to read this letter, but I swear, I really wanted to help you once again, as the connection between us is unbreakable and will keep us close to each other forever, for a long time after our deaths, for a long time after the Apocalypse and the Last Judgement... I know, that, getting the answers for the old questions, you always ask yourself a new ones... but it's impossible to move forward, to follow the way you chose without it. You shouldn't be searching for me on this destination: we are walking the same road, but not at the same time. Just believe, there will be a day when we meet again, like there always will be a day, when the death will meet the life.
Mara Kollarova. The 6th of June, 2005. Vineri, Bulgaria".
***
I was walking around the town whole the next day, endlessly thinking about the letter. I couldn't make any decision. I couldn't decline or prove anything. When the hour of the dawn has been already coming closely, I found out that my road led me to the Vineri graveyard, the holy, silent and stone cold temple of the death... no, not of the death. Of the peace. Of the divine wisdom. Of the real human beauty and the only truth. I saw one grey, hidden in the high grass and almost unnoticable grave there. There was a sign on the tombstone: "Mara R. Kollarova. The 6th of December, 1974 - The 6th of December, 2003".