The Wondrous Wolf

von Stoyan Valev (Copyright)

Translated from Bulgarian by: Nevena Pascaleva

One February evening, when the pub was full of men and outside the wind was fiercely hauling, the door slowly opened.
It opened, but nobody came in.
They fell silent and waited.
For, when a door is being opened, somebody should have opened it.
And since it is opened by someone, that someone would like to come in.
The tip of his snout showed first.
Next all of his body sneaked in.
A wolf came into the pub.
‘Lord!’ the bartender exclaimed.
He had never had such a customer, though he had been doing this business for thirty years.
Ivan slowly rose from a table and stepped towards the wolf.
So far, so good: the wolf, however, snarled and bared his teeth.
‘Where, Ivan?’ old Stoimen cried while Ivan was looking right into the wolf’s eyes.
‘I’m going to fix him!’ Ivan rolled up his sleeves and again made a step towards the animal.
Old Stoimen reached out to stop him, but it was too late.
A human being and a wolf grappled into a deadly combat.
Ivan was trying to grip the wolf’s neck but kept failing.
The wolf was growling and his teeth were clattering but it was obvious he only defended himself; he did not attack, he only protected himself, pushing his adversary away.
When Ivan at last managed to nab the wolf’s neck with both hands and his fingers started tightening, the animal gave such a growl that everyone’s hair stood on end.
Unexpectedly, Ivan loosened his fingers and got up from the floor.
The wolf also got up on his four feet, shook himself and made for the bar.
‘My, that bloody cur!’ the bartender whimpered and deftly leaped onto the bar, despite his hundred kilograms.
The wolf stopped in front of the bar and stared at him with his wide-opened, wondrous, sad eyes.
Nobody dared move.
A couple of minutes lasted the wolf’s survey and an eternity it seemed to the people. Then slowly he rose on his hind legs, pointed his snout at the ceiling and started howling.
It was not a howl, but a cry devilish and ominous. The same way the women would howl on funerals.
Dumbfounded, a score of men in the village pub were listening.
So the wolf kept howling and they kept standing silent.
It was understood, then, that a grief was upon that wolf; a grief heavy and dark as the night outside, if it was a wolf at all.
And as unexpectedly as it had began, the howling ceased.
The wolf lay on the floor, placed his head between his front legs and moved no more.
He was lying.
And the men were standing still, watching the wolf.
Then old Stoimen got up and went to him.
Someone bit their lips, but not a voice was heard to prevent him doing that.
The wolf would probably jump on him and bite his throat! It would be easy, how much was the old man’s strength . . .
But the wolf kept lying still.
Old Stoimen squatted, with a low moan, rested one knee on the floor and bowed over the wolf. He reached out both hands, took the wolf’s head, stared at his eyes.
It was as if the wolf was confiding something to him, but old Stoimen did not wanted to admit it.
After a long moment he laid the animal’s head between its paws again and took off his greasy hat.
So stood the old man, on his knees as if before a dead man dear to his heart.
The men perceived the wolf had given away his spirit – to God, to the Devil, or to some Deity of his own kind? . . .
They drew closer, watching him with scrutinizing eyes – they saw a most wonderful wolf!
Then old Stoimen stood up slowly and said:
‘Now, get the hoes and shovels and let’s bury him!’
‘But you . . . have you lost your mind?’ the bartender snapped at him, getting down from the bar.
‘Shut up!’ the old man ordered and at the authority of his voice everyone felt he was right.
The men quickly fetched hoes and shovels.
‘Where?’ they asked old Stoimen.
‘What do you mean where?’ the old man snapped ‘in front of the pub!’
They filed out of the pub.
It was a bitter cold. A blizzard, quite a blizzard. The earth: ice-bound. But the men set off digging.
They were warming up with one gulp of rakia at a time and at last they dug up the grave.
Old Stoimen laid the wolf into the grave and bowed to the ground.
‘Take a bow, you!’ the old man ordered and score of men bowed to a dead wolf.
But what kind of wolf? . . . A wondrous wolf! . . .
They filled up the grave and got back to the pub.
It was then when the mayor burst in.
‘Eh, what have you been doing again?’ he was mad, it was obvious.
‘You shut up!’ old Stoimen said reprovingly and poured out a drop of his glass on the floor.
‘Bury a wolf! In the center of the village! Tell me, aren’t you savage?’ raged the mayor, sipping at his glass of rakia and already starting to relax with each sip.
He poured out a drop on the floor, too.
‘Let the powers that watch over us, condone the sins of that wolf!’
So goes the world.
If a door is being opened, someone is surely to come in. Wolf or a man.
And was it a wolf?
They kept asking old Stoimen, who was renowned for his wisdom, but he only smiled and waved his hand at them:
‘What, a wolf? Are you out of your mind? If it was a wolf, would I have you buried it in the centre of the village, you fools!’
‘Well, then! What was it?’
Did it matter, after all?
It came, it was gone, it was buried, and the rest is for everyone to decide.
Isn’t that right?!

Smith

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I was perfect, I realized. Not Messiah perfect, like Jesus, or even Buddha, but a close second.

It was because one day, as I was walking down the street, it suddenly occurred to me that I was genetically perfect. That is, I was as genetically perfect as any human had ever been, therefore, I was perfect. As the realization of this genetical perfection of mine gradually sunk in, it dawned on me that I would have to do something constructive with my new found powers. In this regard I would need help, for I realized, the world was a troubled place. The local police station seemed like a good place to offer my services so I strolled over.

I walked up to the counter and said to the officer behind it “I have arrived.”
He looked up in a perplexed fashion and said “What?”
“I have arrived” I repeated myself, and added, “To solve some problems, of which I hear you people have your fair share, now, how can I be of service.”
The cop wasn’t busy with anything pressing so decided to humor me a bit longer.
“What makes you think there is anything you would be able to help us with?” he said smugly.

I explained my newfound perfection to him and assured him that it went hand in hand with vast cosmic powers, which in turn I would be able to use for the better of mankind, if I could only find a serious problem to solve.

“Why don’t you re-align the universe and solve all our problems?” he said and his fellow officers in the squad room laughed.
“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I said and went to stand in a corner to re-align the universe. I stood there and concentrated, deciding that only a few minor adjustments to the cosmic wheels would be necessary. I re-aligned them slightly and then stopped to catch my breath and wipe a bit of sweat off my brow.

Just then someone off the street ran in and said, “ Have you people heard, George Bush just won the election.” ‘Shit, what have I done’ I thought to myself. I would better have to re-adjust the cosmic wheels back to the way they were. I went and stood in the corner and concentrated, but try as I might, I could not turn those big abstract wheels of time and space back to their original positions. I tried and tried till the sweat ran in rivulets down my face.

When I realized I was going to have no success, I turned back to the cop behind the counter and said, “ I confess, it was me, it is all my fault, and whatever happens hereafter is all also going to be my fault. I re-adjusted the wheels of the universe, but you proposed it.” I added accusingly.

The cop’s former good mood evaporated, because of what I had just said, or because of the news of the American presidential elections, I do not know to this day. But his whole demeanor towards me changed in a second, a bit scizo-like.

“Right, that’s it, off to the loony-bin with you.” he said, and momentarily six huge cops overpowered me and forced me into the most uncomfortable white sleeveless jacket I have ever been fitted with.

The ‘hospital’, as they refer to it, looks like one from the outside, with lovely rolling lawns and old Victorian red brick buildings. The inside, I found out later, looks more like scenes from Dante’s ‘Inferno’.

The white jacketed Doctor across from me asked the questions.
“What day is it today?” she asked. “Does it really matter, if you consider the bigger question? What is time? According to Janice Joplin ‘it’s all the same fucking day’ in anycase, man.” I replied.
A bit annoyed she continued, “What does it mean when I say ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’?”
“It means the tree isn’t standing on a hill.” I replied.
Now genuinely agitated she tried one more “ What does it mean when I say ‘people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?’”
“That would mean exactly the opposite of ‘ people in stone houses shouldn’t throw glasses.’” I replied.
Her final question to me was “Mr. Smith, do you drink?”
“It’s a bit early in the morning, but what the hell, make it a double.” I said enthusiastically.

So now I’ve been sitting in this little padded room for the last few years, while Bush is going bomb happy. Why don’t I change things back? You ask. Well, I’ve been trying all this time, but when I re-aligned the universe, my perfection slipped out of place a fraction, thus I am not perfect anymore, not even close. Being imperfect also means being virtually powerless. Certainly without any cosmic powers.

I can do nothing but try, under heavy sedation, but perfection eludes me. How can I ever regain my perfection and re-adjust the cosmic wheels again? If anything ever seemed impossible to me, this does. Turn Oh Cosmic Wheels, why won’t you turn?

The Farm

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Introduction:

The farm lies in a long and deep valley in the bushveld of the Eastern Transvaal. It is only one of the many farms in the valley, so the story is more about the valley itself, and the giant mountain head that towers above the valley and all the other mountains around it.

The farm belonged to my grandparents on my mother’s side of the family, and was an investment, rather than a farming enterprise. As a result of this the area is still quite unspoilt, and nowadays form part of a protected area. There are buck of various species, from small to large. There is even leopards in the valley, that are currently being researched by nature conservation scientist.

It is as beautiful a valley as any on the fair continent of Africa.

The Valley.

The valley is probably about fifty kilometers long, and I am really only familiar with the eastern side of it, on which the farm lies.

It is a beautiful bushveld valley of towering mountains with pre-historically formed crevices. The crevices and crags were formed when there was still a lot of water falling down over them from the higher ground above the valley. Now all that remained of the mighty rivers that must have flowed here eons ago, is a small mountain stream.

Still, at places the stream flows strongly and there are many beautiful waterfalls in the valley, from which it gets its name; the Waterfall river pass. There are numerous small waterfalls in the smaller valleys that are formed on the side of the larger canyon, and I know of at least one large one, which sports a large pool at the bottom.

The waterfall on the neighboring farm is small, but very beautiful. It is high up on a steep climb between a narrow little gorge with high and steep sides, here there are always a lot of baboons that maraud the kranses. They avoid humans and are an aggressive bunch, protective of their own kind and their territory.

Here high up in the gorge in their living area, there is a beautiful small waterfall, not easily accessible. It consists of a high stream of powerful water, not very large, that comes directly from the highland plato above it. It empties into a small but deep basin ideal for bathing under the shower of the waterfall. From here the water runs down into another larger pool nearby, and from here downstream among the rocks and boulders, forming numerous other pools and small falls, in its path down to the bottom of the gorge. It is a wondrous place with huge boulders and a lot of ferns growing in this primeval world. This little gorge with its beautiful little waterfall, is totally secluded and private and an ideal place to get away from it all. I have spent much time here, alone or in the company of one or two people. The closest thing to heaven I have seen in this world.

But other people must have had similar feelings as my own long, long ago, for the valley has much remains of circular constructions of stone made by some ancient people. These types of ruins are found all over the eastern Transvaal, and are supposedly connected with the mysterious lost culture of Zimbabwe. There are quite a few scattered across the valley and to speculate their purpose seems futile, one can do little more than appreciate the craftsmanship that went into building them so long ago, under the hot African sun, in this warm and glorious valley. Their true purpose remains a mystery, as do the origins of their builders.

The valley is a lovely and intriguing place. The tall light green and yellow African grass cover the valley, and the thorn trees, bushes and other indigenous plants cover the area, so that it becomes truly bush at places. The whole valley is covered with thousands of aloes. When they bloom they have lovely orange and red flowers. They are an integral part of the area. The terrain is rocky and roughed. It is from this abundance of rock that the structures of the ruins of the ancients had been built.

Butterflies, locusts and innumerable other insects buzz around in the veldt wherever you go. Birds of all description is to be found, such as all the well known Southern African species, as well as hawks that fly and hunt high up in the air near the summits of the kranses.

But the lord of the air here is undoubtedly the huge black eagle. They fly high up in the valley, and are usually in the vicinity of the large mountain head that towers over it. Here they drift effortlessly on the strong wind currents, seeking out their prey in the valley below.

The Mountain.

The majestic peak that towers over the valley is in the shape of a gigantic outcrop referred to as the head of the mountain.

It takes one a whole day of hard climbing up the steep and rocky slope through the African bush and veldt, to get there and back to the farmhouse. One can do this in about half this time if one is in prime physical condition, and you make it a rush journey. However, you would usually make a day outing of it, arriving at the top of the head at about noon, eating lunch there and spending some time appreciating the scenery. Then after spending about an hour on the top of the mountain, one must venture down the steep incline back down again.

The view from the top is spectacular as one has a view of the whole valley. It is beautiful and majestic with the river running like a blue ribbon through it. You can see the top of the plato on the other side of the valley. It has fairly large patches of water that empties into the waterfalls and river below. Here on the highlands the veldt is lush and green, if the rainfalls have been good, and there is water enough.

The valley stretches out before your eyes in both directions in its entire splendor, and if you are lucky you can get a close up glimpse of a black eagle, this is after all their mountain, and their kranses. If you sit on a ledge overlooking the valley you are certain to see many hawks swooping in sky close to the kranses, looking for prey like small lizards and rodents. If you walk around a bit, you’ll find feathers of the black eagle, for it roosts up here in the kranses.

Freedom.

The most complete feeling of freedom and unity with nature that I have ever experienced, has been on the top of this mountain.

I have been up here a number of times in my life, sitting in the silence and the wind marveling at the beauty of the valley and its creatures.

But the local cow herders venture up these slopes everyday after stray cattle, and if anyone truly lives in harmony with this beautiful valley, and if anyone has insight into its mysteries, it must be them.

Still, I have been up there, and I have seen the glory of nature in a deep rich valley, under a clear blue sky, and that is enough for me.

Bat V

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

It was a sunshiny day at ‘the place’ and the people were going ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’. They were going ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’ because they had outsmarted Batty. He was somewhere far away flying harmlessly through space.

They went about their daily business at work, school and home, assured in the fact that Batty no longer posed a threat to their peaceful existence. The day passed peacefully and uneventfully. As darkness fell over ‘the place’ the people closed their windows and shut their doors, and turned in for a good nights rest, except for a few late night revelers in the city pubs.

But, unbeknownst to the people, Batty and Belinda were close by. They were somewhere in space, close to the place, but they were no longer alone. They had prospered in space. In tow flew their offspring, four little bats; Berty, Batny, Betty and little baby bat. One happy, albeit thirsty, vampire bat family.

The mayor was one of the late night revelers at a local pub, and started walking home in a carefree fashion, after all, there weren’t any bats around tonight. He was also bound to be re-elected, he thought to himself, after all it had been his idea that they should escape the bat and fool him. He was laughing to himself as he strolled down the street, ‘Ho-Ho-Ho.’ But suddenly he was over whelmed by six thirsty bloodsucking bats, they appeared out of the night as if from nowhere. His tune changed to ‘Argh!-Argh!-Argh!’ as he was being mangled to death by the bloodsucking bats. Once he had expired, Batty and his family had a virtual feast of blood. They sucked, and sucked, until their little bellies were filled to capacity. In the early morning hours, while ‘the place’ was still shrouded in semi-darkness, they retired to Batty’s old cave for a good days rest. They had flown far, and blood was their reward. The pure life giving essence of blood.

As a new day dawned over the place, the people found the mangled remains of the mayor in a lonely side street, the place was a bloody mess, and they knew, Batty was back. They had traveled across the galaxy in an attempt to evade the bloodsucker but had failed. There was no escaping that bloodthirsty bat. The people all packed their bags and headed for the launch pad in town. They were getting away while it was still day.

Batty the vampire bat could feel there was something amiss when he awoke this evening….

The End.

Kate, The Love Of Her Life & The Toy Chest

von Allison Fasanella (Copyright)

It was Kate’s first Christmas working at Diana’s Toy Chest. She started there about six months ago. It was a rocky start. Everyone in town knew that store. It had a wonderful reputation. And Kate knew she just had to work there. Ever since she was little, she loved that store. She would go once a month with her mother to pick out something. Her mother knew Diana very well. And Diana loved Kate. And Kate loved her. Well, she loved her store. So, she loved her. She loved the way it looked. The way it smelled. And of course she loved the toys. Oh, boy did she love those toys. Even as she got older she loved going into that toy store. Even when she outgrew all those Barbie Dolls. She just loved that store. There was something about it. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she loved that store.

So, now at the age of 18, Kate was proud that she worked there. She was proud to be a co-worker of that famous Diana. She was just proud to be part of the happiness at Diana’s Toy Chest.

It was December 9th and Kate happily made her way down the street and into that wonderful store, that for the past month had been hoping like a mad horse.

She made her way through the crowd.

“Oh, Kate. Kate!,” she heard her manager, Christie, call out. “Kate! Kate! Oh, God!” Christie tried to make her way through the crowd.

Once there, she gave her an exhausting smile. “How you doing, Kate?”

Kate smiled. “I’m okay. How are you, Chris?” Christie sighed, laughing. “Oh, man, oh, man. I need a triple expresso.”

“Oh, you should have called me! I would have picked some things up,” Kate told her.

Christie smiled. “Yeah, thanks, but I don’t even have time to drink anything. And that’s what I have to tell you… Get your butt to work! If you haven’t noticed things are a little crazy today and we need you! Now go, scoot, spread your charm!” Christie took off in the other direction.

Kate laughed to herself and made her way to the back room.

Kate and her co-worker Maria happily closed the doors. The day was over and everyone couldn’t be more happy. Well, they still had to clean up, but no more customers!

“Oh, my, goodness!,” Diana yelled, smiling. “What a day. What a day!”

Kate smiled, as she worked passed her, her feet hurting.

“Good work everyone. The day was a success. Oh, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Kill yourself,” Mark, suggested. Diana smirked at him. “I almost killed myself today,” he added.

“I almost killed a customer. Can you imagine… A murder at Diana’s Toy Chest? Oh, man. I would love to see the media with that,” Mel said.

Diana gave him a warning look. Everyone all laughed.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get this place cleaned up so we can all go home,” Diana told everyone.

“Just so we can come back tomorrow,” Mark said, mostly to himself. Christie was the one now to give the warning look. He smiled.
Later on, about an hour or so, when they all finished, a few of them decided to go out to eat, since they were all starving. They all had picked the best dinner in town, Philly’s. At the table sat, Kate, Caleb, Mark, Mel and Mitch.

“What are you getting?,” Caleb asked Kate.

“Hmm, I dunno. You?” Caleb looked at the menu. “ Yeah, I don’t know either. It’s funny, I’m not even that hungry now.”

“Wanna share something?,” Kate asked her.

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

They all picked out what they decided to eat and then started their conversation.

“You know,” Mel started, “I think we will be having a lot of these for the next few weeks.” Mitch looked at him. “Oh, yeah. Especially on a day like today. Man, I’m beat. God, that store gets more and more crowded everyday.”

Mark chimed in. “Please, this is my third Christmas working there and you haven’t seen a thing. Wait another week, women will make you wanna cry.” Kate laughed. Mark laughed back.

“And you know that from experience,” she asked him. They all waited.

“No comment.”

Caleb laughed. “God, your pathetic.” “Ooh,” Mel said,” she thinks your pathetic and she’s right.”

Mark gave them all a dirty look. “Hey listen. Is this the way we’re gonna cool off steam? On me?”

“Yeah”, they all said together. Mark looked at them and then pretend to cry. “You guys are mean,” he said. They all laughed.

“Goodnight, everyone,” Caleb said and got into her car.

“Goodnight,” both Kate and Mark said. They both got into his car. Mark had offered Kate a ride, since she was on his way home. In the car they mostly talked about work. All the things they liked about it and what was going on at the moment. When things quieted down they switched to another topic. The future. They both knew that they weren’t going to be working at Diana’s Toy Chest for the rest of their lives. They both went to college, together, but they never say one another. Kate was a freshman and Mark was a senior.

“You know,” Mark said. “I think after the holiday I’m gonna quit.” This made Kate look at him. She hadn’t noticed that he had put glasses on. She didn’t even know that he wore glasses. He was concentrating on the road. He looked so innocent at that moment. And she knew he wasn’t. They had become good friends since Kate had begun working there and all his stories were anything but ‘sweet.’ She liked the way he looked at that moment. He looked different than he usually looked.
They stopped at a light and he turned to look at her staring at him.

He gave her a funny look. “What?”

She snapped out of it and thought what to say. “I, uh, just cant believe that you wanna quit.”

“Yeah, I know. This year is my last year of college and then I’m on my own. I cant spend the rest of my life at DTC’s. I mean, you know that. We’ve talked about it before.”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah. I know. It will just be strange without you there. You were like my first real friend there.” He smiled and then yawned.

“Aww, are you reminiscing? I remember the little scared Kate. Oh, how you were so young-“ He was cut off.

“Oh, shut up, Marky Mark.”

“Hey,” he said. “I told you never to call me that. Only my mom can call me that.” She laughed and they continued to joke on the way home.

The next day Kate had to work a double shift. She was so tired from the night before. After dinner and such, she didn’t get home until almost one in the morning.

She sat in the back, on her half an hour break. She had popped a Hot Pocket in the microwave and then sat down, taking her shoes off and rubbing one of her feet.

“Oh, God,” she moaned quietly to herself. She loved this job, but it really was draining her.

“How ya doin’,” she heard a sincere voice. She looked up to see Mark standing there, putting some of his stuff away in his crowded locker.

She smiled. “I think you need to clean that locker out.” He looked at it and laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll do it after Christmas,” he said and sat down in the chair next to hers. The microwave finished cooking her pathetic dinner and began to beep. She got up and took it out.

“On your break,” he asked. She nodded and took a bite.

“You look tired. How’ve you been. The store looks like a psychiatric ward. I went to pick something off the floor and this woman started to yell at me saying I was trying to take the last stuffed animal.” Kate laughed.

“You’re on now,” she asked, putting her food down and taking a sip of her soda.
“Uh-huh,” he said. ‘‘I wasn’t suppose to but then Christie called me up begging that she needed me and you know, I love it when a girl needs me.”

Kate shook her head and smiled. ‘You know that she’s married and had a 12 year old?” Mark laughed. Suddenly, Christie walked into the room.

She smiled at Kate. “Is the gentleman with the back to me happen to be Mark?” Mark turned around and smiled at her. He waved. “Hey, Christie. How are you?”

Christie looked at him. ‘‘Oh, me? I’ll be fine when I go home tonight and take a four hour hot bath. But, if you don’t get out there in five seconds than I wouldn’t be the one asking if I’m alright. You get me?”

“Okay, cool,” he said and then got up and made his way out into the ‘jungle.’ Christie looked back at Kate and shook her head, both of them laughing.

During her next four hour shift, Kate was like a chicken without a head. She had no idea what to do next or who to help.
“At least I’m not bored,” she thought to herself. “Yeah, right.”

During the next week, no one that worked in the store had a day off. Every manager worked and even Diana had to come in. They needed every last bit of help that they could get.

Kate was running on no sleep. When she wasn’t working she was at school or studying for midterms that were coming up. And she was exhausted. She had no time for anything. And she had all this money that she had no idea what to do with.

And almost every night a whole bunch of people went to Philly’s to relax and just have some fun. And, even though Kate was tired, which she was sure everyone else was, she did not want to miss out on those ‘dinners.’

One day, after work, around five o’clock, Kate sat outside a Starbucks, sipping on a Mocha Frappaccino. She looked up at the beautiful sky. It was December 18th. Winter was less than a week away. And the Christmas. Even though that was all coming and it looked like winter, it still felt like fall. It was only in the early 50’s. It was nice.

She looked down the block to see Mark and Mel walking towards her. She smiled.

“Hey, Kate,” Mark said, once they got there.

She smiled. “You guys just get off work,” she asked. They nodded. She smiled and then looked back up at the sky.
“This is like the first time in weeks that I’ve truly had free time,” Mel said to them.

“Oh, yeah. Me too,” Mark replied. They all nodded.

“Well,” Mel said to them,” I’m going to go home and take a nap. God knows I need one. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye,” both Kate and Mark said. Mel continued down the street.

Mark looked at Kate, who was looking around. He smiled. “Hey. Mind if I join you?” She shook her head. He sat down next to her.

They were quiet.

“How have you been? I haven’t really seen you lately,” Mark said to Kate.

She smiled and looked at him. “I’m okay. I’ve been busy. Well, you know what that’s like.” He nodded. He watched her smile and look around, taking in her surroundings. She caught him watching her.

She laughed. “Is there something on my face?”

He laughed back. “No,” he said. “No. You just look really happy right now.”

She took a deep breath in and then out. “Oh, I am. I’m just so happy to be outside. Not really worrying about anything. Well, at least for the moment I’m not.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Today was a pretty good day. The store wasn’t really that crowded. Don’t know why, but don’t really care.” She nodded in agreement.

They sat there for a few minutes.

After Kate finished her Frappaccino, with Mark helping her, they got up and spent the rest of the day of just relaxing, together.

The next day, Kate was exciting about working. She wasn’t really sure why. She had been lately dreading all the times that she had to go in. As soon as she got in the door, she looked through the crowd. What was she looking for? She wasn’t sure what it was. But when she saw it, she knew why she was happy about working. It was Mark.

She was kind of surprised that she was happy about working with him, or just the fact that she got to see him. There was something about him lately that was different. Not him, but the way that Kate looked at him. She was seeing him in a different light. It was weird. It started that night when they all went out to dinner for the first time. She saw it then and now it was something that she couldn’t just look past. She quickly made her way to the back and got herself ready and pumped up for another wonderful experience at Diana’s Toy Chest.
Later, after the store closed, the usual five went to Philly’s and got their usual dinner. Kate and Caleb sharing a basket of chicken fingers, Mitch got the sampler, Mark got the buffalo wings and Mel with the Ceasor chicken salad.

They sat there laughing and being stupid. Mark and Mel started to prank call some of the co-workers, including Christie, who knew right away that it was him.

Afterwards Mark drove Kate home.

But this time it was weird. It was weird in the diner and they both knew it. They had nothing to say to one another. And it wasn’t just because their lives were filled with nothing but work, it was just plain uncomfortable.

They decided to talk about work, which was able to keep them from feeling weird around each other. The ride seemed like forever, which was bad but then good in one way: Kate got to be with Mark for a longer time.

When Kate layed in her bed that night, she thought about Mark. She really couldn’t stop thinking about him. She wondered what this was. What was with her? What was with him?

She didn’t know. Well, she did. But she didn’t want to admit to it.

She was attracted to Mark. She realized that she had developed a crush on him. Not just a tiny little crush, she was full out attracted to him.

“Oh, no,” she said to herself in the dark.

The next day, Kate was not looking forwarding to working with Mark. She now felt nervous around him. And she knew he would see it and want to know what was wrong. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen for him. She never even saw it coming. She always thought and looked at him as a good friend. Someone just to hang out with and have a good time. But that was no longer the case.

She stepped inside the store and looked around. It was crowded, what else was new.

She didn’t see him. She sighed and made her way to the back.

Suddenly Mark jumped out in front of her. She jumped back.

He laughed and picked up a toy from the floor.

“Are you hear to rescue us,” he asked. She looked at his beautiful face. She wondered what he would do if she just grabbed him and kissed him. Would he like it or would he run away screaming?
“Oh, my, God!,” she thought to herself. “Stop it! Stop-it!!”

Mark stared at her. She was just standing there, looking straight through him.

“Uh…,” he said and waved his hand in front of her face. “Kate? You okay?”

She snapped back to reality and then looked at him and smiled. “Yep. Yep.”

He nodded. “Alrighty.” She smiled at him again and continued to walk to the back and get ready.

At the end of that night, they all stood in front of the store, while Christie locked up.

Caleb lit up a cigarette. “Does anyone need a ride home,” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Do you mind,” Mitch asked. She shook her head and they said their good nights and left.

“Well,” Christie said when she was done,” We’re good. You two can go home. You need a ride, Kate?”

“Oh, hey,” Mark interrupted. “You two wanna go to Philly’s. I’m starving.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Christie said. They looked at Kate.

She looked at them. “What,” she asked.

“C’mon,” Mark said. “You and me. It will be fun.”

She started to shake her head but then Mark said,” Don’t worry about it Christie, me and her are going to chill together. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait… What,” Kate asked, right before Mark pulled her in the other direction. Christie waved to them goodbye.

Kate and Mark sat at a booth, picking on each others meals.

“You see, Kate. You can do this. You’re fine. Everything is fine. You don’t have a crush on Mark.” Suddenly her leg brushed up against his and she almost passed out.
“Are you okay,” Mark asked her. She was fanning herself.

She looked at him. “Is it hot in here? Or maybe it’s just me.”

He shrugged. “Are you going to eat the rest of your fries?” She shook her head.

He smiled at her and she looked at him. He had such a beautiful smile.

“What are you smiling at,” she asked him.

“I’m just happy that we’re good friends,” he told her.

“Lovely,” she thought to herself. “Friends.”

“Oh, really,” she asked.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded. “Well, you know that new girl, Natelie?” She nodded again.

He thought before he continued.

“Well… I was thinking about asking her out.”

Kate couldn’t breathe. Did he just say that? She couldn’t believe he just said that.

Mark waited for her to say something. When she didn’t and began to turn blue he got nervous. “Um, Kate… What’s wrong Is everything alright? I’ve never seen you that color.”

Kate had to calm down. “Breathe in. Breathe out,” she kept telling herself.

She looked at Mark and nodded. “Oh, okay.”

“Okay…”

They were quiet. Mark waited for her to say more. He realized that she had nothing else to say.

“Kate,” he said, looking at her intensively. He waited for her to look at him. She tried her hardest to show him that she didn’t care.

He licked his lips before starting. “What do you think about her? Do you not like her?”
She shook her head. “No.”

“No you don’t like her? Or no you do?”

“No… I do like her. Well, I really don’t know her that well.” He nodded. They were quiet again.

“Say something,” she thought.

“I mean, she seems nice,” Kate said to him. He nodded. He seemed weird.

“You like her,” she asked, half caring. She wanted to throw up.

He smiled. “Yeah, I do.” She nodded.

“It’s just… you know how my last relationship went. Down the toilet. So, I dunno. Its just been awhile. And when I saw her…it felt different… nice. I haven’t really liked anyone since ‘her’.”

Kate wanted to cry. “Like me, like me,” she was screaming on the inside.

She nodded and smiled at him. “Well, that’s nice.”

He looked at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Kate and Mark sat in his car that was parked in front of her house. She didn’t want to go in. She just wanted to stay with him forever.

They looked at each other. “Are you working tomorrow,” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope, I’m off.”

“You must be partying.”

She nodded.

Silence.

“…Well,” Mark said. He looked at the clock. 12:03

She nodded, knew what he was saying.

They looked at each other and smiled.

“Ill see you later, then,” she said.

He grabbed her arm before she was able to climb out.
“Thanks,” he said. She smiled and nodded. They stood there, just looking at each other. Kate didn’t know what to do. She wanted to kiss him. If he hadn’t just said that he liked Natelie, then maybe she would have.

She thought before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

He first looked surprised, but then smiled.

She smiled as she walked into her house.

Kate drove around on her day off. She needed to clear her mind and that was the best thing for her. She put her Jon Bon Jovi CD and cranked up the volume.

She couldn’t think of Mark. He was probably asking out Natelie at the moment.

Ugh.

“No,” she thought. “That’s not what today is for. No thinking of stupid Mark.”

But she loved stupid Marky Mark.

“Stop,” she thought again.

She cleared her mind of him. Thought of better things. Like what she would do with all her free time that she would have after Christmas.

Kate walked out of McDonalds , with her chicken selects in one hand and her soda in another. She didn’t notice Mark leaning against the wall. She walked over to her car and put the soda on top of it.

“Hey,” she heard. She knew it was him. Her heart started to beat faster. She got her keys out of her bag, trying to remain calm.

She looked up at him, pretending to be surprised that he was there.

He smiled and walked over to the car.

She gave him a small smile, the best that she could do.

“Aren’t you suppose to be working?”

“I took off,” he said. She nodded.

“Where have you been,” he asked
“Need a ride,” she asked him, before getting into the car.

He opened the passengers door and got in.

“I called you cell like a million times,” he told her.

“Yeah, I cant find my cell phone,” she said to him.

“Oh,” he nodded.

She turned on the car and pulled out.

“So, what did you do today,” he asked.

She turned the corner. “Had some ‘me’ time.” She laughed.

He nodded. “Have fun?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said. “Going home?”

“Uh… I dunno,” he said.

They stopped at a light. She looked at him. He looked so cute in his winter jacket.

“So, we’re you going,” she asked him.

He looked around and then down at her dinner.

“You got enough food in there for me?”

They sat at the side of a road, eating her chicken dinner. They talked for almost an hour. They had fun, they laughed. It was like how it use to be. Before it all changed. Now Kate got nervous and sweaty around him.

She smiled to herself. She was happy.

“You see,” she. “You guys are better off as friends. So what if Natelie is the one who gets to kiss and hug him. What I have with him is so much better.”

“But then again, it’s not fair. Why does she get to have him? I could make him so much happier. We are so much cuter looking together than Natelie and him.”
She began to space out again.

He noticed this.

“Hey,” he said, bringing her back. “Kate?”

She smiled at him.

“You’re acting weird on me again,” he said.

She smiled. “You know I’m weird. That’s just it.”

They were done with their dinner, so Kate started up the car again and headed home.

It was weird being the one who was driving. She was use to his messy, broken down car.

She turned down his block and stopped in front of his house.

She smiled. “Well, see you tomorrow at work.”

“Yep. Thank God Christmas is only three days away.”

“Amen to that,” she said.

He smiled and before he got out became serious and said,” Do you wanna know what happened with Natelie and me?”

“Not really,” she thought to herself.

“Sure,” she said to him.

He smiled. Kate waited for the worst.

Then he said,” I never asked her out. Goodnight.” He left Kate sitting there.

The next day was December 24th. Christmas Eve. And everyone in that store couldn’t be happier. Last day of hell.

Everyone worked from morning till closing. By the time noon had come, Kate wanted to tell the customers to screw themselves and walk out. But she controlled herself.
At lunch, she found a note at her locker that said: Philly’s. 10:30.

She smiled, knowing it was her ‘dinner gang.’

The rest of the day, whenever she would cross paths with Mark, they would only smile at each other.

Finally the doors closed. The day and nightmare was over. Everyone couldn’t help but cheer. Kate did a cartwheel. They started to cheer on Diana to do one. She first objected, but they wouldn’t stop chanting her name. They were finally satisfied when she did a tumble salt.

Later on, Kate sat outside Philly’s, waiting for who she thought would be the whole ‘gang.’ But to her surprise, only Marked showed up.

She smiled at him, confusingly.

“Where is everyone else,” she asked, standing up.

He laughed a little. “Um, they’re not coming,” he said.

“What,” she laughed. “Aren’t we suppose to celebrate.”

He looked at her and then at the ground. “Umm… there’s something I have to tell you.”

She waited.

He suddenly leaned in and kissed her. She stood there in shock. He backed away and smiled at her.

She couldn’t say anything.

He waited patiently, until she was able to come to her senses.

She looked at him. “Uh, what- what… what?”

He smiled. “It’s you Kate. It’s always been you.”

She looked at him, smiling at her.

“What are you talking about,” she asked.

“C’mon Kate. I saw your face the other day when I told you about Natelie. And I saw your face when you kissed my cheek in the car.”
She didn’t know what to say.

“Kate,” he said.

She shook her head and bit her lip, while smiling. “I don’t know.” He laughed and kissed her again, this time her kissing back,

“Wait,” she said, pulling away. “Promise me that this won’t change a thing.”

He smiled. “Cross my heart.” He kissed her again. She smiled against his lips.

“Wait,” he was the one to say this time. She pulled away and looked at him. He took a velvety box out of his pocket. “Merry Christmas, Kate.”

She was in shock. “Oh, my…” He waited for her to open it.

She took it out of his hands and slowly opened the box. Inside was a necklace. It was a chain with a sliver heart.

She looked up at him and smiled. It suddenly started to snow. They both looked up.

Kate was so happy. It couldn’t have been any romantic.

They looked at each other and smiled.

He leaned in to kiss her, but then whispered, “Thank you, Kate, for the ride the other night and… I love you.”

She had to hold back her tears.

She smiled widely at him. “ I love you too,” she whispered back, before leaning in and kissing him forever.

Bat III

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

He flew further than his little wings had ever flapped. They flapped until they felt they could flap no more. Flutter, flutter, flutter, flapped the wings of little Batty.

Until he flew so far that he came to where he had never been before; a completely different place. Here he glided to the ground, and found that the streets and houses were also deserted. Then he spotted an utterly peculiar bat, with a tag around his neck that said ‘Bobby’.

“Hello Bat, I’m Batty from ‘the place’, tell me, did the people come past here by any chance?” said Batty. The utterly peculiar bat nodded confirmation with his head but said nothing. His head, however, kept nodding up and down, so Batty took that for a yes. He hadn’t expected anything more from such an utterly peculiar bat, so he flew on.

Outside of town Batty came across another bat, he gave him one looked and realized this was a totally way-out bat. His hair was cut in a rooster and dyed purple. He sported an assortment of belly, nose and earrings, and was lavishly endowed with cheap tattoos. One large tattoo on his forearm read ‘Benny’.

“Hello bat, I’m Batty, can you by any chance tell me where the people might have gone?” The way-out bat replied, “I don’t know where they go, but they go ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’.” That was a great help, thought Batty to himself as he fluttered away.

Batty flew to the top of the tallest building in town, sat on the ledge, and rolled a joint. As he smoked it he pondered his predicament. When he had finished, he flew around in abstract circles, as he pondered it some more. This went on for what felt to Batty like a prolonged period of time, when the realization hit him. The people had gone back to ‘the place’, seeing as they had run out of places to go. He felt joy in his little heart at the prospect of the return trip.

He brushed his fangs and combed his hair, and took off his dirty white T-shirt that said, ‘WATCH OUT – I BITE!’. He took a clean one from his overnight bag that said, ‘BLOOD AND SMOKE.’ and put it on. Then he put the dirty shirt in the bag, along with his comb and toothbrush, zipped it up, and flew off into the everlasting darkness of space.

So sons and daughters, beware, this very night, in the dark reaches of space, a vampire bat is flying in search of the earth, in search of mankind, in search of blood.

Bat IV

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Batty was flying through space with the newfound anticipation of fresh blood.

On his way to ‘the place’ however, he had to make a stop again at ‘the other place’, seeing as it was on the way. He wafted gently to the ground.

He met the strange bat again and they said their hello’s. “I want to introduce you to someone.” Said the strange bat. That was when Batty laid his eyes on the prettiest little blue-eyed bat he had ever seen. “What’s your name, pretty little bat?” Batty asked her. “Belinda.” She said “And if what I hear is true we have something in common, we both love blood. Love the T-shirt, by the way.” “I knew you two were meant for each other.” Said the strange bat.

Yes, Belinda was also a vampire bat, and she and Batty immediately hit it off. They went out for a night on the town, and went to party at The Main Vein. In the background Meatloaf was singing ‘Bat out of Hell.’ After they had drunk a few Bloody Mary’s Belinda said, “Where can we find some real action, Batty?” Batty replied, “I know where, at ‘the place’, where I come from, I have my suspicions that there are many people and much blood. But first, lets go and prepare ourselves, for it is a long flap away.”

They flew to the top of the highest tower in town and sat on the ledge. Batty rolled them each a joint. They smoked it and then flew around in the ritual predatory circles of bats about to venture into the deep black night.

Then they dressed in new garb out of their backpacks. She put on a pair of faded blue stretch denims and a T-shirt that said THERE’S A BLOODSUCKER BORN EVERY MINUTE. And Batty changed his old shirt for a fresh one that said BLOOD, SMOKE AND TEARS.

Then they kissed gently. Gently, for kissing with fangs is a delicate operation, and took hands as they flew off into the everlasting darkness of space.

So sons and daughters, beware, this very night, in the dark reaches of space, two vampire bats are flying in search of the earth, in search of mankind, in search of blood.

Ukrainian Diary: Part II – 50 Million Relative Wells

von Yevhen Bruslynowsky (Copyright)

AT THE STREET WATER FOUNTAIN
I already live alone 2 months in a big town. I have no relatives here only a few acquaintances of mine and I have not found special places where I could go to spend my free time. That’s why I thought up an amusement for myself: every Saturday I go to a tram stop. It is just opposite a street water fountain. I take my seat on a bench and begin to observe the live around me.
This time I see two little ones – a brother and sister – coming to the water fountain. The boy has two empty plastic containers in his hands and the girl is carrying an empty sprite bottle. The boy is walking like a solid man but the girl is moving energetically in rhythmical dancing steps so her short plaits are bobbing up and down. They stop at the water fountain. The boy turns the tap on, fills the bottle at first, gives it to his sister for her to have a drink, then rinses the cement base of the water fountain and puts his containers under the stream of water, fills one of them, moves it aside, fills another one; after that he fills the bottle, twirls it and hands the bottle to his sister. After that he takes his containers and they go away. The girl isn’t moving so energetically now. Carrying the bottle in both hands in front of herself she is walking solidly like her brother.
I keep observing. A tram pulls in and stops. A girl of about 15 years old with long fair hair gets off the tram. She puts the strap of her bag on the shoulder, comes up to the water fountain, turns the tap on. Having quenched her thirst she wipes her mount with her hand and goes back to the stop. Another tram pulls in. The girl takes the tram.
It is not difficult for me to imagine a traveller in the steppe who, having noticed a well, turns his horse towards it to quench his thirst. But it was wonderfully to see how a young Kyivite got off the tram only to drink some water from a street water fountain. Not the sterile water from a tap at one’s own place but the water from a street water fountain, that is – pure water from an artesian well.
I couldn’t but taste the water from this fountain myself. Nothing special. Water like water. Althoung, telling the truth, without the smell of chlorine. I can’t say it migh have been called ”crystal” water – it smelled of silf a little bit and of water – pipe rust. But there was something in it that attracted people.
Two families return home from a picnic somewhere near a lake. The grown-ups are a bit tipsy, the little ones are tired, the men have bags in their hands, the women carry clothes, the children have rush ”bunches” – everyone is tired. The company stops at the water fountain. One of the men turned the tap on, a strong stream hit against the cement foundation… What a noise has arisen! At first the little ones began to splash water on one another. Immediately all their clothes – shorts, skirts, sport shirts became wet, their hair too, – screams of laughter, running about… The parents joined their successors. The bags fall down, the men jump, the woman laugh, the little ones run about; splashes here and there – fiesta, nothing else but fiesta! Tiredness has gone away! Drunkenness has disappeared! Ingenuousness and sincerity of the fiesta cheered up the people around. They looked at one another, smiled, nodded their heads and but for the tram that pulled in from behind the corner – they would join the merry company.
THE WELL IN THE VILLAGE
I remember wells in the village. Late in the evening when most of the people are not busy about the household any more, woman got together at the well. Some men joined them too. And it didn’t matter what the talk was about – about the head of the collective farm who got into trouble again because he had stolen some grain or about the clothes this or that woman had bought for her children on the eve of the school year, or about their hard life. All those things did not matter. The matter was in being together at that place, at the well from which theit parents and grandparents used to take water and their children would take water too. A well in the village is not just a source of water but a source of energy containing eternal power of the earth. And that power charged them, their soals found a rest there, they summoned up fresh energy and health there.

THE TOWN KITCHEN CHATS
Where can one find such a place in the megalopolis of many millions completely asphalted, rammed and concreted? At the water tap in the kitchen with its water that had been filtered through hundreds of filters, disinfected by tons of chloride and in addition lost its strength while running through kilometres of rusty pipes and has become the liquid which inhabitants of megalopolis called water? May be. In the long run there exists such a conception as ”the kitchen chat”. One way or another but the liquid from a tap in the kitchen cannot be equal to genuine water from a well (read – a source). That is why some inhabitants of monster – megalopolises go to the suburbs in hope of finding a well with genuine water somewhere in a lane or a quiet little street. And street water fountains that are built from time to time here and there become the wells – sources that attract people.

OTHER SCENES AT THE WATER FOUNTAIN
I keep sitting on my bench and observing the behavior of the people around. Two homeless men came dragging themselves along. They drank some water. Then one of them, after a long searsh of something in his pocket, took something wrapped in paper out. It was a bar of cheap soap. The homeless filled their 2 litre bottle with water, moved aside from the fountain and then in turn washed their hands and faces with the soap. I would not have been surprised if they had taken out raisors and shaved their two – week bristle. But they did not shave themselves. But even without it one could notice that their faces had brightened up.
I sat there about 2 hours. The day was drawing to a close. But the life near the fountain was going on. An old woman of about 70 with a walking-stick in her hand and a soldier’s water-bottle came to the fountain. Obviously she was a person with religious faith. But I couldn’t guess which faith she belonged to. Befote filling her water-bottle she crossed herself, took a handfull of water, washed her face and whispered a centain prayer. Only after that the wonam filled her bottle. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She stood at the fountain for a while, looked around, put her bottle on the water fountain, bent down and began to gather the rubbish: ice-cream wrappers, cigarette-ends, dry leaves and took everything to the refuse bin. After cleaning the place she washed her hands and straightened herself. Then she whispered her prayer again, crossed herself, took the water bottle and helping herself with her walking-stick, slowly left the place.
A HAPPENING IN THE VILLAGE
Last winter, while visiting my relatives in the village, I became a witness of an unusual happening: a collective farm nightman Mykola, known in the neighbourhood as an expert well-digger, may be after drinking too much alcohol or from malice came to the square right in the centre of the village and began to dig a well. A crowd of people immediately gathered around him. The well-digger, paying no attention to the spectators, put his special instruments – stakes, pieces of wire, strings on the tramped snow, took off his ”kuffayka” – a quilted jacket (usually worn by convicts, collective farmers, unskilled workers etc) – and threw it down on the snow. Turning around on his left foot he traced a circle around himself with his right foot, put his warm winter hat on one side, spit on his palms, took his sharp spade and began to dig the frozen ground. But he didn’t manage to work for long. An ambulance (called by the head of the village) came and took the drunk well-digger avay. But the people didn’t leave the square. They were looking at the clods of frozen ground and the spade left by Mykola. Then someone said: ”Nobody has dug a well in the course of the last 5 years in our village”. Another one added: ”It there’s no well in the yard of a household – it has not a master”. Someone else said: ”Who needs wells after the construction of the water – supply system?”. And little by little, with sighs of sadness and regret the people began to leave the square. A very small boy came back and took the spade. It was too heavy for him to put it on his shoulder so he dragged it on the snow…

WHAT ATTRACTS PEOPLE TO WELLS
I was going to leave my place at the tram stop and go home when, all of a sudden, I saw those little ones – the brother and sister – with plastic containers and a sprite bottle again. It was already 8 p.m. To my mind it was too late for such little children to leave their home. But may be their parents decided to suppliment their reserves of water before the days off and the children agreed to go to the water fountain again because they liked going there.
I have doubts as to seeing people standing in line for water at street water fountains but it’s an irrefutable fact that more and more town – dwellers give preference to natural water and don’t drink the water running from taps in their houses. And who used to get together at street water fountains and pump-rooms some time ago? Adherents of Porfyr Ivanov, the man who had worked out his own system of healthy way of life ”Be closer to Nature!”. Those were the people who suffered from certain diseases or prefered, so to say, natural beginnings. There was something ritual in their gatherings – they were the people belonging to ”one’s own company”, they got to know one another, had common problems to be discussed, exchanged specific information. At present ”street water fountains” became, if it is possible to say so, more democratic. Who goes to water fountains now? – Common people who are very remotely connected with any theories or sanitary and recovery measures. Now people simply thirst for normal natural water and no half-artificial half-sterilized bonanzas, fantas or colas are able to substitute natural water. (To say nothing of the liquid running from our kitchen taps).
IN MY NATIVE TOWN
Of course, everyone ought to have his own well. Everyone out of 50 million inhabitants of my country. To our regret there is a decrease in the number of wells for some past time: that well has dried out, that one has silted… That is why people are wondering in search of ”one’s own” source. The water from town’s water supply systems does not enjoy people’s trust in its natural strength. What unexpected surprises – from banal dysentary to typhoid fever – it brings! Newspaper write about such cases practically avery day. And a deep well dugged by an expert master in a good place and taken a good care of by its master won’t bring any unexpected surprises. In those towns which are supplied with drinking water from artesian wells, water is not dangerous either. I take, for example my native town- Kaniv. The town’s dwellers not only drink artesian water but use it as technical one for washing clothes and in water-closets. Of course, it is a sin to waste such water for such purposes (to say the least of it) – the town stands on the river Dnipro but until now we have no system for taking water from it. At the same time the existing state of things has its advantages – in the course of the last 30 years we had not even a single case of illness caused by water taken from the town’s water supply system. It the long run, the aura of the town itself, in spite of the total unemployment and poverty, remains bright, powerful, it keeps people in their native place and the majority of them does not not leave it, does not go to other places and countries in search of a better lot. To a considerable extent it is no concern of the inhabitants of the greater part of small and big towns of such Ukraine’s regions as Chernihiv, Lviv and Ternopil where people mainly use water from artesian wells.
It is evident that there’s the inverse relation – people give strength to water too. Everyone knows such a concept as ”the memory of water”. Scientists state – if you pour 100 grammes of alcohol into, for example, the Geneva Lake, – in a considerably short period of time analysis will indicate the presence of the alcohol in the water of the lake near the other bank of it which is some dozen miles away. Taking the water from his well, drinking it, taking care of his well, cleaning it the user also ”tames” the water, attaches it to himself, encodes it, even – makes it love its master, who, in his turn, expects mutual respect and love on the part of the water from his well.
In general, what’s the difference – whether it is a spring, a well, a street water fountain or a pump-room? The main thing for each person is to have one’s own source. Our water will fix us in its memory and give us its strength in the course of all our life. And in spite of the fact that our water sources are not taken appropriate care of (somewhere they are unattractive and miserable, the territory around them is untidy) and water is not pumped from the best strata – such things are of no importance. The time will come and we shall learn to dig fine wells again: genuine deep wells with cold crystal water. Not without reason that small village boy took the well-digger’s spade home, not without reason one of the best occupations of town’s little ones, including the brother and sister I spoke about, is to go to a street water fountain for water.

AS USUAL…
…I woke up late at night because I saw a dream: a bucket slid off the well’s adge, tore the chain it was fixed to and, with a terrible noise, beating against the walls of the well, was falling down into its depth. I rubbed my eyes and listened to the noise. Being only half-awake, barefooted I went to the kitchen and stroke the tap with my hand. The tap stopped making the noise. I took a glass out of the cupboard. Turned the tap on. Not a single drop. I put my finger into the tap. I heard indistinct mumbling in the depth of the water pipe. Then it disappeared. I turned the tap off. As usually I had to satisfy my thirst by as warm as compote water from the kettle.

Ukrainian Diary: Part III – Prayer More Powerful than 10,000 Volts (The experience of interfaith dialogue behind bars)

von Yevhen Bruslynowsky (Copyright)

Not so long ago Pope John Paul II paid an official visit to Ukraine. The confessions are discussing the event and arguing, trying to prove they are right and rejecting the reasoning of their opponents. Sometimes the debate is reduced to the lay level, sometimes it comes to everyday life. It is not a pretty picture.
Knowing that correctional facility No. 62 near Cherkasy (the village of Khutory) has at least two churches, Orthodox and Evangelical Baptist, peacefully coexisting, I took a photo correspondent, got in the car, and drove to the prison camp. I thought I would just conduct some brief interviews: let the prisoners tell me where the truth is, let them judge whether it is politics or religion, whether or not Ukraine needed the Pontiff’s visit. They, of all people, will not lie.
Despite the pressing nature of this subject, I began to wander off the topic as soon as I talked with the inmates for 15 minutes.

“I THANK GOD FOR LETTING ME COME HERE”
There are almost three thousand of them — murderers, rapists, thieves — here. They were isolated from society, depending on the offense they committed, for 5, 10, or 15 years.
While they are here, their sons grow up, their mothers grow old, their wives fall in love with others, and their souls sink into despair. Some of them, bearing a grudge against the whole world, have repudiated freedom, had their skin tattooed, as befits a true jailbird, and consider the prison camp their true home. They need no one. They don’t need themselves. They live like machines: you eat, sleep, do some work, so the day has passed. What then? They know not and do not want to know. There is no way out for them.
But there is a way out. I saw it with my own eyes. It is Vasyl KOLODCHYN, chief of Penitentiary Facility No. 62, himself who showed it to me.
Fear not, all prisoners are in their places. But I saw people in prison fatigues going freely through all the checkpoints to freedom. Oddly enough, they later return back some time later.
“Paradoxical as it sounds, I thank God for letting me come to this camp,” 33 year-old inmate Ruslan confessed.
“You killed a man. Do you thank God for this, too?”
“You know, perhaps for this, too. Otherwise my soul would still be raging in chaos. But now I know the way out.”
Looking at Ruslan, I was thinking that in a few hours I would be at home, kissing my beloved wife, talking to my son, having dinner. I will be able to do everything I want: go fishing in the evening, sit up late in front of the television, or go to bed earlier. I also seem to have a way out. I seem to be a free individual, I have the right to do what I want, say what I want, and go wherever I want. But I can’t do things Ruslan can: go at once through three stone walls, a hundred locks, a dozen armed guards, barbed wire with 10,000 volts. And I will hardly ever be able to unless I get into this camp as a prisoner…

“I KILLED A PERSON WITH THESE HANDS, NOW I HOLD THE BIBLE WITH THEM”
“I was cool, as they put it,” Ruslan tells me. “I could afford everything. Just imagine: Kyiv, the early nineties, chaotic development of business, no clear laws, so life seemed a bed of roses. I could stay away from home for weeks, going on a binge, because I had lots of money and no brakes. Police? Screw ‘em! Security service? Up theirs! Organized crime squad? My sweet petunias! I was once summoned to the organized crime police unit, so I was trying to show off my cool and thought up this: I put on Bermuda shorts, sunglasses, a cork helmet, got into a open-top jeep, came around and shoved into the office of a lieutenant-colonel. His eyes flung wide open. How I loved myself! Was I flaunting my own brazenness! In a word, I felt no limits. In the long run, things went so far that I could come up straight to a man at a bus stop in broad daylight and fired my pistol in his head.”
Ruslan and I are standing in a church officially named the Freedom Evangelical Christian Baptist Church. The spacious room can contain up to 400 parishioners at a time. The sermon sound is amplified with powerful microphones and accompanied with music (there is an electric organ and an acoustic piano here). There is stained glass in the windows, lights on the walls, and flowerpots on the windowsills
“Here our newly-converted brethren receive baptism,” Ruslan says, lifting a heavy lid in front of the priest’s rostrum.
Indeed, there is a small (2×3 m.) tiled pool built into the floor.
“On August 7 this year we will celebrate the seventh anniversary of the evangelical church in our penitentiary,” Mr. Kolodchyn says. “At first, believers had to huddle in a 15 sq. m. room turned prayer house. Then, two years ago, assisted by the Annunciation Mission, the prisoners built a new spacious temple with their own hands.”
Ruslan has belonged to this church since 1999. After taking a human soul in 1993, his own soul wandered in darkness for another six years until it found the light. Now Ruslan, who is entitled to a long (72 hours) visit by his family once in three months, spends most of this precious time reading aloud the Bible to his wife and the 13- year-old son Oleksiy.

“ORTHODOX, GREEK CATHOLICS, ROMAN CATHOLICS ALL COME TO OUR CHURCH”
There is also an Orthodox church in penitentiary No. 62. It is much more modest that the Evangelical church, with a narrow room hardly allowing forty persons. The church dean, Father Oleksandr, comes here every week. On other days, the temple is looked after by the 40-year-old S exton Mykola (in for major embezzlement of public property) and the 72-year-old church warden Vasyl (for murder).
“Papal visit to Ukraine?” Mykola shrugs his shoulders. “This seems to be politics, and prisoners don’t go in for politics. I’d rather tell you about life here. Yes, we know there is one more, Evangelical, church on the territory of our camp. But we do not rival each other. God is one. By the way, our temple’s services are visited by one Roman Catholic and two Greek Catholics. And everything is all right: none of the Orthodox push them out — let them come! I think the same should be in society. Out there, you only live in turmoil and everyday chores. You sometimes don’t see truths in your daily routine. But we, deprived of the main thing, freedom, see everything from a somewhat different angle. We first of all choose the truth, and it does not matter much which way you go toward it”.
Waiting for Mykola in Odesa are his wife and two sons, Illia and Mykola. They will meet in three years and nine months. Mykola puts it a little differently: in 1365 days. This is very long. But he will live to see it.
The 72-year-old warden Vasyl will also see his day. They all will. For they believe in God, in people, in the truth.

THE POWER FIELD OF A PRISON PRAYER
They are just a few: 28 parishioners of the Evangelical and 12 of the Orthodox churches. In other words, there are 40 believers against the overall 2800 inmates. But Christ did not have a thousand apostles, either. They are suffering for their faith. All are not so righteous as they are. This is, after all, a prison camp for murderers.
Ruslan has been praying ardently, so he had six years remitted recently.
Penitentiary chief Mr. Kolodchyn says that, although his administration does not keep accurate records on this matter, the recidivism rate among those who were prison church parishioners is almost zero.
One more detail. A new Orthodox church, of the New Holy Martyrs of Cherkasy, is being built in the village of Khutory on the territory of which the prison camp is situated. Thus according to Sexton Mykola, many brethren among the released prisoners have put off their trips home and stayed behind to help erect the church walls. There are more than one such example. The power of prison prayer overcomes all obstacles, pierces the thickest stone walls, and turns on the light at the end of the tunnel.

BY THE WAY: according to the information given by Interfax-Ukraine, there are 170,000 convicts in Ukraine’s prisons, among them – 12,000 women.

Bat II

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Batty was flying through the darkness of space. Flutter, flutter, flutter.

He flew until he came to the other place. He glided gently on the light evening breeze and wafted to the ground. He could see that the people had been here, but were here no longer. He flew through the silent and deserted streets and buildings, until he met a bat from the other place.

“Hello Bat, I’m Batty from ‘the place’, did the people come past here?” he inquired from the strange bat. “Oh, you’re that bloodsucker.” Said the bat from the other place “Yeah, the people stayed for a while and then moved on. They said they were going where your kind could not find them.”

Batty flew around looking for a second opinion. Out in the country he came across another Bat from another place. “Hello Bat, I’m Batty” he said “Have you any idea where all the people might have gone?” The other bat thought a while and answered “No idea, but I know its nowhere near here. Try a good search engine.” “I’m not computer literate.” Said Batty and fluttered on.

He flew to the top of the tallest building in town; the thin bower. Here he sat on the ledge and rolled a joint. He sat looking out over the dark city skyline in the silence, as he smoked it, longing for the taste of fresh blood. Then he flew around in crooked circles as he pondered his predicament. “What to do, what to do.” He said to himself, and then slowly the realization hit him, like a bolt from out of the blue. The people must have gone beyond the other place, which meant; he would have to keep on flying. The lure of blood was calling.

He brushed his fangs with herbal toothpaste, and combed his hair in the traditional middle-path of all Bats. Then he packed his comb and toothbrush back into his overnight bag, zipped it up, and flew off into the everlasting darkness of space. He was once again looking for mankind’s new home, ever flying, ever searching.

So sons and daughters, beware, this very night, in the dark reaches of space, a vampire bat is flying in search of the earth, in search of mankind, in search of blood.

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