Confession of a Ghost. F.M. Dostoevsky award. Playing Another Reality

33 Before/8 After. House No. 4 (IC)

Piano

Somewhere in the Universe

“What does this Sphere mean?” I asked the Guardian at the door to House No. 4.

“Beginning and ending – roots, traditions, ancestors, family, earthly Motherland, real estate, circumstances of leaving the Earth.”

“Will I finally see my parents and be able to talk with them?”

“Not here, Rukh. So… House No. 4 begins in the Sign of Virgo. Family is very important to you, you’ll care for your loved ones and love your home. A symbol of the workhorse on which everyone plows. It’s work until the last breath.”

“What does the degree in which this Sphere begins mean?”

“Analytical mindset, mania for planning and structuring, increased efficiency, concentration, the sense of justice and severity in judgments. One more indication of deprivation in childhood, the lack of stability and solid ground underfoot, children feel abandoned and have the psychology of a homeless creature. You’re inclined towards cognition of the Subtle World. Don’t get hung up on trifles and don’t accumulate material wealth in reserve, try to get rid of the earthly as much as possible. Take out the keys from your Treasure Island.”

A bunch of keys appeared in my hand. I opened the door, stepped inside and found myself … in a room with a fabulous Christmas tree glittering by the window and an aristocratic-looking ghost sitting in an armchair. He came up to me and said with a sad smile,

“Hello, my little princess!”

“Hello!” I was extremely surprised.

“Your great-grandfather,” said the Guardian. “A well-known personality of his time, written about even outside your country, Rukh. Representative of the ancient Glinsky family.”

“Glinsky?” I asked.

“Elena Glinskaya was the mother of Tsar Ivan the Terrible,” the Ghost sighed. “For a certain period she even ruled Russia. She was accused of witchcraft and poisoned, but it’s not the point now. I came here to cheer you up, because we won’t meet on Earth. My incarnation took place in 1883, I returned to Heaven in 1945, two years after the birth of my grandson, your father. Once we had several mansions in Moscow, practically next to the Kremlin, in Gazetny Lane, in Kolobovsky Lane and so on. It’s quite possible that you’ll even visit one on Herzen Street. After the revolution, I lived here, in this flat on Tverskaya Street, where you’ll spend your first four years on Earth … One day and quite unexpectedly, you’ll receive the Nobility Certificate. Consider it my little gift. Unfortunately, even the jewels that survived the revolution were exchanged for food during the war. However, your chest of relics will keep my old emerald-colored glass, several photographs and a pre-revolutionary book with fabulous illustrations, signed and gifted to me by a famous artist.”

“Your great-grandfather was known all over Moscow, they greeted him on the street, taking off their hats,” the Guardian whispered.

“Don’t talk about me,” the Ghost said modestly.

“One day,” the Guardian continued enigmatically, “you’ll take out an old photo album, and one picture will fall out of it, on the reverse side…”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed the Ghost. “There will be a letter, Rukh. I wrote it to a woman with your earthly name, I didn’t send it. I suppose it was for you, so that you don’t despair. We are always there, even invisible. Besides, you can be proud of us – we did no harm to people and bore hardships with patience.”

All of a sudden everything disappeared. Rather, the scenery in the room changed. I found myself in a tiny kitchen of a wooden house. It smelled of fried mushrooms, bundles of dried herbs hung on ropes along the walls, and a kerosene lamp was lit up on the table. It was raining outside the window. The ghost of the hanged man appeared in front of me.

“Hello, Rukh! I’m really sorry! I wanted you to live here forever!” he said and just as suddenly disappeared.

I looked at the Guardian in surprise, but before I had time to ask him, the house… caught fire and instantly turned to ash.

The scenery changed again. Now it was a room with pen-written wallpaper, a small bed, a huge antique mirror and… a piano. In the flickering of burning candles, the room was filled with the sounds of the Moonlight Sonata, and ghosts appeared out of the mirror. They drew me into their whirlwind dance, and I heard their voices, all, at the same time, from all directions.

“Pray for us! She killed us! Tell our children we love them!”

“I didn’t mean to kill them! Everything was for him! He left me alone! They took me to Hell! I feel bad! So bad! Pray for me!”

“Forgive me! I knew everything, but I was afraid of changes!”

“You feel and know everything! I abandoned my son, and God abandoned me!”

“You’re right, Rukh! There are too many ghosts here, it’s dangerous! Go out of here! Run away!”

“I shouldn’t have done that! Don’t feel angry with me!”

“Sorry, Rukh! God punished us depriving of children!”

I clutched my eyes in horror! Who were all these ghosts?! Suddenly the music stopped. I opened my eyes, but now I saw rapidly changing pictures of different flats. They appeared and immediately disappeared. Simultaneously, one by one, the keys on the bunch melted. How many were there? Five? Ten? Twenty? I heard other people’s caustic voices in every room.

“She’s crazy! I don’t want her to live with us!”

“Fool! She sees ghosts everywhere!”

“Nothing can be done with such wretched children!”

“A witch’s granddaughter! Everything she dreams about comes true! Yesterday she predicted today’s death of that woman! What is she here for?”

“She writes poems and letters to Heaven! This miserable child is not of this world! Sooner or later she’ll kill herself, like Tsvetaeva or Mayakovsky! Let Heaven take care of her!”

“The right place for the church choir singer is the monastery!”

“She has nothing to do here! She doesn’t eat watermelon with forks!”

“Did I promise you any flat? Who the hell are you?!”

It seemed like I was going mad. All of a sudden everything became quiet. I saw a small room full of icons, with the Royal Family one in the center. It was the place where I had been in my hypothetical Future!

“Hey, Rukh, don’t be afraid,” I heard and turned around. A woman in a white sparkling dress stood in front of me. “I am Juno, Hera in Greek mythology, the goddess of marriage and family, daughter of Saturn and wife of Jupiter, mother of Mars and Vulcan, sister of Pluto, Neptune, Ceres and Vesta. Once, the month of June was named after me, they celebrated the women’s holiday Matronalia on March 01, and now the International Women’s Day is celebrated on March 08.”

“So, are you my mom?”

“No, I’m the symbol of wife, I show you as a wife, what you are like in your family, with whom you feel good. On the threshold of the Family House, I signify a soul inclined towards family. The family for you is the main foundation, solid ground under your feet, a reliable rear. Your husband is like a stone wall, your support, protector, breadwinner, he keeps the family in its patriarchal model. You are a guided person, Rukh, caring and gentle. You’ll make your home cozy and hospitable, and the relationship harmonious.”

“Your Juno is friendly with 3 planets – 3 types of men for marriage,” the Guardian specified.

“Sextile, or a happy accident or chance, with Uranus in Scorpio in the Sphere of Love and Creativity means a bright or even brilliant personality, perhaps of a different nationality or faith, relationships are non-standard, fireworks of emotions that are remembered for lifetime. It’s connected with Sphere No. 9 – spiritual path and practices, philosophy, religion, temples, teachers, universities, publishing houses, everything foreign and alien, overseas.

Sextile with Mars in Cancer from Backstage means a mysterious person, possibly a military man of secret services or an employee of secluded companies, a mystic, an introvert, an ascetic soul, perhaps an immigrant or living on an island. There’s a competitive spirit in the relationships. He is your soul mate, you’ll meet in a club of interest, through the Internet, the media and / or in a closed, isolated place.

However, it’s better to find Jupiter in Taurus, we are in a trine, at a distance of 120 degrees, an ideal couple! Trine means the lightning-fast development of events and the solution of all problems by removing obstacles. Jupiter will make you happy. A like-minded patron or boss, related to your work and vocation. Status and intelligent person, interested in spirituality and art, loves beautiful things, he has a great relationship with your Venus. He’ll help you fulfill your mission.”

“Juno is situated in the happy degree of the mountain eagle,” the Guardian smiled. “A symbol of scientists, writers, philosophers and military people. The degree of genius, penetration into the mysteries of the Universe, fatalism and the stellar hour of Fortune, which is sure to strike.”

“Have you finally remembered me?” came the voice of a woman suddenly appearing in the room. “To whom will I bring good luck?”

“Good luck?!” I chuckled. “There are only ghosts here! Better tell me, who are all these people who hate me so much chasing me away?”

“Here is your Pars of Fortune, the point calculated mathematically shows the Sphere where you are lucky,” the Guardian hugged me with his wings. “Success in the knowledge of the Mysterious World, in professions related to the Past, for example, archeology or mythology, with agriculture, or in the political arena. In the Sign of Virgo, it gives success in intellectual activity, literature, philology, philosophy and religion, applied arts and artistic crafts, administrative and performing activities, in Secret Knowledge and politics. Politics and Secret Knowledge are repeated twice, mind you.”

“I strengthen the connection with the ancestors and the craving for your home. I give an inheritance and leave a legacy. Under the condition of hard work and humility, you’ll gain glory in your earthly Motherland, perhaps posthumously,” Fortune stated. “A similar situation was with the King of England Charles I, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne Franz Ferdinand, the Indian politician Mahatma Gandhi, the Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, the American president John F. Kennedy, as well as the poet Walt Whitman and the astrologer Walter Koch.”

“Were they famous people?” I asked to clarify.

“One can become famous for bad deeds! The degree of my location,” continued Fortune, “means conservatism and attachment to traditions, hard trials and the role of a scapegoat, as a result, a thirst for solitude. Your support is the tree of your aristocratic family. If you don’t give up and don’t get angry at the world, you’ll become a versatile and very modest person with a pronounced transformation of Consciousness due to the events survived.”

“Fortune is friends with Selene and Sirius,” the Guardian added. “Chances and happy accidents are given to you by Heaven. Excellent relationship with the Sun means rapid social rise, celebrity and fame in society; with Mercury gives success in the Sphere of the Word, for example, in writing. Good relationship with Pluto makes you influence the masses.”

“I am not a friend of Saturn,” Fortune remarked, “you get obstacles and delays with inheritance and real estate. Perhaps they are constantly taken away at the last moment. However, your departure from Earth will be lightning quick!”

I looked at the key bunch and found that there was only one key left on it. To that room?

“What is that chest in the closet?” I asked, noticing the glow emanating from it.

“The treasures you inherited,” Fortune smiled. “Look inside!”

I found there an album with black and white photos, my great-grandfather’s glass, a pre-revolutionary book of fairy tales illustrated by a famous artist, garnet beads, a curl of black hair, a hand-embroidered handkerchief, epaulets with stars, a newspaper clipping, a patent for some invention, several letters and a fountain pen.

“Small spool but precious! The smallest gold coin is the richest!” the Guardian whispered, stroking me with his wing. “Look around! Why don’t you notice, my soul, how many friends you have?!”

“Friends? Is there anyone here but us?” I was surprised and looked around the room.

Suddenly, the faces on the icons came alive and whispered, radiating powerful streams of Light. I approached them, and each Saint blessed me for life. They looked at me with Universal Love and filled my soul with it.

Library of the Universe

“Is the next House as well nice?” I chuckled bitterly.

“No, there are different leeches,” the Guardian smiled.

“Leeches are what or who?”

“More likely who,” the Guardian replied evasively.

“Isn’t the already shown enough to stop wanting to live?”

“No, Rukh. If the soul isn’t recalled back, it hasn’t done everything yet. You may not understand why you are kept in an earthly body. Most likely, you won’t even pay attention when you complete some of your real tasks.”

“Can I refuse incarnation?”

“What on earth are you thinking! Would human life exist if souls could refuse to descend into the world full of pain and suffering? Everyone would refuse! To live in Heaven is not to serve on Earth!”

“My great-grandfather, what did he do on Earth according to Heavenly plan?”

“He dedicated his life to music. He played the flute at the Bolshoi Theatre, was a virtuoso, toured extensively, gave solo concerts, taught at musical colleges, including the Gnesins Russian Academy of Music, published several flute books that are still used by teachers. He was personally acquainted with the Italian musician and flutist Leonardo de Lorenzo, was a friend of the famous Russian writer Mikhail Bulgakov, and of many representatives of the artistic elite of his time. Separate works and entire symphony concerts were dedicated to him. They wrote about him in different countries. You’ll be given his perfect ear and sense of rhythm, graduate from music school with a piano degree and invited to the Gnesins Russian Academy of Music where he once taught. You’ll be faced with a choice – follow in his footsteps or not.”

The book opened at the page with “The Piano” story. A ghost girl tried to put her best friend, the piano, in good hands, but it couldn’t bear the separation from the mistress.

“Her transparent fingers ran over the keys, and the room was filled with magical sounds. The waves of vibrations, exciting and taking the soul to its Great Primary Source, seemed to have moved Grigory into some Other Reality, and when the silence reigned back, he was in a state of stupor for a long time. What had that music been? Who had played it?”

Awakening

Ouranoupoli

“Oh! I was waiting for you! Let’s go for a walk!” Dimitra exclaimed as she met me returning from the Akathist reading, and her intonation foreshadowed a storm.

A walk for the locals meant to walk three houses up from the Tower towards the border with Athos and come back slowly. In case of a long walk, in addition, to go down from the Tower to the pier and return to the Tower. If the walk was global, plus five houses along the sea street and back to the Tower. When Kiri’s father was insisting on giving me a ride in his car from the sea street to the central one, with a house between, I refused, but I couldn’t refuse Socrates’ offer to ride with a breeze from the sea street to the street following the central one, since the distance had been already doubled.

Dimitra was born in a house with their icon shop opposite the Tower. Her parents still lived there. Dimitra’s own house as cottage next to Nicolette’s house was 5—7 minutes walking from the Tower. For local residents, such distance was subject to travel by bus, car or motorbike, and walking from the Tower to the border with Athos, where I read the Akathist, was almost a feat.

Dimitra resolutely headed upward.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“Let’s go and look for Vasilios! You have no idea! Evil is not enough for these relatives! I don’t know about Russia, but we celebrate a great holiday on the 1^st of May in Greece. We all get together at my place in the fresh air around one big table. We all – me and …” Dimitra went on with her list of cousins, brothers and sisters, she had twenty of them, as well as more distant relatives.

“Yes, we also celebrate the 1^st of May,” I said.

“So here it is! Vasilios is my best friend! A decent, honest, good man! He believes in God! Do you understand? Believes, not just baptized! Imagine! No, it’s unbearable! Vasilios has a family! Wife and two kids! They have nothing to eat!”

“So what’s happened?”

“Angel!” exclaimed Dimitra, and I involuntarily shuddered, and she continued, “He started chasing him!”

“I don’t understand,” I said honestly.

“Angel is husband of the cousin of the husband of my husband’s third cousin’s niece! Yes, we all grew up here under my mother’s roof! And he keeps sniffing everything! Oh, can you imagine? Angel ate and drank with Vasilios, and now runs to the police!”

“Why the police?” I couldn’t get it yet.

“Vasilios comes to the village to sell olives! He grows and cooks them himself! Well, he has no other way to feed his family! He lives in the mountains, there is no work but large olive gardens there. We all have olives. Sometimes I pick more than 3,000 kg from one-two-three and not more trees. Who else, but tourists, might need Vasilios’ olives? And Angel is stalking him, running around like a bloodhound, knocking on the police to drive him out of the village! Vasilios has nothing to eat! Olives in stores cost three times more than he sells. Vasilios has the most organic product! We need to find him urgently and warn him!”

“Listen, why does Angel do this?”

“Here you are! That’s what I’m talking about! He’s got crazy! Imagine what I feel! Because of kinship, I have to say hello every day!”

We passed three houses, and then, not finding Vasilios, turned back to the Tower for a long walk, to the pier.

“And some ones,” Dimitra continued, “claimed our house by the Tower! My grandmother lived in a box in the courtyard of the house near the Tower, where we park the car now. So, many years ago, my grandmother sheltered a family out of pity, they had nowhere to live. When we all grew up, my grandmother said, ‘Sorry, my house is for Dimitra’. In fact, it was a doghouse, not a house! And imagine, they sued my grandmother! They were just passing by! I paid 21,000 euros only to the lawyer, and my grandmother’s house couldn’t stand it and collapsed! There is our car parked there now, because nothing else fits in the space! It was such a small house!”

“All the same is everywhere,” I thought, but didn’t burden Dimitra’s sorrows with my memories and shifted my gaze to the islands, behind which the sky was flashing with lightning.

“Well, Vasilios isn’t here either, let’s look further! There’s also a monster in the village! I have one life and one icon shop. One and a small one, mind you. I wash it every day, clean and clean it, polish it to a shine. And he… it’s unbelievable! He sees nothing but money! The rent here is at least 45,000 euro! Well, where are you going? Think of God! No, there are numbers with zeros in his eyes! Socrates is another matter! He has a hotel on the main street, a restaurant, and a shop. A billionaire, but a good man! We both say, ‘they don’t make money on icons!’ Vasilios is not here either! Where the hell is he? I’ve called him, no answer! Okay, let’s go back.”

“Does he have an icon of St. Basil? I visited a cave monastery in Montenegro with the relics of St. Basil of Ostrog. He lived at the beginning of the 17^th century, visited Mount Athos, became a bishop at the age of 28 in a Serbian monastery. A kind Saint, helps everyone. In that monastery, in addition to his relics, there is a healing spring, and a magical grape grows out of the mountain, and pilgrims leave their wish notes in crevices.”

We returned to the shop. I happily flopped down into the chair. Dimitra offered coffee, but it was too stuffy, the electronic scoreboard outside the pharmacy showed us +32C at 10:30 pm.

“Family icons?” Dimitra suggested a topic for another conversation. “Well, ‘The Holy Family’ with Mary, Joseph and Christ. Their hands are merged together. For a strong family. What else, if they asked me more, I’d say to buy any image of the Virgin Mary. And you?”

“Saints Peter and Fevronia of Murom. I have their Russian icon – Peter hugs Fevronia, they hold a dove in their palms, while the dove also has a halo. ‘The Tree of Christ’ and ‘The Tree of the Virgin Mary’ are good to pass on as inheritance in order to preserve the genealogical tree. For me, the icon of the Royal Family, Tsarina Alexandra, is important. Her name was Alice before she changed her religion for Orthodox. The Athos icon ‘The Elder’, or ‘Gerontissa’, helps old people.”

“Yes, she warns the monks on Athos about their transition to the Other World and fills the cellars with food, almost like the ‘House-Builder’, although ‘The Elder’ is depicted not sitting on the throne, but in full growth, in slippers on a ceramic floor with a jug from which oil flows.”

“Icons of Saints whose names are or were present in the family. Anna, Mary and Christ as grandmother, mother and son.”

“What about ‘The Fourth Generation’? You were the first to take it from me, and then a Londoner! Such a mysterious icon! You even asked me to call the twin monks on Athos for comments, but they refused to comment on it.”

“Yes, this icon as well. A non-canonical icon. In Italy it is called ‘Motherhood’, translated from Greek as ‘The Fourth Generation’. Three women – the Virgin Mary, her mother and grandmother – and the baby Christ. All very different in height and size, like a matryoshka, nesting doll. When I was in India, we were brought to a mountain gorge, where figures of giants of various sizes were carved into the rocks. We looked like ants against the background of even the smallest figures there. ‘The Fourth Generation’ reminds me of the legend about the 4 races of humanity, starting with the Elohim and ending with us.”

“All sorts of places you’ve been to, Alice! We plan to go to Morocco. I like to travel too!”

Suddenly… no, it was surreal! A man, a secular man, not a monk, floated past us to the Tower … in a black business suit and a white shirt with a tie … in a long unbuttoned black coat! He was holding a black umbrella-cane and a black leather briefcase. He wore a black felt hat on his head! The electronic scoreboard was still showing +32C!

“Dimitra,” I whispered, afraid to frighten the stranger off, but she jumped up from her chair, as if scalded.

“Vasilios!” Dimitra ran after the passing car, the back of which was an open area loaded with olives.

Oh curiosity! I pulled myself away from the chair and swam after the mysterious stranger, giving Dimitra the opportunity to chat with her friend. In the meantime, the stranger walked to the pier and, looking at the cloudless sky, opened his umbrella (!) as wide as I opened my eyes, and froze at the Tower, periodically glancing at his wristwatch, like people waiting for a bus. But the bus stop wasn’t there! Besides, at that hour there were no buses in Ouranoupoli! And what about an open umbrella and completely inappropriate attire for +32C? Why didn’t anyone pay attention to him?!

My phone rang.

“Ray! Save me! The man… in black… he…”

“He drops out of context, right?”

“Yes, he’s not here, or not from here!”

“Come up to him, it’s time to wake up!”

As I walked the man closer and closer, the space changed right in front of my eyes! The Mist enveloped the Tower, and it turned into a city house at a bus stop! Yes, it was raining and cold there! To my right, I noticed the typical red call-box of London!

“No!” I screamed in horror, closed my eyes and opened them on Athos, in Ouranoupoli. The Tower was still there. The man disappeared.

I returned to Nicolette’s house in a flash to catch my breath. Having grabbed the key, I went up to my top floor. I habitually opened the door and inserted the key into the automatic switch of electricity. The light turned on.

“What’s that? Where are my stuff? Who took all away? Where are the icons I has left on the second half of the bed? Where is my laptop?”

And the wardrobe! It was empty and had no trace of anyone’s presence! I rushed to the bathroom, then to the balcony. Oh no! I flew down the stairs and rang frantically at Nicolette’s doorbell. She appeared sleepy and looked around, understanding nothing.

“Where is my stuff?” I exclaimed.

Nicolette silently looked at me with a sleepy look and slammed the door. I decided to return to Dimitra. In a flash, I covered the distance to her shop and saw that it was … closed. I looked at the electronic scoreboard, it was +23C at 0:00.

I rushed to Dimitra’s house. She might not be sleeping yet. However, there was no light in. I flew inside – no one, as if the owners had left somewhere …

“Dimitra!” I screamed from impotence into the void and collapsed in despair on the porch in front of her house.

“What’s happened, darling?” suddenly came the voice of the old lady from Austria, who lived in the white-and-blue house opposite.

“You are a ghost!” I realized suddenly. “I need to see Joice!”

Tower of Ouranoupoli

“You are back, thank God!” Joice greeted me on the balcony, smiling, and I threw myself into her arms. “Well, calm down, darling! Let’s drink tea by the fireplace and recite poetry!”

Joice lit the fireplace with her eyes, visualized two cups and a teapot, invited me to sit in the chair opposite and asked,

“What kind of tea do you prefer?”

“What kind do you have?”

“Any,” Joice laughed. “Come up with your own recipe, which has never existed before, and it will instantly appear in the teapot!”

“Jasmine,” I whispered. “Everything is so unusual!”

“It’s unusual for everyone at first,” Joice encouraged me, pouring tea into ghostly cups. “How long ago did you leave for our World?”

“I don’t remember,” I sighed. “Ray said I had asked Heaven to erase my memory. Now I’m connecting to selective fragments of the Past, experiencing them as here and now. Everything is in chaos. I can’t restore the chain of events.”

“Ray, who is he?”

“Ghost of a sorcerer. He’s not allowed into Ouranoupoli, only as far as Trypiti. He said… what did he say to me? I can still do something before the 40^th day that would help me at Judgement.”

“You remember everything perfectly! How many days have passed?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“How did you leave your earthly body?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You need a plan of actions. First, remember what you haven’t finished and how many days you have until the 40^th. Memory is blocked by fear of pain. We the ghosts are usually drawn to Earth, to places where we felt good, or we try to complete something unfinished. Do you remember some prayers?”

“Only the shortest one. Though on Athos, I read the Akathist to the ‘Seeking for the Perished’!”

“Great! That icon helps in hopeless situations. Keep connecting to the Past, sit next to yourself on Athos, look at the text and read!”

“I’m connecting randomly!”

“With the power of thought, Alice. Everything here is done with it. Take the boat in the morning to the Holy Mountain, and then go to Moscow.”

“No! I don’t want to go back there!” I exclaimed.

“But, most likely, you didn’t finish something there, not on Athos. In the meantime, find out the date of your death to find out how many days are still available. You’re clearly stuck at the border. Ouranoupoli is the boundary zone between Earth and Heaven,” Joice sighed and the stairs creaked. “These are monks, don’t be afraid! Ghosts like us, they pray in the chapel under the roof.”

The phone rang.

“Aren’t you tired of visualizing the phone?” Ray asked.

“How else?” I asked back into the phone, understanding nothing.

“Where are you?”

“At Joice’s. In the afternoon, I’ll probably return home.”

“There’s nothing scary there,” Ray reassured me. “See you.”

The phone disappeared.

“How can you communicate without a phone?” I asked.

“You’ll learn soon,” Joice chuckled. “Shall we recite poetry?”

Looking through the tiny window of the Tower into the night, wrapped in a ghostly plaid visualized by Joice, in the armchair by the fireplace, periodically tasting the jasmine tea to the sounds of the waves crashing against the pier, I listened to her poems and slowly drifted into the slumber of the Mist enveloping my consciousness.

Courtroom in the Universe

There was a huge Cross in the center of a foggy room looking like an official meeting one, with a dim light, the source of which I couldn’t identify. On both sides of its horizontal bar, the bowls of Scales were hanging and swaying, and there was a movie screen above the Scales. There were winged creatures in the hall, I couldn’t see their faces, but I heard the continuous rustling of wings.

“Where is the handle?” an angel asked sternly. “Where did you hide it?”

“A handle… Hmm… What handle? I have no idea!” the devil yawned sweetly and scratched his belly with his tail. “I don’t understand what you mean!”

The angel threatened the devil with a cross, and he instantly slipped aside.

“Oh… put your weapon away! What’s the difference? Anyway, she’s ours!”

The devil poked his tail at me. I closed my eyes in fear. Suddenly, a voice announced a name, and silence reigned. Two creatures with scrolls to the right and left of the Scales prepared to take notes. A young man dressed as a monk approached the Scales, and as soon as he spoke, the movie screen turned on, frames began to be projected on it, and I remembered him! How old was he? He had come to me after my concert at their school and told me about his secret dream to become a monk against his parents’ wishes. We talked long then, but I didn’t remember what about.

He spoke quietly, but several times and quite distinctly I heard my name. Having finished his speech, the man said “thank you”, and a small shining ball of energy in the form of a heart flew into the right bowl. The Scales swung in search of balance.