Laurus

by Eugene Vodolazkin

Each of us repeats Adam’s journey and acknowledges, with the loss of innocence, that he is mortal. Weep and pray, O Arseny. And do not fear death, for death is not just the bitterness of parting. It is also the joy of liberation.

Why are there no names on the graves? Arseny once asked. Because they are already known to the Lord, responded Christofer. And their descendants have no need of the names. In one hundred years nobody will remember who they belonged to. Sometimes that even happens after fifty. Or maybe even after thirty. Do people remember like that in the whole world or only in Rukina Quarter? The whole world, I suppose. But especially in Rukina Quarter. We do not build marble crypts and we do not carve out names, for our cemeteries are granted the right to turn into forests and fields. Which is gratifying. Does that mean our people have a short memory? One might say that. It is just that memory should not be too long. That, you know, is not for the best. After all, some things should be forgotten.

You know, with all this hoarded junk, we will not rise in the wake of our risen Savior. A person has, my love, a lot of unnecessary property and attachments that drag him down.

That is why history has no goal, just as humanity has none. Only an individual person has a goal. And even then, not always.

A city of saints, whispered Ambrogio, following the play of the shadow. They present us the illusion of life. No, objected Arseny, also in a whisper. They disprove the illusion of death.

You know, O friend, any meeting is surely more than parting. There is emptiness before meeting someone, just nothing, but there is no longer emptiness after parting. After having met someone once, it is impossible to part completely. A person remains in the memory, as a part of the memory. The person created that part and that part lives, sometimes coming into contact with its creator. Otherwise, how would we sense those dear to us from a distance?

It is hardest of all, O Arseny, to foresee the future of one’s own life, and that is good. But of course I hoped to be saved. If not in this world, then in the next.

So you say faith is not enough for you and you want knowledge, too. But knowledge does not involve spiritual effort; knowledge is obvious. Faith assumes effort. Knowledge is repose and faith is motion.

The Old Testament opens with Adam but the New Testament opens with Christ. The sweetness of the apple that Adam eats turns into the bitterness of the vinegar that Christ drinks. The tree of knowledge leads humanity to death but a cross of wood grants immortality to humanity.

It was among these people that a rumor began to spread, saying Amvrosy possessed the elixir of immortality. That Amvrosy, when he was still Arseny, had allegedly brought that elixir from Jerusalem. Despite the absurdity of the rumor, its emergence surprised no one at the monastery. Some peoples’ nerves give out when waiting for the end of the world, said Elder Innokenty. And there is a certain logic that they await the elixir of immortality from Amvrosy. In seeking immortality for the flesh and blood, who else might they turn to if not a doctor? Brother Melety attempted to explain to many of them that Amvrosy had no elixir, but they did not believe him. Fearing that there would not be enough elixir for everyone when the time came, some people settled in by the monastery walls and built themselves some semblance of housing. They imagined the monastery could function like a new ark that might take them in if the necessity arose. Amvrosy came to see these people when their numbers topped one hundred. He looked at their squalid housing for a long time and then signaled to them to follow him. After entering the monastery’s gates, Amvrosy led them into the Church of the Dormition of the Mother of God. A service was finishing in the church at that same time and Elder Innokenty walked through the royal doors of the iconostasis carrying the Communion chalice. A ray of morning sun broke away from a grated window. The ray of sun was still weak. It slowly fought its way through the th...

Communion, the blood of Christ