Laurus

by Eugene Vodolazkin

Angels do not tire, said the Angel, because they do not scrimp on their strength. If you are not thinking about the finiteness of your strength, you will not tire, either. Know, O Arseny, that only he who does not fear drowning is capable of walking on water.

Vasily the Great sayde: virtue that is in old age is not virtue, but infirmitie in acting on luste of the flesh. Alexander, upon seeing a certain person with his same name, a horrifying creature, sayde, Yonge man, change either thy name or thy morals. When a certain bald man insulted Diogenes, Diogenes said: I will not render insult for insult but I will praise the hairs of your head because they ran off after seeing its madness. Some young man at the market, proud, said he was wise because he had conversed with many wise people, but Democritus answered him: Well, I have conversed with many rich people but that did not make me rich. When Diogenes was asked how to live with the truth, he answered: Do as with fyre: do not go so exceadyngely close that it will burn, but do not go so farre away or the colde will reache you.

Arseny laboriously stood and went outside the door, stepping unsteadily. The houses in the unfamiliar village lined up before him, their roofs like fluffy hats. Smoke extended from each, into completely calm air. It looked to Arseny as if the smoke plumes had evenly affixed all the houses to the sky. The connecting threads took on an unusual soundness once they lost the mobility characteristic of smoke. Wherever they were a bit shorter than necessary, the houses rose a few sazhens. Sometimes they rocked a little. There was something unnatural in that and Arseny’s head spun. As he grasped the doorframe, he said: The connection of sky and earth is not as simple as they have apparently grown used to considering it in this village. This sort of view of things seems excessively mechanistic to me.

What is this? the new abbess asks those present, herself most of all. Is this the result of our brother Ustin’s therapeutic measures or the Lorde’s miracle, appearing independently of human action? Essentially, the abbess answers herself: one does not contradict the other, for a miracle can be the result of effort multiplied by faith.

Ambrogio came to love history more than anything else he happened to be introduced to during his studies. The university did not consider history a distinct subject: it was studied within the trivium, as an element of rhetoric. The young man was willing to spend hours sitting over historical writings. With their focus on the past, they (and this connected them with Ambrogio’s visions of the future) were an escape from the present. Movement away from the present—in both directions—became something Ambrogio needed as much as air, because it removed time’s unidimensionality, which caused him to gasp for breath.

But the boundary of the inhabited expanses is there, said the older Flecchia. Why are you going there? Perhaps on the boundary of the world, replied Ambrogio, I will learn something about the boundary of time.

I am going to tell you something strange. It seems ever more to me that there is no time. Everything on earth exists outside of time, otherwise how could I know about the future that has not occurred? I think time is given to us by the grace of God so we will not get mixed up, because a person’s consciousness cannot take in all events at once. We are locked up in time because of our weakness.

In Zheshov, Arseny said to Ustina: These Zheshovites’ speech surely does shine with shushing sufficient for the inspiration of sensations of sheer satiation.

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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?

The infantrymen left the ship upon arrival in Crete. They were met at the dock by no fewer than 120 women. Are those the same women who saw them off in Venice? asked Ambrogio. Yes, they look like them, replied Arseny, but they are different women. Completely different. As it happens, I thought in Venice about how there is no repetition on this earth: only similarity exists.

A weak autumnal sun appeared from behind some clouds. Elder Innokenty appeared from the opposite side of the wall. He had managed to walk around the monastery during the time he spent talking with Amvrosy. And you, O elder, are making circles, Amvrosy told him. No, this is already the spiral. I am walking, as before, along with the swirl of leaves but—do take note, O Amvrosy—the sun came out and I am already a little different. I feel as if I am even taking flight, ever so slightly. (Elder Innokenty broke free of the ground and slowly floated past Amvrosy.) Though not very high, of course. Oh, no, that’s fine, Amvrosy nodded. The main thing is that your explanations are straightforward.

I fear that my cures are becoming a customary matter for them. They receive the cures automatically, which does not prompt these people’s souls to stir. What do you know about automatism, O Amvrosy? replied Elder Innokenty from his secluded cell. If you have the gift of healing, use it because that is why it was granted to you. Their automatism will pass quickly, when you are no longer with them. Believe me, though: they will remember the miracle of the cure forever.

What a person is able to do using his strength is the very best. But what is beyond his strength, my love, is not useful.