Laurus

by Eugene Vodolazkin

I compare the soul to a flame that originates in an earthly candle but has no earthly nature as it strives skyward, toward its kindred elements.

Christofer did not write because he feared forgetting something. He never forgot anything, even when he reached old age. For Christofer, the written word seemed to regulate the world. Stop its fluctuations. Prevent notions from eroding. This is why Christofer’s sphere of interest was so broad. According to the writer’s thinking, that sphere should correspond to the world’s breadth.

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.

Those who took care of the deceased did not cry. In those days nobody really cried, for tears cannot soften the grief of so much death. Beyond that, there were simply no more tears.

the world does not remain the same after a patient passes away.

In this surmounting of time, he saw confirmation of the nonrandomness of everything that took place on earth. People encounter one another (thought Ambrogio), bumping into one another like atoms. They do not have their own trajectories and so their actions are random. But when taken together, those random events (so thought Ambrogio) were their own form of consistency, which could be predictable in certain parts. Only He Who created everything knows this in full.

Maybe because historians in the Middle Ages were unlike historians these days. They always looked for moral reasons as an explanation for historical events. It’s like they didn’t notice the direct connection between events. Or didn’t attach much significance to it. But how can you explain the world without seeing the connections? said Alexandra, surprised. They were looking above the everyday and seeing higher connections. Besides, time connected all events, even though people didn’t consider that connection reliable.

And so, I do report to you, that a malice as heavy as lead simply filled the gap inside me, between the kindness expected and the kindness possessed. The gap increased and the malice increased and the smile that bloomed on my lips was, if you can believe it, a sort of spasm.

If history is a scroll in the hands of the Creator, does that mean that everything I think and do is my Creator’s thinking and doing, rather than mine? No, that is not what it means: the Creator is good but not everything that you think and do is good. You were created in God’s image and likeness, and your likeness consists, among other things, of freedom. But if people are free in their intentions and actions, then it works out that they create history freely. People are free, Ambrogio replied, but history is not free. As you say, there are so many intentions and actions that history cannot bring them all together, and only God can holde them all. I would even say that it is not people that are free but the individual person. I liken the confluence of human wills to fleas in a container: their movement is obvious but do they really have a common purpose? That is why history has no goal, just as humanity has none. Only an individual person has a goal. And even then, not always.

Had the forests, rivers, and cities been removed for the dark time of the day? Was nature taking a rest from its own orderliness so it could gather its strength and transform chaos into cosmos once again in the morning?

Neither Arseny nor Ambrogio knew what, exactly, these people were drinking, only that the drink did not make them cheerier. Their backs got even more hunched. Sitting, these people brought to mind large, unattractive flowers that close up for the night. Every now and again they would begin singing something in low voices. Their songs were as joyless and murky as what they drank. Lots of Russians are gloomy, said Ambrogio, sharing an observation. It is the climate, nodded Arseny.

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.

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. Does that mean you think the end of the world already exists, too? asked Arseny. I am not ruling that out. Of course death of individual people exists, and is that not, really, a personal end of the world? In the long run, history over all is just a part of personal history.

And here, O Arseny, what is important is that the end of the world for each individual person will come a few decades after birth—each gets however much time is allotted. (Ambrogio leaned toward the horse’s neck and exhaled into his mane.) The overall end of the world worries me, as you know, but I do not dread it. Meaning I dread it no more than my own death.

Time is more likely a curse, for it did not exist in Heaven, O Arseny.

A person is not born ready-made. He studies, analyzes his experience, and builds his personal history. He needs time for that.

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?

As it happens, I thought in Venice about how there is no repetition on this earth: only similarity exists.

What sign do you want and what knowledge? asked an elder standing by the Empty Tomb. Do you not know that any journey harbors danger within itself? Any journey—and if you do not acknowledge this, then why move? 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.

But is not Christ a general direction?

Do not become like your beloved Alexander who had a journey but had no goal. And do not be enamored of excessive horizontal motion. Then what should I be enamored of? asked Arseny. Vertical motion, answered the elder, pointing above.

There are events that resemble one another, continued the elder, but opposites are born from that similarity. 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. Remember, O Amvrosy, that repetitions are granted for our salvation and in order to surmount time.

Amvrosy pointed to the chalice and said: The elixir of immortality is in there and there is enough for everyone.

Francesca has already seen how a person can look young when out and about but then age immediately upon walking around a corner. Certain things depend on willpower but it is impossible to bend one’s will constantly.

But in the mosaic of your life there is also something that joins all those separate parts: it is an aspiration for Him. They will gather together again in Him.

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.

God in heaven and His earthly oil lamp, Laurus.