The snow has melted recently, and springs breath was in the air. Very soon, in a matter of few weeks the circle of nature will begin its millionth rebirth, from nakedness and emptiness, to greenery, summer humid air. Very soon the days will get much longer, the shepherds, with the help of barking dogs, will guide the cattle to the green fields every morning, through the morning dew in the grass.
I remember as a boy, in the summer time, me and my cousin Paul would stay at my grandparents for weeks at a time, in a tiny dying village called “Dobroye”, which literally means “Good” in Belorussian. Due to a steady population decline in the rural farm lands in southwest parts of Belarus, this village, just as many surrounding villages, has maybe fifty-seventy people, slowly dying off, and bound to ruin. Once there were kids, and youth, but they move away to cities to get proper education and make a living. In some ways, these regions, surrounding the city of Brest, are mesmerized, or frozen, like a photograph, bound to cease existence in just a few decades. In those summer weeks we came to visit, i remember we would wake up before daylight, with my grandfather, also named Pavel, and help him get ready for the long day of herding cattle, making sure they stay on a field together and don’t wander off into the woods. Every able man would wait his turn, or his duty, three or four times a year to bring out everybody’s cows to the fields and watch over them for a whole day, after which you’re relieved of that duty for a few months.
I remember coming over once during the summer, and my grandpa would put me on his knee, and ask me questions, which i loved to answer, because i seen the satisfied pride in his eyes, and joy of being able to see his grandchildren grow up to be bright happy.
- How old are you?
-seven
-oh you’re so big! hows school
-i go to second grade now and i have many friends.
-your dad told me you study english?
-yes!
-tell me something in english
-like what grandpa?
-tell me how to say father (in english)
i would pronounce the word “fa-ther” to him in a language he never heard. He would ask me to double check how to properly say it, and then would repeat as best he could “fa-ther”. Big streaming tears would roll down his red weathered cheeks, as he would look at me, sizing me up with his eyes, rubbing my hair, with joy that i know something he doesn’t, crying, for reasons i could never even understand then, and doubt i understand now. But his shivering weeping voice as he would proudly pronounce “fa-ther”, stayed in my childhood memories forever. Some say it’s the happy childhood memories that we come back to, drinking and savoring them up, especially during the harder times in grownup life. They could shape our psychology, like roots of a tree, giving our future dreams the right to grow, or the absence of memories, cursing our dreams with the shadows of doubt.
Back to now, its spring, and after the snow melts from the plains, the unpaved roads are muddy, everything is soggy and dusty. I’ve hear that the soil in southern Belarus, as well as northern Ukraine is very rich, and is able to bring incredible harvest. Im behind the wheel of a small car, with my mother, making a trip from Brest, to the village where my mom and dad are from. Dobroye, and Drochevo are ten minutes driving apart, and both very small. Old crooked houses, some with straw roofs, farm houses, water towers, unfinished structures which were meant to become collective farms, back from the soviet communist times, now left unfinished, just like peoples lives, the same people who were lied to, overworked, underpaid, and left without a real future, or apologies. But thats not what my story is about
As we drive along, maneuvering between puddles of water, rocks and stray dogs, driving along the only street in the village, looking for the bright red house with blue windows and doors where my moms parents still live. Sergey and Kseniya are a very talkative & friendly couple, unlike my dads parents. Grandfather Sergey is very tall, despite turning 75, and has a full head of white medium length hair, that is neatly combed to the back. My mom is second in the family. Her older brother Vova is a successful business man in Brest, Moms younger sister living in US, with her husband, (the guy always bothers me to give him an autographed copy of my album, which he doesn’t believe i recorded). Younger brother Tolik, also a business guy, & that leaves the youngest brother, Sergey, whom my story is about. I pull into the driveway of the red house, and see my grandparents waiting for us, expecting our visit. Sergey also has his head out of the door, all of them smiling, happy to see my mother and me. Serge must be forty by now. He is taller than all other brothers, gifted with natural handsome looks. His dark brown long hair is combed back, just like his fathers, hasn’t been cut in a while, growing out on the sides and the back, giving him this redneck look. He has kind eyes, and a brown, worn out, button up shirt made of cotton. After my grandparents hugs, and kisses, he smilingly hugs my mother, and firmly shakes my hand saying - “oh look at that fine young man, from America!, welcome. I remember you were so small!”, he tells me. His voice sounds somewhat lower than i’d expect and has a certain crackle to it.
Serge still lives with his parents. He is an alcoholic. Almost anything he does for money, any kind of labor, he agrees to do, only to get some money to buy vodka. Him and a couple of his drinking buddies in that tiny village spend their evenings drinking, and eating pickles and salo, listening to radio. I met his drinking buddies that night when he asked me to give him a ride somewhere. As we drove up his friend’s house, he walked away, and didn’t come back like he said he would. I returned to my grandparents house alone, where they were eating freshly cooked potatoes with butter, and bread, drinking tea, talking about making a living and what has changed since the last time they seen each other. My mom is taking her time to explain to her parents, a much more complex lifestyle that we live in our western american culture. Sometimes i think people are very different. The ways in which we submerse ourselves into the current of changes, and new developments in society, it puts us in very different places. So it sometimes seems. But other times, like that visit few years ago, it makes me see, that people are not very different. Were the same. The opportunities our fate presented us with, is your own stone to chisel and chip, but inside were the same. Beings, who seek to be accepted, loved, at least by one other soul, and valued.
Sergey returns a few hours later, with smell of vodka around him, without acting confused, started looking for things to eat. My grandmother let out a sigh and looked at my mom, who was looking through old photographs on the bookshelf. I ask Sergey “How’s life around here?” to which he replies “Life?” he chuckles - “its not life, just existence” and feeling satisfied with his philosophical remark, he tosses a small canned tomato in his mouth. I felt pity for him, when we were driving out later that night. Just one question in my mind - Why? Why has his life taken this kind of a direction? Miserable, alone, pitiful drunk, living in a forgotten place, with “existence” very few will remember. Is there an answer to the question? Perhaps it’s very unclear, or perhaps I’m too young to understand.
it’s often the things that are said about a young man, they influence him the most. This is the piece of the story my mom told me recently. Late 80’s maybe 1988, its been a long hot summer, and a crowd is gathered on a small beach, around a nearby lake in expectation of a ceremonial event. At a local church, the custom I’ve seen many times before, every young man coming up to the age of 18 has to get baptized into the christian faith. That conscious decision which he must make to follow the God’s calling on his life, is ones free choice, and like most boys Sergey wanted to get baptized. It’s not that he was too pious, nor profane, just an average young man, with the habits, occasionally getting into trouble for pranking around. When he was old enough, he realized he likes one girl, and now had to think about stepping into the responsibilities, of making money. Perhaps getting married in a year or two, just like his siblings did. He would get baptized that day unless someone unexpected had come and intervened. One young man, let’s call him G., showed up right before the ceremony was about to commence. He didn’t look to sure, but something was nagging on his mind, pushing him forward. If you’d take a look into his eyes, you’d probably end up feeling confused. About the same age as Sergey, G. was quite nervous, but determined. Few people recognized him, him being Sergey’s buddy, or a partner. Partner in what? Let’s call it a Job. Let me explain what it was all about. Him and Sergey, and probably few other young men found out, and calculated, that if you open a visa to Germany, save up to buy a car there, and then drive it back across Poland, into Belarus, the re-sale price is much higher. All because for years, soviet union was closed off, to importing vehicles from european countries. So late 80s the whole policy system loosened up, and a business opportunity opened up, which Sergey and his buddy G. were grabbing on to. Nobody knows exactly how, but it turned out that Sergey owed G. around 300$, and was delaying for sometime, promising to pay back soon. But his friend didn’t wanna wait longer, and decided to pull a scheme, or a manipulative curve, to get his money back. He (G.) walked up to Daniel, the deacon of the church who was also a bishop of that area, and told him not to give baptism to Sergey, until he pays back, thinking that the deacon will confront Sergey and make him promise to return the miserable dollars. What happened instead is this - Bishop Daniel walked up to one of the pastors, Peter, and after short chat decided to pull Sergey off the list of those getting baptized that day, thinking to give Sergey private baptism ceremony, avoiding the unpleasant situation, with G.’s demand. When they told Sergey few minutes later, it was very devastating for him to realize. The embarrassment filled his head, already dressed all white, being denied to get baptized, in front of his family, the lady he had feelings for, in front of relatives, friends, and most people he ever knew. Over what? A ridiculous 300 dollars. Had he known that this is what would happen over this miserable amount, he would have taken care of the issue, and settle the due, even if it mean sweating blood, but this was so unexpected, and startling. In his mind it was such a shame that the bishop Daniel, and Pastor both concluded with that decision, without even consulting with him or his family.
The story goes, that this was the change of heart in this young man. In a few weeks after the embarrassing day, he began to be very cynical, and sinister, even in his conversations about church leaders, about how they un-justly treated him, and how he does not desire to change his mind, carrying a grudge against the bishop. Sometime later he started drinking and stealing things to sell, for alcohol. His poor mother suffered, in a heartache, watching his sun choose a destructive path. She tried to get the money to pay G. back, hoping to revert the course of bitterness, but for Sergey, although he paid the guy back very soon, for him this was the end of heartfelt determination for a better future. His girlfriend moved away, hoping he’d straighten up, and she waited for him a for a few years. Even when her family moved to U.S. she called to ask how Sergey was, but alas! the bittered heart, filled with resentment, and frustration simply drowned the sorrow with alcohol. At this point let me say this, you certainly can’t blame the full weight of what happened on the bishop, nor the guy whom Sergey owed money, because as you’ve probably realized that this was much more than merely injustice, because a human heart is a universe of emotions, layered with words and people it has been weaved into, like a single thread in a piece of fabric we call life. But was he destined to end up where he is now? Had the bishop seen twist of fate around the corner of his decision that summer day on the lake, he’d probably think of different way out. But he is just a man, and everyone understands that. As for Sergey - had he seen where the bitterness would take him, had he seen past the resentment, maybe he would stand up straight, and carry himself out of that place.
So much time has passed, him drifting along that river, but i can say this - You must be MAD, to say there is no such devil lurking behind the curtains of our lives. The devil in the details, looking for a glass to spill, for a life to twist, a mind to deceive. You know your devil, the evil in your heart. Thanks to the comfort of our highly individualistic lifestyle, we are able to place many masks and images in front of others, making it seem like everything is great, and under control. Our Facebook and Twitter mostly serve as a perfected made up image of what we want to be, or what we want people to think we are. But some evil is feeding on you, and more precisely - you’re the one feeding it. For some people i know, serious periodical disconnect from the social networking/ internet/ entertainment hoopla is the only thing that will give your feelings serious potency, making them aware of whats really going on. What i say everyday is this “Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from the evil in my heart”. Don’t hesitate to say this, even if you’re not the prayin kind.
