Mission 777 Possible. Marina Sprouz

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      – And do you remember, Klava, about that well? – great-grandmother continued dreamily, – I still can’t get it out of my head.

      – Why did the neighbor climb into our well and drown? Weren’t there enough wells, and the water was so good before that, I remember it like now: you scoop it up, and it’s cold and you drink it from your hand. Great-grandmother then long reminisced about her house in the village, which she sold; then about all the neighbors she lived next to. Grandmother Klavdia sat nearby, also remembering the house in the village and all those she remembered.

      Where is that death?

      The old woman lay in bed. She would rise and lower her frail body repeatedly. She was 96. Death still would not come. She rose again, and with anger, grinding her toothless mouth, she said, “Where is that death already… It’s just torment…” Then she would comb her remaining strands of hair and just sit, staring into space. Earlier, when she could still get up, Marianna saw her every day praying by the icons hanging in the kitchen. Great-grandmother Vera was illiterate and knew the prayers by heart, learned by ear. She whispered, looking at the icons of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. The icon of Jesus Christ was a paper picture glued to cardboard and hung on a nail on the wall by the refrigerator. Before praying, Great-grandmother would wash herself and only then approach the icons. She did not go to church, she just prayed. Her life was far from sweet. During Stalin’s time, her husband was taken by the “black raven” (secret police van), and he returned only ten years later, very ill and soon passed away. Great-grandmother Vera suffered all her life but survived and lived a long time.

      Stalker

      Ksenia the Blessed – that’s how Marianna referred to her friend in her mind. Ksenia would end up in a psychiatric hospital for treatment about once every six months. The rest of the time, she looked just like other people, quite sane.

      Marianna and Ksenia the Blessed were in the internet library. Marianna was typing all sorts of things on the computer; games, googling information. A message appeared on the screen: “You are a Stalker!”

      – Is it a nickname or something?

      – Ksenia, what is a Stalker?

      – Have you seen the movie? About the man, the Stalker.

      – Maybe it’s my underground nickname?

      Marianna imagined herself wandering through unknown lands in the twilight.

      “For the Stalker, there is a zone of the unknown,

      A foreign kingdom, not crossed even once;

      One foot steps into eternity,

      The other lingers, such is his type.

      For the Stalker, there is an exclusion zone,

      Where lies and truth wrestle in silence;

      Where the hands of others, sins congregate,

      Evening twilight’s midnight mirages.

      For the Stalker, roads remain untrodden,

      And around, it’s overgrown like wild grass,

      Thick fog, but the Gods will show the way,

      To delight in the rights of gray heavens.”

      Flying in a Dream

      An unknown creature grabbed Marianna by the hand and carried her off. It was a dream, yes, it was incredible that this could happen in reality. They flew. The creature looked like a spirit, a devil, or God knows what. Marianna watched, seeing where it was taking her… They passed by cubicles, it was dark and smelly everywhere. In one cubicle, it seemed a person was suffering, chained, missing a leg, blood dripping, in some cubicles there were parts of human bodies. It was dim, hard to make out. The companion looked like something ethereal, moving quickly, dragging Marianna along. Now they were near a table. A little devil, playful, semi-transparent, like a spirit, was sitting at the table. In front of him was a large book or notebook, he was flipping the pages, searching with his finger, writing. He seemed to be having fun, with airy movements, writing the date in a marked column with special pleasure and joy. If it could be expressed in music, a cheerful polka would be playing like tra ta ta ta, tra ta ta… Marianna leaned over to see what he had written: sixty-four or sixty-seven, the numbers blurred, because she wasn’t seeing with her eyes, just seeing in the twilight. The creature pulled Marianna back.

      Clock

      Marianna enters the house, returning from work. Everything seems normal. Grandmother Klavdia is sewing on her sewing machine, hemming a curtain. Grandfather Anton is lying down watching TV. Great-grandmother sits on the bed, staring vacantly into space. But something is wrong. Empty, as if an unfamiliar thief sneaked in and stole the most precious thing. Marianna’s gaze falls on the wall. The clock… In place of the antique chiming clock, there are cheap modern plastic ones. She rushes into Great-grandmother Vera’s room: