Confession of a Ghost. F.M. Dostoevsky award. Playing Another Reality. Alexandra Kryuchkova

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      “Ray, am I sleeping?”

      “You don’t sleep at all, or… all you do is sleeping.”

      “Where am I now?”

      “On the Stairs. Do you remember, Archimandrite Ignatius personally gave you a book about the Stairs as a gift from Athos? And the hand-painted icon. You were the first to order it.”

      “Ah! Right! I ordered the Stairs. Was the icon painted then? Anyhow, now I’m in Nea Roda, I’ve come to…”

      “Of course, that’s right. Ask to get your memory back to let you finish something.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Once you asked to erase your memory, since you were afraid of the pain that could make you exit life. The request was granted, but your life turned into Hell, and …”

      “It’s nonsense!”

      “Remember, Alice, or you’ll never get out of the trap. Once you helped me, and I’ll definitely come to the Court to pay my respects, but …”

      “What court?”

      “When one’s soul leaves the earthly body, all who knew the person alive receive a telegram. If desired, everyone can come to the Court to witness the good and evil deeds of the deceased. Of course, the Guardian Angel recorded everything, nothing can be hidden, but if some soul willingly decides to support you in the Court, this counts as an extra plus.”

      “Are you saying that I…”

      “Exactly, and the Judgment is already underway! You merge so strongly with your Past that it seems happening here and now. Waking up, you notice strange things, something that is not the same as it was then. Try to step aside! Imagine that you are watching a movie about yourself. You are not inside the screen, you are in front of it, and the true reality will show up in all its glory. The character of the movie doesn’t see the one who is watching the movie from the outside.”

      “Does anyone come to say about me?”

      “Yes, but they haven’t arrived at the main point yet. It’s highly advisable to finish before the 40^th day something that you have not. I just want to help you.”

      “Just? You’ve never done anything for nothing!”

      “If you arrive in Heaven, you’ll pray for me, and I’ll feel better. Go to the church, Alice. God loves you.”

      I returned to the still closed fence, but an old man came out of the church. Having noticed me, he opened the door and gestured for me to come in. I slipped inside, there was no one and no lights were on. The miraculous icon had been moved closer to the altar and installed on the left. I came to “Skoupiotissa” and noticed my ring hanging on a chain among other offerings. I didn’t remember how long I stayed there. As if awoken, I listed the names of my acquaintances in the memorial note, dropped the coins into the donation bowl, and headed to the bus stop to return to Ouranoupoli in time for a family dinner with Dimitra at “Kokkinos”. Each my visit, she invited me to one of the local restaurants.

      “Kokkinos” was a year-round restaurant on the main street of Ouranoupoli near the icon shop of the same name, where the Greek woman Effi sold the cheapest hand-painted icons.

      “Where do you usually have dinner?” Dimitra asked.

      “At ‘Eucalyptus’.”

      “I know the owner, he’s a good man!”

      Dimitra divided all people into exactly three categories: good, bad and toxic.

      “What do you prefer there?” asked Roula, Dimitra’s cousin, joined us instead of Dimitra’s daughter Sofia, who had to work late at “Sketes”.

      “One evening I eat seafood salad, the other – chicken, and no dinner every third day.”

      “Alice feeds on the Holy Spirit, like monks,” Dimitra’s husband smiled.

      “Is that why some monks are as full as barrels of wine?” Dimitra laughed.

      The waiter brought the menu. Dimitra, as usual, ordered different seafood dishes so that everyone could try everything. Roula looked at me mysteriously and asked,

      “Do you believe in miracles? Dimitra says you are a writer. Perhaps my story will be interesting for you.”

      “Writing is a hobby for the soul. I believe in miracles, of course! All life is full of miracles!”

      “Great! So … 30 kilometers from Thessaloniki, in a field where there is not a tree in sight, there is a chapel called ‘The Wandering Virgin Mary’, built by the gypsies at the request of the Virgin Mary, appeared to them at that place. The chapel is open 24 hours a day, there are no priests in it, but there is a small miraculous icon inside and a bell at the entrance, so everyone can call Heavens. Traditionally, women’s clothes, shoes, candles and lamp oil are brought to the chapel for the Virgin Mary. Sometimes, passing by, my husband and I also stop there to visit the chapel. When I was pregnant with my son, who is now thirty years old, I asked the Virgin Mary for a successful birth, and after the birth of my son, we gifted a dress and shoes to Her. Once, when my son was about four years old, we went to visit the Wandering Virgin Mary, and my son started ringing the bell. We asked him to stop, but he was very naughty. Suddenly, a beautiful but no longer young woman appeared at the door of the chapel. She smiled, and the son immediately sat down on the bench. The woman sat down nearby and said that she loved that chapel, sometimes she took clothes there and prayed for those who had brought the clothes. We said goodbye to the woman and returned to the car. Suddenly, my husband got concerned and said, ‘Why do we leave her in such an endless field? We should give her a ride! We haven’t even asked where she lives!’ I told my husband to go back to the chapel and take the woman with us. But… she wasn’t there. She disappeared! That field is so wide that it’s impossible to go away unnoticed! And during the time we had walked to the car, she couldn’t have gone far enough to…”

      “The Virgin Mary?” I exclaimed.

      “Better tell us, Alice, how was your trip to Nea Roda!” Dimitra was clearly eager to turn the conversation into the patriotic field.

      “I remember it small, a few streets long. Now it’s a town!”

      “Exactly! The government pumps so much money into it that nothing is left for our Ouranoupoli! They dream of turning it into a major resort. Even an animation theater, like in Turkey, is being built!” Dimitra was very passionate about Ouranoupoli. “We are on the border with Athos, we’ll survive on our own. Have you paid attention if their streets are probably licked out there, and there is no rubbish along the roads? I called Nicolette’s husband, who is our mayor-like, and asked him to send street cleaners, because the Assumption is coming! And he was told in Ierissos that there were no workers! There is no one to clean the streets here, while they shout, ‘There is no work in Greece!’ Here it is! A lot of work! Yes, one can’t earn as much money for cleaning the streets as at the Gold-Mines. And the other day, not far from Skouries, they found a mutant fish!”

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