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section7mfuThis is an expanded story based on chapter 20 of my 'Randomness of Life' drabble series.
It was in the early Ukrainain spring when most of the snows had retreated and young Illya Nickovich ventured out in front of his families dacha to play. Being a typical little boy he was covered in mud in no time as he stamped his feet in half frozen puddles, just for the sheer joy of hearing the thin layers of ice crackle beneath his feet.
He was usually a well behaved child, but being confined to the small house with little else to do but study, and keep his younger siblings, Katiya, Misha and Sasha, amused had finally run its course.
He needed freedom and fresh air, and some fun, and at the moment it was the mud puddle he was standing in that pleased him immensely, though his mother would most likely not be so delighted. He would face the consequences when the time came.
There were birds chirping all around in the trees that were just beginning to burst forth with life, when they suddenly went silent.
Illya looked up, spying a dark figure approaching the dacha along the dirt road, and fearing it was a Nazi soldier, he took a few steps back as he prepared to turn and run into the house.
Yet somehow his ever curious nature fought back his apprehension, as he craned his neck to see who it was.
The figure waved to him as it neared, dressed in a long black robe and not a uniform; he finally stood at the rickety wooden gate with a walking stick in hand. Illya recognized him, it was Father Demya the priest from St. Andrews church, the older one with the very long white beard.
“Zdravstvuy malysh._hello little one,” the priest smiled as he leaned on the gate.
“Zdravstvuyte otets_hello Father. Would you like to come in and play with me?’
Father Demya smiled at the child’s innocence. “Oh that would be lovely, but I am sorry, I left my play clothes behind.”
“Could you go get them?”
“No, my son. I am afraid I cannot go home again.”
“Why?”
“Because I no longer have a home to go to.” Father Demya said wearily.
“Why do you not have a home Father?”
“It is a long story child, one perhaps not fit for such young ears.”
“You could live with us Father, my room is big enough for two,” Illya offered graciously.”
“Oh ho, that is such a kind offer, but I have somewhere to go. It will not be home, but it will be a place that is safe for me to stay. I do ask one favor of you, if I might have a drink of water as it has been a long journey from St. Andrews to here for an old priest, and I will have many miles to go before I reach my destination.”
“Yes sir,” Illya said dutifully as he trotted up the steps with his muddy boots and through the front door.
The priest heard a howl from within, a woman’s voice shrieking about the mud that had been tracked in, and then there was silence.
A few minutes later Tanya Kuryakina came rushing out the door, straightening her hair and clothing as she gave a little curtsey to the old priest.
“Father, please forgive my son’s rudeness. He should have invited you in.”
“Ah Madam, but he did. The boy invited me to play with him as well as to come live with you, though I turned him down. Do not chastise him as he was delightfully courteous to me.”
Tanya blushed, her skin contrasting bright pink against her golden blonde hair. “Why did he invite you to live with us Father?”
“Because my child, the church has been closed and the clergy evicted. The novitiates, monks and the other priests have scattered for fear of being sent away to the gulag.”
“Father my son was right to offer you our home. Please, you are most welcome. “ Tanya was gracious, but knew in her heart they had barely enough food to feed her, Marina and the four children. But still she knew it was not right to turn the priest away, and wondered why no one else had offered him shelter.
“As I said to your son,” the priest reiterated, “ I have somewhere to go and many miles to travel. I simply asked for some water for a weary man.”
“Then yes Father, I too extend the invitation for you to stay at least for supper if not the night. It is only bread and stew but we will gladly share it with you. And we can give you a good breakfast of kashi in the morning to restart your journey, if you wish.”
“Madam I will gladly accept, as it has been a while since I’ve eaten.”
“Then come Father,” she said opening the gate for him, “you are most welcome in our humble home.”
Tanya led the way, opening the door but standing aside for the priest to enter. Marina Kuryakina, her husband’s mother stood nearby, panting just a little bit after hurriedly tidying up after hearing the invitation given to the priest.
He paused, making the sign of the cross as Tanya and Marina followed suit in his blessing of the house and all within its walls.
Illya had peeled off his muddy clothes, telling his mother and grandmother of the priest waiting outside, and that news sent them into such a frenzy, the two women forgot to finish scolding him, much less punish him for the mess he’d made of himself with the mud.
He ran upstairs in his underclothes, being told to put on something suitable for a priests visit.
Father Demya stepped through the doorway without another word, and entered the house, observing the old superstition that the threshold divides people.Never greet, or say good-bye to someone in a doorway. That includes hugs, kisses, shaking hands, or passing/accepting gifts through the doorway. In traditional Russian folklore, the house spirit resides there and breaking that tradition would bring bad luck. Even though he was a priest, he was still raised with the old customs buried deep in his Slavic memory.
Tanya closed the door behind him. “Come come Father, rest in front of the fireplace while I set another place at the table.”
“Madam Kuryakina,” the priest addressed Marina, who pulled up a chair for him near the hearth. “I remember the hospitality of the Count, back in the days when I was but a young novitiate. The kindness and generosity of your husbands house was legendary.”
“I know it is sedition, but it is a crime the Soviet government did not think so. And see, like so many, what we have been reduced to for the sake of the collective.” She gestured at her surroundings.“Then I suppose I should count my family lucky that we have this dacha and are not crowded into a single room in the city. Compared to that this small home is a palace.”
The priest smiled, “Ah Madam, though your home is small, it still flows with the same kindness and generosity as the once great house did. It is the Kuryakin name that is still honorable, and not some fancy house.”
“True, but I would be much more comfortable and warm in that house than I am here,” she laughed.
The two spotted a small blond head peaking around the doorpost.
“Illyusha, come in and say hello to the priest like a good boy,” his babushka called to him.
He stepped into the room cautiously with his earlier naivete when outside now gone. In his hand he carried a tall glass of water.
“Hello again Illya Nickovich, ah I see you have remembered my water, how kind of you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair as he took the glass from him, taking a moment to whisper a prayer.
“What did you just say?” Illya asked.
“I was saying a prayer to our Lord, thanking him for the water, your kindness and asked him to bless you.”
“All that for bringing a glass of water?” Illya quirked his head to the side, pondering the thought. “What sort of blessing would I get for cleaning the chicken coop?”
Father Demaya laughed heartily. “Many my child, God blesses us for all the things that we do willingly and with a pure heart.”
“I do not always wish to clean the coop...is that bad, would God be mad at me and not give me blessings?” He whispered cautiously.
“Just remember to pray child. “He who is careless about prayer is careless about his salvation; he who quits prayer renounces his salvation...”
“Illuysha, stop bothering Father Demya, come wash up and help me with your brothers and sister,” his mother called from the kitchen.
http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/220467.html
It was in the early Ukrainain spring when most of the snows had retreated and young Illya Nickovich ventured out in front of his families dacha to play. Being a typical little boy he was covered in mud in no time as he stamped his feet in half frozen puddles, just for the sheer joy of hearing the thin layers of ice crackle beneath his feet.
He was usually a well behaved child, but being confined to the small house with little else to do but study, and keep his younger siblings, Katiya, Misha and Sasha, amused had finally run its course.
He needed freedom and fresh air, and some fun, and at the moment it was the mud puddle he was standing in that pleased him immensely, though his mother would most likely not be so delighted. He would face the consequences when the time came.
There were birds chirping all around in the trees that were just beginning to burst forth with life, when they suddenly went silent.
Illya looked up, spying a dark figure approaching the dacha along the dirt road, and fearing it was a Nazi soldier, he took a few steps back as he prepared to turn and run into the house.
Yet somehow his ever curious nature fought back his apprehension, as he craned his neck to see who it was.
The figure waved to him as it neared, dressed in a long black robe and not a uniform; he finally stood at the rickety wooden gate with a walking stick in hand. Illya recognized him, it was Father Demya the priest from St. Andrews church, the older one with the very long white beard.
“Zdravstvuy malysh._hello little one,” the priest smiled as he leaned on the gate.
“Zdravstvuyte otets_hello Father. Would you like to come in and play with me?’
Father Demya smiled at the child’s innocence. “Oh that would be lovely, but I am sorry, I left my play clothes behind.”
“Could you go get them?”
“No, my son. I am afraid I cannot go home again.”
“Why?”
“Because I no longer have a home to go to.” Father Demya said wearily.
“Why do you not have a home Father?”
“It is a long story child, one perhaps not fit for such young ears.”
“You could live with us Father, my room is big enough for two,” Illya offered graciously.”
“Oh ho, that is such a kind offer, but I have somewhere to go. It will not be home, but it will be a place that is safe for me to stay. I do ask one favor of you, if I might have a drink of water as it has been a long journey from St. Andrews to here for an old priest, and I will have many miles to go before I reach my destination.”
“Yes sir,” Illya said dutifully as he trotted up the steps with his muddy boots and through the front door.
The priest heard a howl from within, a woman’s voice shrieking about the mud that had been tracked in, and then there was silence.
A few minutes later Tanya Kuryakina came rushing out the door, straightening her hair and clothing as she gave a little curtsey to the old priest.
“Father, please forgive my son’s rudeness. He should have invited you in.”
“Ah Madam, but he did. The boy invited me to play with him as well as to come live with you, though I turned him down. Do not chastise him as he was delightfully courteous to me.”
Tanya blushed, her skin contrasting bright pink against her golden blonde hair. “Why did he invite you to live with us Father?”
“Because my child, the church has been closed and the clergy evicted. The novitiates, monks and the other priests have scattered for fear of being sent away to the gulag.”
“Father my son was right to offer you our home. Please, you are most welcome. “ Tanya was gracious, but knew in her heart they had barely enough food to feed her, Marina and the four children. But still she knew it was not right to turn the priest away, and wondered why no one else had offered him shelter.
“As I said to your son,” the priest reiterated, “ I have somewhere to go and many miles to travel. I simply asked for some water for a weary man.”
“Then yes Father, I too extend the invitation for you to stay at least for supper if not the night. It is only bread and stew but we will gladly share it with you. And we can give you a good breakfast of kashi in the morning to restart your journey, if you wish.”
“Madam I will gladly accept, as it has been a while since I’ve eaten.”
“Then come Father,” she said opening the gate for him, “you are most welcome in our humble home.”
Tanya led the way, opening the door but standing aside for the priest to enter. Marina Kuryakina, her husband’s mother stood nearby, panting just a little bit after hurriedly tidying up after hearing the invitation given to the priest.
He paused, making the sign of the cross as Tanya and Marina followed suit in his blessing of the house and all within its walls.
Illya had peeled off his muddy clothes, telling his mother and grandmother of the priest waiting outside, and that news sent them into such a frenzy, the two women forgot to finish scolding him, much less punish him for the mess he’d made of himself with the mud.
He ran upstairs in his underclothes, being told to put on something suitable for a priests visit.
Father Demya stepped through the doorway without another word, and entered the house, observing the old superstition that the threshold divides people.Never greet, or say good-bye to someone in a doorway. That includes hugs, kisses, shaking hands, or passing/accepting gifts through the doorway. In traditional Russian folklore, the house spirit resides there and breaking that tradition would bring bad luck. Even though he was a priest, he was still raised with the old customs buried deep in his Slavic memory.
Tanya closed the door behind him. “Come come Father, rest in front of the fireplace while I set another place at the table.”
“Madam Kuryakina,” the priest addressed Marina, who pulled up a chair for him near the hearth. “I remember the hospitality of the Count, back in the days when I was but a young novitiate. The kindness and generosity of your husbands house was legendary.”
“I know it is sedition, but it is a crime the Soviet government did not think so. And see, like so many, what we have been reduced to for the sake of the collective.” She gestured at her surroundings.“Then I suppose I should count my family lucky that we have this dacha and are not crowded into a single room in the city. Compared to that this small home is a palace.”
The priest smiled, “Ah Madam, though your home is small, it still flows with the same kindness and generosity as the once great house did. It is the Kuryakin name that is still honorable, and not some fancy house.”
“True, but I would be much more comfortable and warm in that house than I am here,” she laughed.
The two spotted a small blond head peaking around the doorpost.
“Illyusha, come in and say hello to the priest like a good boy,” his babushka called to him.
He stepped into the room cautiously with his earlier naivete when outside now gone. In his hand he carried a tall glass of water.
“Hello again Illya Nickovich, ah I see you have remembered my water, how kind of you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair as he took the glass from him, taking a moment to whisper a prayer.
“What did you just say?” Illya asked.
“I was saying a prayer to our Lord, thanking him for the water, your kindness and asked him to bless you.”
“All that for bringing a glass of water?” Illya quirked his head to the side, pondering the thought. “What sort of blessing would I get for cleaning the chicken coop?”
Father Demaya laughed heartily. “Many my child, God blesses us for all the things that we do willingly and with a pure heart.”
“I do not always wish to clean the coop...is that bad, would God be mad at me and not give me blessings?” He whispered cautiously.
“Just remember to pray child. “He who is careless about prayer is careless about his salvation; he who quits prayer renounces his salvation...”
“Illuysha, stop bothering Father Demya, come wash up and help me with your brothers and sister,” his mother called from the kitchen.
http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/220467.html
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Date: 2013-01-21 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-21 05:48 pm (UTC)Hope you enjoy the rest of the story, there's a fair number of chapters but not long like The Game of Life. Thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2013-01-21 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-21 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-21 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-21 08:33 pm (UTC):)
Date: 2013-01-22 02:40 am (UTC)Lovely little vignette of Illya's past.
Re: :)
Date: 2013-01-22 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-22 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-22 10:54 am (UTC)