The Persistent Angel

Sorokina died in a pool. Quite recently we were students and not mature enough to grasp this. How did she die? And why in the pool? Drowned? No, her heart suddenly failed. The girls with whom we studied, confusedly tried to grasp the absurdity of this news.

 

She studied with a different group, but I  remember her vividly. She was tall and very slim, but not skinny. And modest. So humble, that I did not know her first name. Everybody called her Sorokina. Luxurious black eyebrows and long white hair - by herself she was bright, with no frills. And very modest. Sorokina died ... in the pool ... some nonsense! Alas, no nonsense ...

 

Persistent  Angel of Death has caught her up yet! Struck in the heart, hit his second attempt - I know, already had one. And I remember that flight, that terrible peak. The sign has been.

 

Yes, I remember! Yes, the messenger of death has hovered over her. At the very end of our education we were sent to the construction of dormitory. The five-storey building was almost ready. A brick chimney of a boiler room is being built nearby. The chimney is almost ready; the masonry is quite near the roof. We lodge bricks to the mason. The girls who are below, load a special elevator. With tragic scratch, with a shrill squeal the cargo is reaching top. We accept with Sergey and also with about a dozen girls. I am close to a bricklayer, on some platform with a handrail, and Sergey - right at the lift on the roof. We slightly do not reach one another. The girls are lined up in a chain in attic, and by long way, through the skylights, the load swims quite leisurely to the chimney. A bricklayer works like a nimble robot, and even encourages us. It is a gray day, it’s cold. Cold winds are freely and easily walking on the roof. It's disgusting to wait until our entire conveyor is established. Unload finally, give the master a lot of work and we with Sergey climb into the attic to get warm.

 

And a bricklayer already turned blue, but does not go away – makes money. But sorry for the bottom girls - they have nowhere to hide, but down there is no such a wind.

 

 

Again, our lifting platform is grunting, squealing and howling. With Sergey, we crawl out into the wind - here is the brick, here is our mason, already waiting, but our girls are only preparing - some disappeared at all, someone yet are not able to rise from their hard-set places. They are calling  each other, telling  jokes, but we are standing.

 

Once or twice the bricks were thrown directly. Immediate unloading. The girls liked it very much, and mason too, though for the order he swore. And it is better for us – we freeze less and even it is pleasant to throw bricks, it's like to play with dumbbells.

 

Plump white brick with clear sharp edges. We took off mittens. Sergey shouts: "Catch!" Short takeoff and it dutifully comes into my right hand. Quite instant interception and by left hand I lay it to the chimney. "Catch!" - and my right hand again meets nice white load. Is it dangerous to throw this way? What kind of danger? It's close. We are completely sober. Careful and collected.

 

Again we are two. Again: "Catch! Catch! Catch!" I am, like a juggler, playing with white bricks. A beautiful flutter of identical objects in white! And the platform is empty. Sergey tries already to get into the attic. But girls have just collected their chain. I just prepared to make a fun of them, but suddenly again instruction: "Catch!"

 

I lunged, tripped my hand... From where else is brick? It was flying as usual - flat, narrow face forward, but still the command was too late. At half a moment. The brick - it seemed to me – was not quite normal, slightly shiny, as if it was made of good Chinese porcelain. It very smoothly, as a spacecraft for docking, approached the palm of my hand, but yet from the opposite side.

 

I realized already what would happen.

 

It even seemed to me that this white flying brick stood briefly in the vicinity of my hand. Something is obviously wrong with the very course of time and with me. The brick still cools my knuckles and, as a released bird, it does not believe in inherited freedom, the anticipation of terrible excitement from the free fall is beginning to boil in it, - it’s just preparing to become alive.

 

But I became like stone. I managed to catch up Sergey’s quiet horror. Below us on the ground near the platform is a heap of sand. And in the middle of this heap Sorokina sat down to have rest. All others are at a distance. Why did you leave them? After all, we... but we ... Sorokina! Why are you here now?

     

A brilliant white stone flatwise and very slowly cast off from the palm. Why, why everything is so viscous and prolonged?

 

I leaned down and stared at this white death - the solemn stone very, very slowly and tilted slightly, moved straightly to the head. Sorokina-a-a!!! Whistling in my ears ringing. As if at a distant sawmill the circular saw sang. Slowly, mournfully, with a shudder and softly. U-u-u-i-i-i... U-u-u-i-i-i...

 

This is a singing of Angel of the Death ...

 

Sorokina sat up in the serene pose - leaning back on the straight arms with head thrown back. Her lush hair is like a bright flower in the center of the sandy flowerbed. I could see how convincing are the breasts. Yes, from above her beauty is more visible. Eyes closed, as if she tans, as if she catches some special rays through the veil of dark snowy clouds.

 

U-u-u-i-i-i... U-u-u-i-i-i...

 

The white stone is gently descending. I'm with it. I contract rough, wood railing - just I want to steer away from the terrible path. It’s ringing in the ears. Now I shall crush the railing. U-u-u-i-i-i... Some inaudible flutter at the white spot, some rustle of wings.

 

... I've heard such an exact ringing already, heard in my early childhood. When drowning in the river, when I slurped and suddenly last time, having clearly flashed, took off, turned over the familiar green shore - ascended to nowhere. U-u-u-i-i-i... Plangent-singing of Angel, The Angel of Death! But then I woke up. Already in the hands of my brother, on the bank. I remembered that sound ...

 

The brick slightly swayed, trembled a little as a float at the very beginning of a bite. Who pulls the invisible thread in invisible spaces? Projectile tilted even more, but firmly sticks to course.

 

There is a beatific languor in Sorokina’s face. And did she also hear prolonged this angelic appeal?  

 

I imagined the Day of Judgement. No judges. Only her parents. Standing and staring!

 

What a spot, which looms nearby? U-u-u-i-i-i...

 

... And once again I heard this bewitching and overflowing whistle. I was driving my car. With my wee son, with my wife and even with her mother. Wide road. The left lane, overtaking all. And a big truck is speeding up forward also in the left lane. Its bodywork is filled with sheets of metal. And the top sheet, bigger in area than my car breaks down in flight. Something flashed over the windshield, like a shadow of a huge bird... and called directly from the sky as an angel. Exactly the same way. And even vaguely like: "... give re-e-st!" Like a rustle of thin metal. And strike at once of thick rolled steel out there, somewhere behind...  

 

The brick descends in some light vortices. I can not slow it anymore, I can not guide it.

 

But where are you, where are you, the Guardian Angel?

 

We have clearly seen with Sergey as the rock, suddenly, almost at the very head already shook slightly as a piece of paper in the air, slightly swayed to the side and sharply, by the spike entered the sand. Yes, yes, the sand! Yes! A little behind her!  

 

Sorokina could run her hand along smooth face of brick. Even as if asleep. But caught something. Her eyes rummaged around and she yawned sweetly.

 

Yes,yes, the sand, but not the head!

 

What did she see in slumber, what did she hear?

 

And suddenly time went to normal rhythm. My throat dried up, pounding in temples and my fingers did not come off the railing. Then there was the noise, legitimate cry of superintendent, but this was not at all the Day of Judgment.

 

It seemed more terrible that even Sergey could not make out why the polished brick appeared in his hand. And why he threw so suddenly? When we went down, the sand was empty.

  

 

I still wanted to talk to Sorokina. Just do not know what would I say.

 

Now it’s impossible to say anything. This Persistent Angel had time to talk to her before. Again sang over her and whispered, put to sleep. Nobody prevented this in the pool.

 

This Angel’s singing, all of us one day will hear. I think I recognize at once.

 

 Picture of Nicolai Provotorov