“This is what our country is like,” said the monk, Father Tevdore. “It’s a small place, but wonderful. There’s already snow here while down at the seaside they are probably still sunbathing. The Lord has given everything to this small country, while the people have lost their sense of gratitude and have forgotten him.”
“Why?” Soso interrupted. “People in this country still remember God, even though they are forbidden to even go to Church. This country has a bad government, it’s not the people’s fault at all…”
“The government also consists of people,” the monk responded, “and the government is part of the people who you are now praising.”
“I’m not praising anyone. I’m simply defending those who have no right to choose and who, consequently, aren’t responsible for the people in the government. The right to make a decision has been taken away from people. That’s why they shouldn’t be held responsible for what’s happening in our country,” Soso said angrily as he glanced at his friends. They looked calm, well aware that Soso always liked to argue, though not to fight. He never insulted his challenger and kept his arguments well-grounded.
“Do you think that if this country had a government elected by the people and not appointed by the Kremlin, as it is now, it would be less atheistic and not as bad?” Father Tevdore calmly asked as he filled his empty wine glass for him. The monk’s stillness was contagious, calming Soso immediately and responded with a smile.
“Good or bad, if the people elect their government, then they’re responsible, and not some omnipotent leader. It may turn out quite the opposite and the elected government could begin persecuting non-believers, as happens now, but the atheists…”
“I can’t even imagine such a Georgia,” Dato uttered.
“It’s not difficult to imagine it at all. Those attending parades now could be going to churches en masse and crossing themselves every time they see a church…”
“And what’s bad about that?” Paata asked Soso, with apparent surprise.
“When done as a show, for the sake of a lie to each other, going to a parade or going to church is equally bad.”
“I think it’s still better to go to church,” said Paata’s brother as he looked over at Father Tevdore.
The monk answered all of them at once, though his explanation was mainly for Soso’s benefit:
“If someone goes to church, even if only for others to see, it is still better because they will have more time to think about God, and the truth. To think about love, which we all lack.”
“Collective thinking always ends in hatred, not love,” Soso interrupted again, but Father Tevdore continued unruffled.
“It is true that collective thinking always results in regimes, not freedom, but you can begin your road to freedom by going to church…”
“And then continue it alone like yourself?” Soso asked.
“I prefer to look for my freedom here, far from the city, where there is less noise and a more time to think about God.”
“And how long do you intend to stay here?” Dato asked Father Tevdore, though his friends also wanted to know.
“I’ll be thirty-three next year, and I wish to be here then, unless they forbid me.”
“Who?”
“They have been here already, came up three days ago. But so far they haven’t forbidden anything, just looked at the books and left.”
“When are they going to bar you?”
“When they consider that my being here is dangerous for them.”
“Why?”
“Because fearful people tend to exaggerate, and those without faith are extremely cowardly.”
The monk smiled and pointed at little Eka peacefully asleep at the table next to her father.
“She’s tired,” Paata said, taking little Eka in his arms.
“I think I also have tired you all,” Father Tevdore said as he stood up.
The others also got to their feet and said their thanks.
“Please, take Eka with you tomorrow, her school’s starting. I’ll come at the end of the week and see you in Tbilisi,” Father Tevdore said to Dato as they walked into the monastery yard.
“I think we brought you enough food to last a week,” Dato said and looked up at the star-studded sky.
“I’ll make it last, no problem. The main thing is that you brought honey.”
“You like honey?” Soso asked the monk.
“There’s a deer that comes here and I feed it honey.”
“How?” Dato asked, genuinely surprised.
“With my hand.”
“I thought deer liked salt and sour things, not sweet,” Soso said.
“I used to think so too. It might be true and only this deer likes honey. I put it in my cupped palm and it licks it.”
“What a bright night,” Paata said, coming out into the yard and looking up at the sky.
“Kant must have been inspired by such a starry sky.”
“I’d like to ask you something,” Soso turned to the monk abruptly.
“Sure,” Father Tevdore said, “just don’t be so formal with me.”
“Ok,” Soso said. “Where will you go if they forbid you to stay here?”
“I’ll go to another monastery.”
“What if they don’t allow you into another monastery?”
“I’ll go to another country and look for my share of peace and quiet there,” said Father Tevdore with a smile.
“And what if they don’t allow you go to another country?” asked Soso, returning the smile.
“I’ll find a way to stealthily creep away,” the monk said, laughing. “Now, with your permission, I am going to creep away to get some sleep. I have to get up early in the morning. Also, Eka is alone and if she happens to wake up, she may get scared.”
“Eka will surely never be scared of anything,” Dato said, laughing and together with the others said goodbye to Father Tevdore.
When the lads were left alone in the monastery yard, they remained silent for a long time, smoking. Then Kakhaberber broke the quiet and asked Soso:
“What do you say?”
“What should I say?”
“Will he agree?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. Let’s not tell him anything yet,” said Soso and quickly changed the subject:
“What was it that Kant said? What was it that surprised him?”
“The star-studded sky above me and the morals in me,” one of them said. The group once againt looked up at the large, shining stars and the unusually pale moon.
“You can hitch-hike. If not, the Tbilisi bus will come by at three,” Father Tevdore told them the next morning. He hugged each of them separately and gave many kisses to his little Eka. When they started to descend the slope, he once again made the sign of cross at all of them from a distance. From the road, little Eka waved several times back at her father.
That evening, the silence of the snowy monastery was replaced by a terrible noise. Soso was at his friend’s place, where there was a party for the host’s birthday. There was much drinking, and people were quite drunk. Although the birthday boy was the drunkest, he still demanded that everybody fill their wine-glasses and listen to his toasts, but no one was paying attention except Soso. Girls were dancing and screaming. Soso really wanted another drink, and didn’t want to listen to the toasts. Drunk and tired, Soso grew tired of the toasts, asked the toastmaster:
“Come on, let’s drink…”
The toastmaster raised his glass, but soon put it back down and sighed.
“Dammit, I can’t take anymore.” He sat down, put his head in his hands and fell asleep.
Soso smiled, took away the glass he was hugging, then took a deep breath before putting it to his lips. Gega approached him with a smile and put his arm around his shoulder, took the glass away without a word and poured the remaining wine into another empty glass.