What, and you don’t want her to leave the provinces or for her kid to have a father?
Why are you asking me about this?
Because you still haven’t looked at what’s happening from her perspective. If you can manage to do that, it means you love her and you have to go see her.
At the end of May, Stroev told Utkin:
You know, Ilya, I think I’m going to go.
Stroev got on the train and headed for Pskov. Poplar fluff was bursting through the windows. As Stroev rode, he thought he wouldn’t even find Alexandra there again. He’d go to the door and nobody would open it for him. He’d press his forehead against the kitchen window and, after he’d placed his palms to his temples so the reflections wouldn’t get in the way, see remainders of his former happiness. The lampshade, the table. An empty table. His heart would shrink. A reproachful Parkhomenko (and I played for you, you know) would come out of the neighboring door, all big shoulders and short legs. And that, it turns out, is what was behind the music. They’re not here, Parkhomenko would say, they went away forever. For. Ever. It took too long for you to get yourself together. Essentially, what’s happening here isn’t really about time, because true love is beyond time. It can, after all, wait an entire lifetime. (Parkhomenko sighs.) The cause of what’s happening here all lies in the absence of an internal fire. Your trouble, if you will, is that reaching final conclusions just isn’t your thing. You’re afraid the decision you make will deprive you of further choice, so that paralyzes your will. Even now, you don’t know why you’ve come. Meanwhile, you’ve missed out on the best thing life had arranged for you. You had, I can report to you, all the conditions that nature could present a person: a place to live on a quiet Pskov street, old linden trees outside the window, and good music on the other side of the wall. You didn’t take advantage of any of the things I just listed, so this trip is, just like your previous trip, a complete waste of time.
A complete waste of time, Ambrogio said pensively.
A complete waste of time, repeated the merchant Therapont.
Ambrogio Flecchia turned up in Rus’ in either 1477 or 1478. The Italian was met with reserve—but without hostility—in Pskov, where the merchant Therapont sent him. He was received there as a person whose goals are not entirely clear. People began treating him more warmly when they were convinced he was only interested in the end of the world. Determining the time the world would end seemed like an estimable pursuit to many, for people in Rus’ loved large-scale tasks.
Let him determine it, said Mayor Gavriil. Experience tells me that signs of the end of the world will be most obvious here.
Mayor Gavriil became the Italian’s patron after getting to know him better. Ambrogio did not manufacture anything or trade anything, so he would not have had an easy time of things without that patronage. Essentially, he completely owed his rather decent life in Pskov to the mayor’s generosity.
Gavriil liked talking with Ambrogio. The Italian told him about past prophesies in history, about indications of the end of the world, about famous battles, and just about Italy. When he talked about his homeland, Ambrogio was crushed that he could not convey the undulating blueness of the mountains, the damp saltiness of the air, and many other things that made Italy the most wonderful place on earth.
But were you not sorry to leave a land like that? Mayor Gavriil once asked him.
Of course I was sorry, answered Ambrogio, but the beauty of my land did not allow me to concentrate on what is most important.
Ambrogio devoted all his time to reading Russian books, attempting to find in them an answer to the question that was troubling him. Many people who knew about his quest asked when the end of the world would come.
Me thinketh it be knowne only to God, Ambrogio answered, evading. I have ofte read in books of what is sayde, morover, there is not any numeric agreement within them.
The contradicting sources flustered Ambrogio but he did not abandon his attempts to determine the date of the end of the world. It surprised him that there was no sense this menacing event was approaching, despite the indication that the end of the world was most likely to come during the seven thousandth year. Things were precisely the opposite: Ambrogio’s small and large visions concerned much later years. Essentially, he was even glad of this, though it increased his perplexity.
The birth of the Antichrist in the year 6967 was approaching (Ambrogio read) and there will be created an erth quake soche as has never been before this woeful and fierce time and there will then be great mourning, on all the land of all times and places.
Yes (thought Ambrogio), the Antichrist should make an appearance thirty-three years before the end of the world. But year 6967 from the Creation (this was year 1459 since the Birth of Christ) had passed long ago and indications of the coming of the Antichrist were still not tangible. Did it follow that the end of the world was being indefinitely postponed?
One day, Mayor Gavriil said to him:
I need someone willing to go to Jerusalem. I want him to hang an icon lamp in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, in memory of my perished daughter Anna. And that person could be you.
Well sure, Ambrogio said, I could be that person. You have done a lot for me so I will take the icon lamp in memory of your perished daughter.
Mayor Gavriil embraced Ambrogio.
I know you are waiting here for the end of the world. I think you will be able to return before then.
Do not worry, mayor, said Ambrogio, for if the expected does occur, it will be conspicuous everywhere. And a visit to Jerusalem is auspicious.
Loaf baker Samson was being led down the street, bound.
My glorious, lovely bread products and baked goods, said the loaf baker, weeping. I loved ye more than life, my own or anyone else’s, for I could nurture you like nobody else in this entire burg of Pskov. That holy fool Karp grabbed you with his unclean mouth, dragged you along the ground, and gave you away to people who were not worth your heel, and they all smiled, trustinge he was doing a good deed. And I smiled, for what else could I do when everyone considered me a good person and, yes, I was a good person, when it comes right down to it. It’s just that the level of what was expected from me exceeded the level of my kindness—and that does happen, no surprises there. And so, I do report to you, that a malice as heavy as lead simply filled the gap inside me, between the kindness expected and the kindness possessed. The gap increased and the malice increased and the smile that bloomed on my lips was, if you can believe it, a sort of spasm.
Do you know how long you have already been in Pskov? holy fool Foma asked Arseny.
Arseny shrugged.
Well, I know, exulted holy fool Foma. You have already worked things out for Leah and for Rachel and some third person, too.
Only not for Ustina, Arseny said in his heart.
Foma pointed at loaf baker Samson, who was being led away by guards, and shouted:
There’s no more point in your silence now that Karp’s gone. You could be silent because Karp spoke. You don’t have that opportunity now.
So what am I supposed to do now? asked Arseny.
Karp invited you to Heavenly Jerusalem but you didn’t become his traveling companion. Which is understandable: you wouldn’t go there without Ustina. But go to earthly Jerusalem and pray for her to the Almighty.
But how will I get to Jerusalem? asked Arseny.
I have this one idea, said holy fool Foma. But for now, buddy, give me the bag with Christofer’s manuscripts. You won’t be needing them anymore.