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It was a perfectly quiet evening. Not a sound, no echoes, no rustle, just me with mum and dad. At that moment the only thing that separated me from my parents was a layer of fresh mud. I stared at the tomb stone trying to find a meaning to those empty words written by the old priest – ‘A sacrifice in the service of the nation.’
I stared at every letter as if it held a secret. One which I had to unfold on my own. It seemed as though the entire world had accepted it. Everything seemed to carry on; the trees, the shadows, the world. And here I was just staring with no one at my side. However, I couldn’t help feeling that I wasn’t the only one staring, trying to unveil, a secret. I came out of the infinite stare. My mind groped around, in a fix. Millions of questions, none of them answered.
I turned to leave, walk back, return, come back, my quest for a simple answer. Just as I was about to leave the gates, I saw two black gems glaring at me. No not gems, black eyes and a hint of a face and straight black hair. I turned back and walked away. If what I saw were really eyes, I must admit I have never found black eyes so intimidating, so close to an answer, so phenomenal.
Those eyes haunted me the entire night. I searched the entire Mikhailov family tree but all I found was a bunch of people with blue eyes. What I saw was definitely not some family ghost, if that was a ghost that is.
The next evening, I retraced my steps, back to the graveyard, in the same solitude, amidst the shadows. The events unfolded, same as the previous day. I stared again, the trees carried on, yet again, no sound, nothing new, I saw the black eyes, again, and they were right behind me staring. Not at the graves, at me. Surprisingly, I stayed calm. I stood up and looked straight at the black eyes intimidated, but calm. I was right about them, I had seen a face with straight black hair and well, the eyes. They belonged to this girl, tall, pale, with a look which made me feel she could see right through me. And I wasn’t wrong.
“Hello Alexei,” said the girl, breaking the ice.
“How do you know my name?! Who are you?” I blurted back.
The girl smiled as though she found knowing a stranger’s name in a graveyard perfectly normal. “You looked to me as someone who should be named Alexei, so I just guessed.”
“What did you say your name was again?” I asked.
“I didn’t. Its Alexandra,” said the girl with an enigmatic smile.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I like being here. It’s the best place I can think of, to meet new people,” Alexandra replied.
“In a graveyard!” I said.
“You got a problem with that?” she said with a slight frown.
“No, no. Graveyards, very friendly, I mean I love them,” I replied.
“Well, Alexei, as do I,” she replied coolly.
“Ok, nice meeting you, Alexandra, but I must really go now.” I said.
“Go where?” she said as though I had said something very amusing.
“Home,” I replied. “I would advise you to do the same. It’s getting dark.”
“I’ll stay awhile. Goodbye Alexei.”
I walked back home. I had finally found whom the black eyes belonged to but that had got me nowhere close to what I was looking for, a sacrifice in the service of the nation. The quest wasn’t over yet. Strangely, instead of finding an answer to the secret, my mind gripped itself on Alexandra. The way I felt when she looked at me as if she knew something I didn’t. I couldn’t help feeling that she held the answer to my question that she knew the secret. I shut my eyes. All I saw was Alexandra’s piercing black eyes and that mysterious smile. Her voice echoed in my head as I drifted off to sleep, “Hello Alexei.”
The next evening, I went back to resume my unsuccessful quest.
“Hello Alexei,” said a familiar voice from behind me.
“Alexandra!” I said jumping up, “Do you mind not Hello Alexei-ing me from behind? Look, as much as you love this place, it remains creepy, all right.”
“Sorry,” she replied.
There was silence between us. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze, clouds gathered engulfing the graveyard in a vast blanket of gloom.
“Do you want to take a round?” Alexandra asked.
“Okay,” I said.
We walked ahead past my parents’ grave. I could see the vast graveyard before me. All those years of just staring at the engraving. I hadn’t realized that the graveyard was way more than just my parents’ grave. I looked at Alexandra, who seemed to be enjoying every moment of the eerie solitude.
“What is so special in a graveyard that you love it so much?” I asked.
“All these graves, Alexei, they all have a story behind them. I like to know them. I mean the stories beyond those words engraved,” she replied.
“What stories?” I asked.
“You see Mister Vitally Romanov’s grave over there?” she said pointing at a red tombstone. “Romanov was the Vladimir’s aide. More like his right hand man. He was poisoned at the New Year’s dinner two years ago. At first, people thought he had merely choked on his food but it was later found that his vatrushka had a generous amount of cyanide. His death was then termed as murder. The murderer was however discovered only after his death,” she said.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“The murderer was Vicktor Pliskov, ex-ambassador to USA. He was sacked because of Mister Romanov,” she replied
“And so he just tips a bottle of cyanide in Romanov’s vatrushka, sweet!” I said.
“Oh, he regretted it,” said Alexandra.
“How do you know that?”
“He committed suicide by drinking the poison himself,” she replied.
“His grave is in that far corner, away from Romanov’s.”
“You seem to know a lot. What about that one over there?” I asked pointing at a random grave with a green tombstone.
“That is Mrs. Olga Makarova, I attended her funeral,” said Alexandra.
“Oh I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh it’s alright,” she replied as she gazed at Mrs. Makarova’s grave.
“Were you family?” I asked after a short, uncomfortable silence.
“Oh no, she was my next door neighbor. I miss her though, she made amazing kotlety. Besides I am a Kuznetsov, Alexei,” she replied.
“Alexandra Kuznetsov, humongous name, that,” I said.
“Alexandra Natalya Kuznetsov. Does that make it sound any better?” she said with a smile.
“You have a sense of humour?” I asked smiling back.
“Just because I like graveyards does not mean I don’t like to laugh,” she retorted.
“But you didn’t,” I said.
“Didn’t what?” she said raising her brow.
“Laugh,” I said.
For a moment, everything went into a pause. Alexandra looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand. I looked back at her.
Something passed between us and in a fraction of a second, we burst out laughing.
“I don’t get what was so funny,” said Alexandra her voice filled with laughter.
“Neither do I,” I said.
“Then why are we laughing?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
We laughed till our stomachs couldn’t take it anymore. Once we had caught our breath and got it all in control, I smiled at Alexandra and said, “That’s good, I mean some laughter in the graveyard.”
“Yes it is,” she answered.
I looked at the horizon, the sun was going down. I turned to Alexandra and said, “Well then, it’s getting dark. I got to go.”
“Bye Alexie,” she whispered back.
That night was different. I didn’t really know how, but different. For the first time, I returned from the graveyard without hunting for an answer. I thought about Mr. Romanov and Mrs. Makarova. That oaf of a man, Vicktor Pliskov also crossed my mind. I thought about their relatives, probably someone who like me, was trying to make meaning out of the empty words engraved on their loved one’s grave. Alexandra was right about one thing, there were stories beyond the engravings. Maybe they took time to come but when they did, they were really clear.
The next evening, I made my way back to the graveyard. I stopped at my parents’ graves to offer a small prayer. I stood up, without paying much attention to the engraving and looked for Alexandra. She wasn’t at our usual meeting place. I walked ahead, past Romanov’s grave, looking around to catch a glimpse of her. Just yesterday I had told her against Hello Alexei-ing me from behind but I had nothing against her standing close to my parents’ grave with those black eyes staring at me. Then again, I did not want to believe that her love for the graveyard had vanished overnight. I kept walking, when suddenly beside Vicktor Pliskov’s grave, clad in a red sarafan over a white shirt, with her hair done up as if she was a modern day grand duchess about to ascend the throne. I walked up behind her silently and said, “Hello Alexandra!”
She gasped and turned behind. “Alexei! You scared the jujubes out of me,” she said.
“Why are you in such a far flung end of the graveyard?” I asked.
“I’m waiting for Bogdan,” she replied, “It’s his birthday today.”
“Who’s Bogdan? And why are you celebrating his birthday in a graveyard? I asked.
Alexandra smiled at me, that same enigmatic grin.
“Patience Alexei! You are too curious,” she said
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
“That,” she said pointing at a small boy, walking towards us, “is Bogdan.”
I looked in the direction in which she was pointing. Bogdan did not look above nine. He had blonde hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a simple brown fur coat over a white shirt and a fur cap which was too small for him. He grinned at Alexandra and gave me an uncertain glance.
“Zdrasvstvuyte Bogdan! S dnem rozhdeniya,” said Alexandra beaming at him.
“Spasibo Alexandra! I’m glad you came,” the boy replied. Alexandra gave him a hug and said, “I have something for you.” She took out a small box from her satchel and handed it to Bogdan. He opened it and his face broke into a thousand bits.
“You got me a pastilla! Thank you, Alexandra!”
“You’re welcome.”
Bogdan broke the pastilla into three parts. He gave one part to Alexandra, took the largest part himself and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Oh I almost forgot. Bogdan that is Alexei Mikhailov. He’s a good friend of mine,” said Alexandra.
“Please to meet you Bogdan and happy birthday!” I said holding out my hand.
“Thanks Alexei,” he said, shaking my hand.
“Would you like a pastilla?” he said, holding the pastry out.
“Thanks Bogdan!” I said, taking the pastilla from his hand. The three of us had our pastillas in silence. I saw some mourners enter our domain and put some flowers on a grave. They regarded Alexandra with half a glance and made their way towards the exit. While walking one of the ladies dropped a small pouch and was walking away unnoticed. Alexandra having finished her pastilla got up and picked the pouch. She walked briskly up to the lady and said, “Excuse me? Your pouch I believe. It fell out of your purse.”
“Oh yes! Spasibo dear,” said the lady taking the pouch. She then joined her group and walked out of the graveyard while Alexandra came back and sat down resuming our pleasant solitude.
After finishing his pastilla, Bogdan got up and looked at us.
“Bye Alexandra,” he said beaming at her, “Alexei, pleased to meet you, bye.”
“Bye Bogdan,” Alexandra and I said together.
He turned and walked away. I watched as he went past Makarova’s grave towards my parents’. He walked with a limp, something I hadn’t noticed when I first saw him. It was as if he had something troubling him in his abdomen. I looked at Alexandra and asked her, “Is Bogdan hurt? I mean, he’s limping.”
“He has a wound just above his waist, that is what hurts him,” Alexandra replied.
I nodded and looked again at the direction of Bogdan. I was surprised at what I saw or what I didn’t see, more like Bogdan had disappeared.
“Where’d he go?” I asked Alexandra, dumbfounded.
“Home,” she replied.
“Home,” I repeated.
“What’s, that grave’s story?” I asked, pointing towards the grave where the mourners had placed flowers.
“That is the grave of Tatiana Chibulkova. She died of frostbite at 16,” said Alexandra.
“That’s so young! How did she get it so bad?” I asked.
“She was a figure skater. She went for practice at Grozny with some friends. After practice as she was walking out of the track, she stepped on broken ice and got stuck, her friends tried to help her out but the icy water pulled her down. Her friends called her parents and a hefty iceman. Tatiana had landed on hard ice not so deep below. However, they found her covered in frost bite. They rushed her to the local hospital but it was too late,” Alexandra said.
“Must have been a shock to her parents,” I said.
“Well, they never let their younger daughter, Mashka figure skate and they miss her terribly,” replied Alexandra.
I sighed and looked up at the sky. The sun was not covered by clouds that day. It shone low in the sky, about to bid farewell to the day, carrying with it hopes, sorrows, new experiences and secrets.
“Let’s take a round, shall we?” said Alexandra getting up.
“Let’s take a straight, you mean. The road’s straight, not circular,” I said grinning.
“I don’t find it funny but I am still laughing,” said Alexandra, “C’mon, Mikhailov.”
“Yes ma’am.”
We walked past Tatiana’s grave. I could imagine her spirit, living her dream of being a figure skater. We went past the graves and reached the turn where I had last seen Bogdan.
“Don’t worry, Bogdan is safe at home,” said Alexandra as if reading my mind.
I nodded as we walked up to my parent’s grave. I stopped at their tombstone and gazed at the famous engraving.
“A sacrifice in the service of the nation,” I said aloud.
“Sacrifice indeed,” said Alexandra looking at the grave, “The Mikhailovs were the bravest people I ever knew. The year was 2000 with the second Chechen war underway. Ivan and Anzhelika Mikhailov were posted in Duba Yurt. Ivan Mikhailov had gone to war that fatal day. He was in charge of the Russian artillery shell in Duba Yurt. His wife Anzhelika was a nurse posted at the same site where her husband went to war. As it happened that day, while Ivan was positioning the troops, he saw an old man about to enter the domain. He ran towards him to get him out of there before the disarming. He reached about 15m away from the man who seemed busy kicking stones. Just as Ivan was about to call out to the man, a stray grenade burst right where Ivan was standing, taking his life. The old man was an Ichkerian soldier in disguise and what he was kicking wasn’t stones. It was a live grenade. This explosion was long range. Some of the particles hit the nearby medical camp setting it on flames. Anzhelika perished in those flames while trying to get one of the soldiers out to save his life.”
There was silence, a short one to take in the news. Before long, Alexandra continued, still looking at the ground, “The Mikhailov family left the world that day.”
Silence. It engulfed us. I stood there rooted to the spot. Alexandra had answered the biggest question of my life. Something which no one answered before and I never knew why. A tear traced its way down my cheek. I could hear Alexandra sobbing. I looked down to see that famous engraving once again. What I saw in my line of vision swept me off my feet. It was right there, in front of me, the secret I had been looking for, the answer. I read the engraving on the epitaph-
‘Alexei Andrei Mikhailov’
‘The lone angel taken by his creator.’
I felt Alexandra clutching my arm, “You see Alexei, there are stories beyond the engravings. But your engraving got one thing wrong,” she said, “You are not alone. You are Alexei, a good friend of mine.” She added, her face beaming but lined with tears. A good friend she was and will always be.
Alexandra had taken me home.