Flight from the USSR

The Monk

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go any farther. The car’s not gonna make it,” the driver told his passengers as he switched off the engine. They all got out, dragging their backpacks.

“Is it far from here?” Soso asked as he looked up at the mountain top.

“We’ll be there in an hour, even sooner if we walk quickly,” Dato said.

“Shall we let the driver go then? There’s fresh snow and the car’s really going to be in trouble for nothing,” Paata said.

“If I had chains on my wheels, I’d take you. But there’s no way it’s going up without them, I know that for sure. It’s a Soviet car…”

The driver was clearly pleased at having the lads agree so easily. He eagerly took the money from Dato, who hurriedly started up the snowy slope. The others slowly followed him. Soso even paused several times to take in the scenic white valley.

“There’s a scene for one of your paintings,” Kakhaberber said to Soso with a smile, still surprised at the early snow.

“It really is very early to have snowed here,” Soso agreed. They didn’t talk further, knowing it would only tire them as they climbed.

Soon, the monastery appeared. It was so beautiful against the background of white mountains that they all stopped. Soso smiled and more to himself than to others, uttered his favourite phrase:

“He’s still the greatest painter…”

“Who?” asked Paata.

Soso didn’t answer, he only pointed at the monastery’s entrance where a robed monk was standing with a little girl, looking at the guests. Then, the monk and girl came down the hill to meet the hikers on the road. Greeting his guests, the monk hugged Dato and the brothers, and then firmly shook Soso’s hand.

“This is Soso, our friend the painter, the one I told you about, who wanted to come,” Dato told the monk. Everyone took off their backpacks.

“May God turn all your roads into the road of virtue,” the monk said, mostly to Soso as he tried to carry his backpack.

“We’re almost there,” Soso said, not letting the monk take his bag. He carried his backpack up to the monastery, where its white yard was a really wonderful sight. There were only a few small rooms left at the monastery, and a larger refectory, where the boys put their food so they could prepare a meal.

Before they ate, the monk said the Lord’s Prayer and made a cross. The group followed his example, including little Eka, who said the Lord’s Prayer together with her father as she looked up at him with a pleased expression. During the meal, she behaved like a true hostess, showing such hospitality to her father’s guests that they couldn’t help smiling. Her father was quite proud of his little hostess and praised her several times. In appreciation, the little lady affectionately kissed her father. Then, Dato broke the silence and said what must have been on everyone’s mind:

“So strange it’s snowed here so early. We’re still having a warm autumn in Tbilisi.”

“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.

“What do you want?” Soso asked, motioning that he wanted a cigarette.

“I need to talk to you, let’s smoke on the balcony.”

Soso felt too lazy to go out, but he still followed Gega and began to smoke on the balcony. As the noise of dancing and screaming drifted out from inside, Gega closed the door behind them.

“Did you see him?” he asked Soso as he lit a cigarette.

“Who?”

“Father Tevdore.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you talk?”

“We did.”

“What about?”

“Kant.”

“Did you go up there to talk about Kant?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, ok?”

“Knowing your hangovers, you’ll be dead tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is November 7th, every decent man should be dead like me.”

“Why?”

“To skip it.”

“Is that why you drank so much?”

“I had forgot. I wasn’t even going to drink, but then I saw red banners being hung on the way here.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Let’s go home, Tina and I will see you home.”

“I want to drink more.”

“You don’t need anymore, if you drink more you might skip the whole month of November…”

Soso smiled, and Gega understood that his friend had agreed to go home.

The three of them went down the stairs together, humming to themselves, but Soso still lost his step. Tina and Gega took hold of him from both sides and Soso asked with a smile:

“Am I that drunk?”

He put his arms around them both and was happy his friend was in love. They stopped a taxi and Soso hummed all the way to his house. When he was getting out of the car, he hugged the driver and asked him with a serious face:

“Want me to take a message on your behalf to the New York cabdrivers?”

The driver smiled and answered: “My regards…”

“I can manage myself,” Soso said to Tina and Gega at the door.

“We’re going to the sea for a week,” said Gega.

Soso was surprised. “Now? Try not to freeze.”

“How can we freeze if we’re together?” Gega put his arm around Tina and kissed her.

“You are too beautiful for this government, be careful,” said Soso.

“What?”

“You are too beautiful for the authorities, Soso repeated as he climbed the stairway of his place.

Tina and Gega didn’t take another taxi. They walked down the street, with both sides adorned with fluttering red Soviet flags. It was already late, and the lovers silently continued down the empty street. Suddenly, Gega stopped and looked up at a red flag with a smile. Tina knew right away what he intended to do. She smiled as Gega quickly climbed up one of the poles to tear down a flag. He took hold of it, tugged it lightly at first, and was about to try the second time when policemen riding a motorcycle suddenly stopped under the pole. Gega and Tina were surprised, and didn’t even understand how a patrol had suddenly and noiselessly appeared on an empty street. Whether it was fear or confusion, the couple was dumbfounded.

“Come down, boy!” barked the mustached policeman sitting at the wheel, switching off his engine. The second policeman was heavy to the point of being obese. Tina even wondered how someone so fat could fit into the seat, though it was the wrong time to think about that. The mustached cop beckoned Gega to come down with his finger, while the fat one pulled out a tin of pickles and bit one, noisily munching. Gega climbed down, gave a strained smile to the silent Tina and looked closely at the mustached policeman, who asked him severely:

“What were you doing up there?”

“I was kissing the flag, commander,” Gega said.

Suddenly it seemed possible that he could joke with these two.

“Are you laughing at us?” asked the mustached one sternly, looking over at his partner. The fat policeman was crunching on another pickle, but not taking his eyes off Gega. As if trying to place his face, he suddenly cried:

“You, boy, aren’t you an actor? I’ve seen you in the movies, the one when you wanted get married and your brothers won’t let you, isn’t that you?”

“Yes,” Gega nodded to the fat policeman, “it’s me, I’m an actor.”

“I was like that too when my older brother wouldn’t let me get married, saying he should be first. If I had listened to him, I would still be single.”

The fat policeman bit another pickle and looked at his partner, “Let him go, he’s a good boy.”

Before starting their motorcycles, the mustached policeman looked at Tina, then up at Gega:

“Don’t mess with that flag son, they don’t like such things and they won’t spare you.”

“Thank you,” said Tina. But the policemen didn’t hear. They were already off on their motorcycles, with the Soviet engines roaring in the empty streets.