A FEAT IN THE NAME OF LOVE
We arrived to a hospital that was located near Moscow at Khotkovo station. My old friend, a woman of 75 years old, Aina Yanovna Folman, a wife of a real man, famous in the world, a writer, a hero of Spain Jean Griva, lay with a stroke. How did Aina Yanovna, Latvian by nationality, appeared in a remote hospital near Moscow?
The hospital struck with poverty and more reminded a dark cellars or slums with a doss house. There are no medicaments in this hospital. A nurse told us that nobody looks after patients and the lying ones are wet in bed. The stench was terrible.
So the picture is horrible, and a question comes involuntarily: "How the woman of such well-known writer who is known and loved in Europe, how she appeared in such awful situation before her death? Why people are so not appreciated in our country? But no - these things will not settle by themselves! All the responsible should pay a terrible price!"
I thought: "Save God, don't let neither to me, nor even to my enemies be in such place before death!"
And I wanted to know what happened, why destiny is so ruthless to this woman, what force forced her to leave her house in Latvia 5 years ago, to leave the daughter who could take care of her, and arrive to Moscow, to live here, to wander in others people's houses, to have difficulties with money and lots to worry about. And all this for the sake of what?
Perhaps this woman was not quite normal? But not, in her 75 she looked vigorous, cheerful and no more when 60. And here is the history I learned.
Aina Yanovna loved her husband very much, and when he died, in her life there was nothing left. Before his death she promised him to publish his books and all five years in Moscow she was engaged only in one: tried to punch through the most famous people of Russia who were familiar with Jean Griva this dream, she asked them to help to publish the books of the husband in Russian.
For about a week she lived at my place and told that addressed to Sergey Mikhalkov and maybe he will help her. And all this week she spoke only about her husband, it was visible that she lived and breathed by him.
I was shocked -twenty years passed, but her memory knew all details from his life. My God, I was in sharp pain near her. If I possessed the powers, and Aina Yanovna came to me - without reflecting, I would help her to publish the works of her husband and to open a museum. But, alas.
For five years she was attending the most famous people, and she managed to publish only two books of her husband.
Well what happened to people? Whether all turned into stones and their impenitent hearts aren't capable to perceive anything?! After all, about such love write in books, all that leaves earth is forgotten and only such love is immortal. The Aina Yanovna's love feat would remain in eternity.
Let's think who of you is capable of such? Her love stored and created a space for many people. Such people are called angels. And here a pure angel, sent to earth to rescue your souls died in the slums of Moscow area, forgotten by all. And I assure you something died in each one who communicated with her. And this slummy hospital is an indicator of your callousness.
Imagine a picture of your soul as a big house with a huge number of rooms, and in one of them there lived an angel by a name of Aina Yanovna, and she preserved this room of desolation. And here the angel died, and in this corner of your soul, in this room now reigns darkness and horror, same which I saw at the hospital on Khotkovo station when visited Aina Yanovna.
After her death I went to a village near Abramtzevo where the last two weeks Aina Yanovna lived. How did she got there? They say that she went to help to one woman by the name of Margarita Ivanovna. And this Margarita worked in a summer camp with children. Aina Yanovna felt sick, and this woman took her in own house.
And here I drive up to the house where Aina Yanovna stayed. Already at the gate a disgusting smell of decay and sewage struck my nose. My friends even refused to come in. I overcame my disgust and entered the house. My God, with which words is possible to describe all the dirt and inconceivable disorder reigning here. For some reason the thought - as in our country so in this house - came.
There was a hostess Margarita, notice - she works with children. A cold shiver ran down my spine. With horror I thought of the parents who entrusted their children to this woman. If I was offered to give her my child and would be paid an extra million dollars for it - I wouldn't give. Her husband also came out, he was very nervous and at once started rowing about something. He was obsessed with evil thoughts, I saw it without glasses.
My request to give the documents and a notebook of Aina Yanovna was followed by an abuse stream, I was explained that as Aina Yanovna for the last week lived with them they have a right for her spiritual heritage. I realized that I can't receive this documents and I couldn't listen to this nonsense any more, and there was nothing to breathe.
Leaving from this (I don't know how to call it)... place I understood why Aina Yanovna died. These people helped her to go to the next world because they saw her papers and decided to use them for making something good for themselves, and when the daughter of Ayna Yanovna would arrive to demand money. That is true, because this woman even before Aina Yanovna's death called me and offered a cooperation and tried to pull such wool over my eyes that I lifted my friends and suggested to go to this summer camp.
Only we didn't reach there then, we mixed the Pine Forest with the Silver. I think that the angelic soul of still live then Aina took us away from meeting with this woman. But after death of Aina we succeeded to meet and see her in all "beauty" and "purity". Also I thought - that's where the real dead people are living.
And a light Aina Yanovna's image will soar over earth, and her feat of love to her husband is immortal. Kind angel Aina, help to the people of Russia to realize where is light and where is darkness. Help them to relieve their hearts of bad thoughts, open the Russian hearts to a kindness and compassion! And I remembered some verses, I don't know their author, but to you, lovely angel Aina Yanovna, I devote them:
... Yes, it is do that angels always,
Rescuing guilty ones fall into abyss.
They go with magicians as a star,
Saving birth, fostering death.
O, keeper angel, if lovingly
I'd wound your whisper with inattention,
Forgive me, I know that you
will be seen by everyone at hour of late date.
When there comes twilight of earth
And empty speeches will unite forever,
All angels will come as ships,
Towards a last defenselessness.
Aina Yanovna's funeral passed in a crematorium. There arrived her daughter Irina. She had to take an urn with the ashes away to Latvia.
To bury a person a great lot of money are needed. We didn't had them. There was only one capable woman with a difficult destiny, she worked in the State Duma, - Wanda Vladimirovna Kolbich. She came out from an orphanage, and now her heart hurt for homeless kids. And she beats as fish of ice trying to rescue them. But how can you save them if today in Russia there are about 3 millions of such.
She took on herself all spendings connected with this sad procedure.
We sat on a green hill opposite of the crematorium and drank a bitter vodka. I looked at Wanda's face and hardly restrained of crying. The funeral itself, rather - commemoration, was an absurdity. Somehow it wasn't combined - the funeral, the hill, the crematorium, the vodka... Perhaps exactly in such disharmony could be born something important?
A mortician joined us. He appeared as a very interesting and clever person. He liked our company. We saw off Aina Yanovna to her long travel and went homes.
This day a verses about my destiny and life were born, and I had a wish to devote them to Wanda, they were suitable for this occasion, and were about such women as we are.
But Wanda also died. There only I left. And there two angels from another world are standing at both my sides. And now our names are written like that: Aina – Maria – Wanda.