Christmas on K. bridge. 4. Grandma

"TALES OF GHOSTS"

about Love and Death from the Land of Mists
a collection of short stories
in the “Playing Another Reality” series

"CHRISTMAS on KUZNETSKY BRIDGE"

4. GRANDMA

“Finally!” my grandma, who had lived and died in Paris, would have exclaimed.

I flew to Charles de Gaulle on Sunday at noon to enjoy Paris and… yes, to die in it. It happens, you know. I had been nurturing that decision for a long time, cherishing it like a mother of a child. I felt absolutely useless to anyone, including the object of my love. To die in Paris, the city of Love, because of the lack of Love… why not a plot for a novel? In addition, my grandma had dreamed of my visit to her beloved city, and I wanted to fulfill my grandma’s dream, even if it was posthumous for her.

The weather was sunny and warm. Approaching the hotel, I noticed the bridge, which was the high-speed metro RER, almost like in the movie ‘The Last Tango in Paris’.

The next morning, I was to be at the Grand Opera, where all group tours started. Fortunately, I found a map in the room and, despite the concierge’s assurances that the Grand Opera was so far away that one couldn’t do without the metro, I made my own foot route. One could feel the city better walking.

After a little rest, I decided to take a walk and reached the huge Gare du Nord railway station, but then I mixed up the streets and, apparently, went in a wrong direction, as a result I got lost. At that desperate moment (I didn’t know French!) something strange happened. The sky changed instantly: clouds came running, the Sun disappeared; and it got very cold. Involuntarily cringing, I looked around and saw in the crowd… my grandma! That couldn’t be! Had she emigrated to Paris, faking her own death?!

“Granny!” I exclaimed, running up to her.

Grandma, all in black, like a nun, although she had a bunch of keys glittering in her hand instead of a rosary, beckoned me to follow her.

“Listen, Granny, two years ago… didn’t you… die?! Do you live here?” I didn’t let up.

“Shh!” she made me a sign and continued on her way.

I realized that it was no use asking questions, my grandma was famous for the character of the ‘Iron Lady’. So I obediently walked after her, with the curiosity of a discoverer, glancing around on the way.

The farther we moved away from the meeting place, the stranger things seemed to me. For example, people on the street. First, there were too many of them. I mean, unnaturally. Secondly, their clothes were striking: someone walked in rags, someone in furs, but most of them were in various theatrical costumes. Ladies and knights of the Middle Ages floated past me, and dirty, like chimney sweeps, horned and tailed devils were snooping everywhere, fanged vampires with traces of blood on their lips flashed from time to time nearby. I decided that a carnival was going on in the city, but I was embarrassed by the faces of the actors, there was something unnatural about them. And the ominous sky in leaden clouds gave to the scene a touch of the devil. Thank God, the lanterns were already lit, although, the farther we wandered, the foggier it became around.

Soon the grandma turned off into a narrow stone-paved street, which was painted in gray-blue tones by the fog. There was a small bar at the end of the street, and I followed my grandma inside.

The space was full of people, but why so many… devils?! Almost every guest was swirling around by at least two tailed-horned creatures, whispering something in both ears. Vulgar, half-naked women with smaller horns danced at the tables and imposingly paced around the bar. My grandma in the clothes of a nun looked completely wild against their background. Not paying attention to anything, she silently led me into the far corner to the gray-haired priest, who was sitting alone at a table by the window with a candle and the Psalter.

The priest gestured for us to sit down next to him.

“Good evening, Father!” I said, trying to break the lingering silence. “What’s going on here?”

The priest took out a scroll from a canvas bag hanging on his chair and handed it to me without comment. I opened the scroll and found…

“No! It’s not true! What’s happening to me is just a dream!!!”

On the left side of the scroll, in the “Minus” column, my “bad” actions and thoughts, written down in black ink, were appearing one after another, while on the right side, in the “Plus” column, something in red ink was appearing and cancelling the left.

I hung over the scroll, and, as I looked through, I noticed that in some rows there were even years between the dates of items on the left and on the right! It was not encouraging as well that even the slightest negative thought on the left demanded, in my opinion, absolutely incomparable sacrifices on the right! Moreover, I made a discovery, as a payment for my ‘crimes’, were indicated not only the good deeds and prayers of my grandma, who had brought me there, but also of my very distant ancestors…

I got scared, but I couldn’t stop watching it and eventually stumbled upon a horrible finale: the penultimate entry on the left was crossed out by my grandma’s vow of silence – so that was why she kept silent! – meanwhile my decision to die in Paris was absolutely nothing to cross out on the right! Below, under the last item, there was a countdown of time!

I put the scroll on the table and clasped my head in my hands. Suddenly, I felt an eerie chill behind me. Looking around, I saw a hanged man. He tried to remove the noose from his neck, but nothing worked.

“Once I tightened it and I can’t take it off for the rest of eternity!” the hanged man complained to me and fell on his knees in front of the priest. “Pray for me, Father! I’m tired of carrying it around! I’ve been wearing it for two centuries, and it’s still like yesterday! Every midnight it suffocates me again and again! I’ve been looking for you for so long, Father! Have pity on me! I swear on the Bible, I’ve done a lot of good deeds in 200 years! I was told that you are the strongest in the matters of praying for suicides!”

The priest nodded, crossing the hanged man’s neck, and the man immediately disappeared. I took another look at the countdown of my earthly time, there were 7 days left. Yes, just like I had planned. However, to spend 200 years in the Other World, like the hanged man, was not in my plans at all!

“Father,” I turned to the priest and nodded at my last point. “I won’t do it…”

The priest looked at me sadly and spread his arms. The countdown in the damn scroll didn’t stop, and the clock kept playing against me!

“So, are you saying that my decision to stay alive won’t affect the date of my death?! Will I be no longer on Earth in 7 days?!” I looked at my grandma in search of salvation, but she was still silent. I sighed, thought about it and summed it up, “Well, you called me to your place so that I could do something good during the 7 days left for me, to leave here at zero point, without ‘minuses’, didn’t you?”

Both the grandma and the priest nodded in agreement.

“But what can I do here in Paris, a foreign city to me? I don’t even know French!!!”

My heart sank at the thought of my helplessness. Grandma spread her hands, which, apparently, meant, “Honey, think of something yourself!”

***

I woke up from the phone ringing, the maid called me in the morning at my request. Washing my face, I couldn’t remember my way back to the hotel the day before, but the meeting with my grandma and the priest was clearly in front of my eyes and, apparently, I would remember it for the rest of my life.

Of course, as I found out later, there were no carnival events in Paris. Perhaps my grandma had led me into a Parallel Reality. That happens when one is on the verge between life and death, and the door between the worlds opens slightly.

“But what should I do?” I pondered frantically. “How can I do so many good deeds?”

At first I thought that I had to refuse the group tours, but I didn’t know French, while I could communicate with the guide and my compatriots in the same language, in case one of them needed help, I would be right there!

***

All these 7 days, during which I continued to see Both Worlds at the same time, in the mornings at the Grand Opera, I joined our tour group, and, despite its quantity, being extremely attentive to everyone, I was able to do a lot of small good deeds unexpectedly for myself.

It can seem that there is no way to help rich people during their beautiful vacation in Paris, if they have already everything. However, if you set the goal of doing as many good deeds as you can, serving everyone in your field of vision, especially remembering that Mr. Death is hanging over you with the verdict ‘To Hell!’, I’m sure, you’ll find plenty of opportunities.

I practically blew the fluff out of the clothes of ‘my’ tourists, holding out my hand to them every time they got off the tour bus. I turned into their personal photographer, but as a matter of principle, I didn’t take pictures of myself. I picked up the things they had dropped. I patiently waited for the end of their endless fittings at Galeries Lafayette, sincerely recommending what really suited them. I brought everyone glasses and cutlery at a self-service restaurant at a lunch stop on the trip to Brussels. I picked up the man when he slipped, saving him from being hit by our bus. I helped them navigate the subway. I provided a charger for their phones, and then gave my phone itself when one man had left his own at the hotel. I bought apples and treated everyone for an afternoon snack. I shared personal contacts of the best masters of their craft. I listened to everyone’s confession, consoled and encouraged, that everything was for the better! I lit candles for their health in Notre Dame de Paris and before going to bed, in my own words, asked God to help them.

At the same time, I tried to do something useful for others – out of our group – just while my moving in space. I helped an old woman, a tourist from Japan, come down the slippery stairs at Fontainebleau, the country residence of kings. I fed a stray dog in the Luxembourg Gardens. I gave my umbrella to a passerby on the Champs Elysees and walked to the hotel without any. I wiped the dust from the top of the sculpture in the Rodin Museum, because the caretaker couldn’t reach it. I caught the hat blown away by the wind in the Tuileries Garden and returned it to the owner, a blind old man. I helped find the mother of a lost child in the Latin Quarter.

And yet… having returned to the hotel on the seventh evening, I suddenly realized how negligible little – yes, not enough! – I have done compared to what I could have done in my entire life if, except for those last days, I had not been fixed on myself.

***

At night my grandma came to pick me up. That time she led me through the mist to a small cathedral, where the same priest met us. I greeted him, and he still silently handed me my scroll.

My heart sank with fear! I looked inside…

Oh no!!! The last item on the left wasn’t crossed out! On the right – yes, through the commas, in red ink, all the actions that I had done in Paris flashed, but they were not enough to pay for the decision – even already withdrawn by me! – to leave the Earth ahead of schedule!

I cast a horrified look, first at my grandma, then at the priest. Grandma smiled faintly and silently pointed with the key from her bunch at the bottom of the scroll where the countdown of my earthly time had previously been displayed… It disappeared!!!

“Thank you!” I exclaimed. “Thank God!!!”

“Shh!” grandma smiled.

“Shh!” the priest echoed her.

January, 2000