Текст книги "Uninvented Stories of Invented People"

Автор книги: Svetlana Isaenko

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 5 страниц)

Chapter four
•Cornflower •

Music School. Final exam. I am 13 years old. I hardly hold my tears back when playing. I hate piano. A couple more minutes of “the torment”, and I finish playing, close the lid, as if the one of a coffin, and tell mom: “I’ll never approach the instrument again.”

I’m 8. I study hard in a music school. Above all kinds of tutors in mathematics, drawing, literature, dance, Russian and Ukrainian languages, there is also one for music. The teacher’s name is Christina Hives. She has always had a perfect manicure. Sometimes she praises me. She says, I possess good sense of pitch and a technique. I have an extremely cherished dream to become a pianist. I already imagine how I assemble the halls and play the Moonlight Sonata at a ball in Salzburg. This was how my mind painted success for that occupation. From time to time my arms and back are beaten by a ruler, so that “I kept the posture correctly and held my hands as if there were tiny pads under the palms.” It’s not painful, but pretty frustrating.

I ail much. I am transferred to distant education. It’s even harder to study at home. Once my teacher starts laughing at me and says I will never do well to become a pianist. I am a mediocrity. To punish her I aggressively draw over the music text with my pen. I am being scolded. I lump the blame onto my younger half-cousin brother. Now he is being scolded. I get even more upset over that dishonourable act of mine and confess everything. I am under the silent treatment at home. Though, the teacher keeps on coming.

I am gifted a kitten. I call him Cornflower. I love him very much. He is gray and of Persian breed – a snub-nosed and long-haired fluffy ball. Cornflower is sweet and funny. He kisses my hands and loves to play. He’s always waiting for me from school.

It is a fine spring day. The snow melts outside the window. Boys float paper boats and I am playing music. Really don’t feel like, but I have to. Mom says: “an Individual should be educated comprehensively.” I am still in no understanding to the meaning of these words. Why paper boats are not the education? But there is something very much important in that.

Ms. Hives, the music teacher, closes the door behind her when leaving after the lesson. Cornflower tries to run out after her and the door treacherously knocks off his paw. The paw hangs on the skin only and the kitten cries wildly. Ms. Hives says that it is my fault and I need to look after my pets. She’s probably right, but it hurts me so much. I am bawling my eyes out.

Mom is worried. Since there are no veterinarians in our town, the kitten is brought to a surgeon. He is a God’s gift of a surgeon. I have always admired him. I am taken home. I wail two days through. I think the kitten’s dead. But a miracle happens. The surgeon’s wife calls me and says:

“Marie, come over and take him back.” I could hardly wait for the time appointed. I get in and see the wife of our most humane and true surgeon sitting there. She is holding a gray lump in her hands, crying and saying:

“Meet this guy… It is your new cat. We could not save Cornflower."

I refuse to take him into my hands, but the surgeon’s wife asks me to. I love and respect their family very much and I know for sure – they do support me. So, this is how I got Simba.

Five years have passed since then. My music teacher continued visiting me twice a week. Mom compassionated me, but “there is no better music teacher to find and you have to graduate from the music school.”

I was more than happy when I finished the playing and put down the piano lid. Freedom. I will never see her again. All these years the music lessons for me have been identical to walking bare foot over a razor blade. This is probably how steel is tempered. This is how character is acquired.

Why am I telling you this? I assure, not for the sake of another sentimental story. If it was not for Ms. Hives, then, perhaps, I would have never become a doctor (you need to have guts in our profession). Otherwise, I would have become a pianist to play Flea Waltz to drunken truck drivers' applauses in some “Under the Birch” tavern (no negative attitude, but not my cup of tea, since musical talent is something, I don’t possess indeed).

My sense of purpose engendered when I was painfully taken away from one dream and given the other one. I was given a desire to rescue (also because of Cornflower), to rescue people, to save souls and help those, who feel bad, those, who found themselves in a deadlock.

Human species grow through pain experience, that cultivates them as personalities. Only through cognition we come to the true ourselves and sometimes this cognition is painful. We cannot change the past, but we can influence the future by working over ourselves in present.

Human entity is constantly being exposed to pressures. Only under pressure we are capable of giving dynamics to our lives. Recollect some most terrible and painful situations from your childhood. In present, due to constant scrolling in your mind, they, very often, painfully pop up in your consciousness and then in your life.

Therefore, everyone is in need of the ability to forgive and be thankful. After all, every life situation gives us an impetus to growth. The only thing we can do in present is to imagine that little girl or the boy, mentally transfer 10 minutes before the moment something happened, come up, hug, calm, make him or her understand, that what would happen, could not be overwise. After that, endow him or her with those gifts and qualities that would help endure… We cannot change the course of past events, but we can change the attitude towards them. That’s the way it should be.

Our dialogue with that little me took place in the following way. Having approached little Marie, who was airily exercising in music with Ms. Hives, I gave her a hug and whispered:

“The time will pass and all will be just fine. That path will be of service at your line.

Yes, it will hurt a lot,

But, dear love, I’m next to you no matter what. There, will I stand tall to support,

With care and love, no matter what.

Don’t get upset, be angry or get down, I am beside to hold you, all around.”

Love the child that dwells inside. Free yourself!

Chapter five
•Julius •

Days passed, as if time was set at accelerated pace. Day gave way to night, autumn to summer, Oleg significantly aged. He began to cough more often and closed himself in the office for longer time. The entire patient load was on me and Annie.

Annie finally met her love – a famous plastic surgeon, a handsome heart breaker Maxim. I did all the prescriptions completely automatically and the diagnoses lined themselves up in my mind based on symptoms and syndromes. Only with experience comes the “sight”. Tired, lifeless eyes and the grieving mouth corners suggested depression. Tense manner, wet palms and restless eyes – anxiety disorder. Those patients were particularly acute to side effects of drugs and other drugs compatibility issues.

The question “Shall I not die?” and many other more appeared because the fear of death overshadowed their consciousness. According to volumes of examination documents and comprehensive “healthy” conclusions, people with generalized anxiety disorder were very much upset when appointed to a psychiatrist: “I have an unknown oncology, I’m telling you, doctor,” “a terrible disease,” and it took a lot of effort to convince such to take the antidepressant medication. However, as a therapy result and a release from these thoughts, the precious “Whee, I’m well!” was more melodic than any of Beethoven’s sonatas. People who ate fractionally, fearing to choke, were also tormented by a neurotic lump, which could easily be removed by means of medications and psychotherapy. Patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder evoked boundless joy and inherent delight when succeeded to do away with their obsessive thoughts and actions. Emotionally, it was very difficult to observe people suffering endogenous processes, the devouring bipolar disorder depression, as well as empirical voices, that threatened, condemned and forced to do terrible things. It was painful to observe, but the desire to help and defeat those unknown biochemical process made me get up early in the morning and run to work. When it is something, you live for, the fatigue and injustice of the system pale into insignificance.

The most difficult for me, and indeed for all psychiatrists, were the patients with anorexia, bulimia and drug addicts. It was extremely hard to achieve healing, but sometimes it worked out well. I hated the latter cases. I never understood how it was possible to choose such a path on one’s own. However, the category of “psychopaths and hysteria” simply adored me. I really liked duty shifts. There, one could taste all the beauty of acute conditions and quickly solve asterisks marked clinical problems. The shifts reminded of an embrasure or a forefront line, where professionalism and tragedy, broken lives and human sincerity, sorrow and motivation, lies and truth, life and death were colliding.

Beside the dear nut house, my Life planet was also inhabited by other residents: my mother, my stepfather, Valentin, a pick-up artist and my university friend Daniel, a childhood friend Alevtina, occasionally appearing classmate Vova, as well as a wise and strong friend Julia, whom I sometimes affectionately called Julius, since she could solve any issue at all. There were no obstacles for her.

Trained as a process engineer, she established a company, that traded aviation equipment internationally around the world. Well-groomed, classy dressed, always in a new car, with two telephones and three kids on hand, she dashed into my office “for a morning coffee” like a Fury, blazing through all and everything on her way. Her charm and charisma were off the scale. She adored to live grand, managed to dwell in male business while raising three children, took care of herself and looked the age of twenty-five, when in fact, was thirty-eight. She was my personal psychotherapist, my spiritual mentor and just an incredibly cool chick.

“How are you?”

“Jul, I’m tired … I want a rest. No money at all, therefore, I don’t even want to go on vacation. You know, our field of medicine is very much identical to prostitution, but more complicated – you brain is fucked for free, at none of your permission. Came to work – got a dinero. Didn’t come – stay starving.”

“Listen up, then it’s time to announce the reception prices. Look at you, saint and hungry. Just imagine someone telling me: ‘Please, provide me a thermal imager for free, we have payment difficulties,’ in your opinion, would I gratify that request? Hell, no! First pay then play. I’ve got kids to feed and a vehicle to fuel. Well, I can understand everything. Like, you leave the clinic in the end of the day with all these brandies, sweets and champagnes of “gratitude” then get yourself to a gas station, to feed your “speed bird”, and tell them: ‘full tank, please!’. The gas station guy inserts the nozzle, meanwhile, you go to the counter, take out two bottles of brandy and a box of sweets and, I would suggest, smile and innocently add: ‘I am right away from the nut house.’ You see, in reality, the world no longer works like that. There is a cash equivalent to everything. Every job should be paid for.”

“Jul, you know my crowd yourself, don’t you? Most of them are just down– and-out, so what’s the talk is about?”

“Listen, I recently saw some poor patient of yours from the 7th ward. Tell you what? She was buying black caviar in the supermarket, while you were pitying her and prescribing medicine at a lower price. When did you eat black caviar for the last time yourself? Marie, it is the moment, that you should stop feeling sorry for everyone. Somehow, no one is feeling sorry for you. Just look at you, the shoulders are stooped, the eyes are sunken, you’ve lost in weight. Are you sleeping at all?”

“Well, I’m. Of course, it’s hard to travel 40 km from Lyubomyrovka every day, but I don’t want to rent an apartment. I feel comfortable there, with all that nature and beauty. Moreover, I think I have already forgotten the taste of caviar. Why would I tease myself then?

“Ooooh! That’s a typical poverty mindset. You deserve all the best in this world! Remember: it is not about you existing for the world, but about the world existing for you! How exactly do you plan to find a man for yourself? Want him to be local, or the one from the hospital?”

“Come on, Jul, that’ll do, will be found anyways.”

“Marie, a woman shall inspire a man to perform feats, bare responsibility for the family. But what kind of muse are you, when there is nothing in your life except that nut house? Young years pass by. Do you think someone will remember your name later, erect a monument in your honor? For the first thing, you should love yourself, be replete and then love will appear. You know, when one person is self-contained and happy and the other is, they meet and love reveals itself to them. Yet, if you are empty then men who come into your life are mother fucking crippled abusers. Never let them snub you. You should love yourself. Estamos?”

That motivational monologue was interrupted by yet another call from the US. Pointing at the phone and waving good bye, Julia rushed to retreat.

I went to have a walk and ponder over the words of my Guru. When it was especially hard, my relief was in walking through the historical places of my dear nut house. I imagined carriages and ladies in beautiful gowns, who majestically hosted their dignified guests in that older estate. I also imagined myself to be a beautiful evening dress, with a parasol in my hand, heading for a festive ceremony, enjoying the singing of birds, the sights of birches and the light summer breeze, in anticipation of a night ball-dance. Julia was right, I was always tired. It is hard to live in the shine-for-the-others-burn– yourself mode. Where does this femininity come from? I am ashamed to take money. I cannot say: “This will cost that much”, let them give as much as they can and…

The mobile vibration from the pocket of my white robe took me away from my thoughts.

Incoming: “Julius”.

“And baby, do understand, you are our ray of sunshine! Remember how we met? When Iliya died, I was beside myself with despair. With three kids on hand, I hardly understood anything in his business. If it were not for you then, I would have never struggled my way out. I love you very much, my dear soul! Everything in the world is so simple and complicated at the same time, that sometimes you start feeling awkward of the unbearable lightness of being. The most important thing is that you act and go for your dream, crawl if you can’t move or lie down in its direction if you can’t crawl! Still, dream on and be clear about what you want. Lifestyle is determined by consciousness. Means, everything will come. It will definitely come true, no matter how complicated things might be, but it comes in the best implementation possible. Just take a step forward! Reconstruct your thinking! Everything will work out! You can get whatever you want. The Universe is benevolent to you and to everyone if you do good in the world. But give yourself a rest and start dreaming on a grand scale! You will meet your love. I am going to take an active part in your wedding celebration. Chins up, Gardes-Marines! Define your dreams. That’s it, love you, regards from the kids.”

The conversation was over. I trudged back to work. 27 years… When I was into the high school studies, there was “no time to mix with the boys”. In addition, mom would not welcome that sort of company and I couldn’t disobey. That sense of guilt pursued me and also, I did not want to let her down. I wanted to be the best for her. “First and foremost is the study”, “you have to rely on yourself”, “you have to succeed as a professional”, “you may consider to have a child only after you become a firm proficient expert”, “all men betray” – these attitudes and beliefs sprouted through me like bamboo, destroying my female nature. This is how iron maidens are raised, who, no doubt, attract crippled men into their lives. The rule is single. Julia’s rights.

We met each other when her husband Iliya was shot. She was in a terrible state when came to an appointment with me. However, together we found the motivation to live and then became friends. In general, according to all psychotherapeutic practice canons, it was not right. Although, the world is bigger than just psychotherapeutic practice. There are people in the Universe sent to you for emotional bond and every person brings his or her knowledge into your existence. The utmost important thing here is to be able to see and hear the prompts… She was my true and devoted friend.

We could spend hours at a glass of red wine in her country house, discussing philosophy, universe, life and certainly English was a must in there. Julia loved to find aesthetics and sense in every moment of life. Her children adored me – three wonderful boys of 12, 8 and 5 years old. After Iliya’s death, she could not push herself to start a new relationship.

“They all are a cheap imitation of him. We were a single unity in everything: sense of humor, attitude, music, leisure… Such kind of love happens once in a century, real and sincere. I have three gifts from him and he lives in them and in me. I love him and will love him, while the rest are just fake, when compared to him. People, like him, are no longer released for me. I wish every woman to know such kind of love. There wasn’t a single day off so that I didn’t have flowers. He was a wizard and fulfilled all my desires. I was a woman next to him and he was a man, and now my memory doesn’t even give me a chance…”

No, she pulled herself together after the death and even went to dates a couple of times. There were many beaus around, but she didn’t see such a worthy father for her children as Iliya was among them.

I remember we went to Kiev together, to take an IELTS test. Before the exam we called to my friend’s restaurant for a dinner. It was a Friday evening. The three of us were sitting, eating and chatting about life. Then Kir says: “Do you mind if Vadim, my partner, joins our company for a bit now?” We were certainly not against. Would even be better, more fun. Vadim was a 36 years old businessman. Tall, handsome and successful. He was used to female attention and, clearly, did not care to deprive himself from that attention. He flirted with us kissing our hands on the occasion of the acquaintance and saw a huge scorch on Julia’s forearm. With sympathy and dalliance, he concerned:

“Where did you get this one?”

“Well, I was changing the blackbody in a thermal imager during its calibration.”

I could see, how Vadim was starting to get a cognitive dissonance. The ‘pull was becoming the push’ and his face became the bewilderment itself. Then I saw an Error message at the display of his consciousness and he writhed out:

“Oh, well … well … well then, put ointment to heel it.”

After that, for some reason, he promptly retreated to sort out some ‘business matters’ and my friend from Kiev, Kir, laughed over than situation for a long while. I don’t know how the dialogue would have gone if Julia had said: “Well, I was cooking pies.” I have a feeling that Vadim would not appear to have any business matters then. For some reason, our modern world does not really encourage intelligent women.

“Well, Marie, why would I need a ‘Jonny pal’ smarter than I. I want a home kitty, eating out of my hand. As for your Julius, I’m even afraid to approach her. She is a beautiful, but dangerous, viper. What would I need her for?” stated my friend Danya after that incident.

Therefore, Julia was completely immersed into projects, children and life and Iliya lived next to her, but in a different dimension.

Having entered the office, I took off the uniform gown. When you put it on, you put on your profession. Your life circumstances become unimportant and you immerse yourself into the world of patients. You experience patients’ difficulties and pains, learn about their thoughts and soul and then disconnect, isolate the symptoms, bring them into syndromes and already prescribe a therapy. Why can’t it be the same with life?

I leave the department at 20.30. I am in no hurry to go home and ponder over all of my suitors in my mind. Kolya, the one I dated for a year at the university, was not approved by my mother. Oleg haunted at discount cheese in supermarket and took home wine leftovers after visiting friends. He blamed me of wasting my student allowance “in the wrong direction”. “Why buying that expensive Ruby Rose cosmetics, while you can manage without it, you still look fine”, he used to say. I fear of men of this kind, because “pettiness of the person equals to pettiness of the soul”. Having a family with the one of these, means to report on every slip for carrot, bought in a convenience store in detail, answering “where did you spend the money, spendthrift?” questions. Definitely negative, while the rest were just of no interest to me. Immersed in these thoughts, I took out my favorite record of Frédéric Chopin and plunged into the stunning emotional world of plot and sound beauty. I don’t remember the author but I read it somewhere: “Music is stronger than love.”

It can put you up to heaven or throw down into the depths of the most mournful emotion. Through the centuries Chopin’s music makes you feel your own soul's vibrations.