The Conviction of Things Not Seen…Hebrews 11:1
Boihze moi. What a terrible day.
I came out tonight to walk in the woods, to be alone, to think. The woods are quiet, but never still. Many things I do not know, but I grew up on a farm, so the woods I understand.
I am Russian. Sometimes it seems strange to me, the things I have seen. I do not mean just things of the world, or of men. I have been lucky enough to see much more. On a farm, one has little time for learning or for art, for anything except the soil, but I am Russian, and all Russians have the love of beauty in their hearts, whatever their work. And I have had good fortune. I am not anything more than what would have been a peasant, in another time, but I have traveled more than my ancestors ever dreamed of, I have the power to become living steel, and if there is much I do not know, then there is so much more still to learn. I would never turn my back upon the world that has given me so much.
I think it is this that makes what I have seen this day so hard to understand. I have seen what Rogue could create and wonder how she could want to give that up, to walk away from life and love and everything there is.
I do not understand, and I hate the thought of what she caused. I cannot forget the look on Katya’s face when she heard the news. And then the hours of waiting, of watching grief and anger and blame being shared among us all.
To leave such pain behind you—I cannot understand how anyone could bear the thought. It angers me, the cruelty of it. And then I think how much pain could be endured before one ceases to care for anything else, and I know I must find the strength in my heart not to condemn.
I did not know Rogue well. Perhaps none of us did. I have not much experience with understanding women. My own sister is only a child, and I have not seen her since I came to America. When I think of her, she is always laughing, as young girls do. I think perhaps Rogue was not always like I have known her, calm and serene and serious. I think perhaps she was a laughing child herself once. Only there is no one to remember it. That is a sad thing, for no one to remember.
So I will try to forgive her. Kitty came to me and cried when she heard Rogue would live. She is good, Katya. She should never know such pain.
Her grandmother knows that. Her grandmother is the sort of woman I understand. She would have been no different if she’d been born in my own village—I knew a dozen women like her, women who had lived a long time and raised families and seen the best and worst that human beings could be. Nothing surprised them, nothing upset them, and always, always they had a word of advice for the young ones. And their bright eyes saw everything.
The more you live, the more you see. Never did I think I would see the things I have seen. Some I did not want to see, but this we do not always choose. Some things I have seen are beautiful. Katya is beautiful—a fairy princess. So American. So funny. So kind. When I came here, barely speaking English, feeling big and shy and foolish in this strange country, I used to look forward to seeing her smile every day. Some days I felt there was nothing else.
If there was nothing else…
So.
So now I should understand. I should. I am not sure I can. But I can see, yes, to be surrounded by beautiful things one cannot share in…
If I had been born a hundred years ago, I would have worked the soil and my hands would now have been callused and hard with work. I would not have been able to teach them to use a pen or a brush. I wonder if I would have hated the world for being held away from me.
There is a clearing here, where one can stand and look up and see the stars. The stars are beautiful, but cold and far away. They are so very far away. They do not come and stand beside you, and take your hand, and smile. You can look at them and wish, but that does not bring them closer.
I wish one of us had been there for Rogue. To make her smile.
Katya began to hope again when the strange man arrived. I was not sure she should. I did not understand what he could do. And Katya explained, and we prayed together. She taught me words in the language of her grandmother, and of her ancestors, v’niv’a she’ah, hoshi’e-nu, v’nerafe, Adonai, refa’ei-nu.
Through untold generations, though the words change, I think the plea remains the same. Save us, and we shall be saved, heal us and we shall be healed. Katya has always said she does not believe, and yet she spoke those words in the ancient tongue in her grief.
I have faith. I know my poor English makes it hard for me to explain what that means to me. I do not mean the simple faith of my own forefathers, the trust in a God who knows when each sparrow falls. I grew up a Soviet, and I think that kind of pure and childlike belief can be truly achieved only by children. But still I believe. I believe that joy is better than sorrow, that love is better than hate, that life is better than death. That there is a greater good, whatever one’s own troubles are. That one has no right to add to the pain of the world.
That is not what many mean by faith, and perhaps I express my thoughts badly. I cannot say. I do not know that it matters what you believe. Only that you believe.
I will go in now. Katya and Jubilee went to put Rogue’s room in order, in hopes that she could return to it tonight, at Dr. Grey’s request. There was such relief on her face when she came into the common room, to tell us that Rogue would live. To be a doctor is to see more suffering than most. It was good to know that her efforts were not in vain.
I will go inside, and find Katya, and see that she smiles for me tonight. That, too, will be good.
To whatever gods may listen to us here on earth, spaceeba. It was well done of you.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
An interlude. After everything that's been going on, there should be a moment of calm before the next morning begins. And also the last new character we'll hear from, so help me.
Anyone here speak Russian?
Anyone here speak Russian?