In the spirit of fairy tales, which usually involve a journey and a moral conclusion, I will tell you my own story of this past weekend.
Once upon a time, there was a young girl, a newcomer to the city. She had curly hair and traipsed around town snapping pictures and jibber-jabbering away in a strange tongue. The townspeople knew her as “the foreigner” and were amused with her, so they let her stay in their city. The townspeople realized that this foreign girl was interested in every aspect of their day-to-day lives, in things that seemed quite ordinary to them. So they began inviting her to take part in their activities: grandmothers’ birthdays, afternoons at the arcade, trips to the Philharmonic, an excursion to see the city’s piglets, tours around the church, the Saturday market, and even a monument to a letter in the alphabet.
The girl responded to all these trips with simple exclamations of delight, like the sounds a small child would make when you give her candy. To satisfy her curiosity and interest in random subjects, the girl’s friends Masha* and Dasha and Sasha, and Pasha planned a journey to a nearby village called Yb. There, they would meet a man with magical powers, who controlled bees with the smoke from a pipe and convinced the bees to give him all of their hard-earned honey. In return for their sweet nectar, the man built the bees many colorful houses for their families, where they worked, fought, and played until the winter months when they would fall asleep like bears.
The Magical Beekeeper was pleased that his guests were so interested in his powers. He cut some honeycomb and let the group eat the sticky, golden goop with their fingers. After showing the visitors his kingdom, the Beekeeper offered to take them on an enchanted ride through the woods in his mechanical carriage. The carriage had one seat fewer than was needed for such a large group but the foreign girl and her friends Masha and Dasha and Sasha and Pasha squeezed together and magically fit. Along their journey, the faced many obstacles: giant ravines filled with sucking mud, threatening haystacks looming across the road, and tall stalks of borshevick, which when touched in the sunlight will burn your skin.
They traversed the path successfully and arrived at their first destination. Out of the ground bubbled up fresh water, water said to have spiritual powers. The water flowed into a dilapidated hut, and inside the hut was a clear blue pool. The Beekeeper explained how bathing in the pool could heal all sorts of pains. At the bottom of the water, sparkled many coins and among the money sat a frog. The frog sat at the bottom of the pool and peered up at his visitors and thanked them for visiting such a lonely place. Outside of the hut, the hill gave way to a wide panorama. Far into the distance the girl could see colorful trees with golden and burnt orange hues. The landscape flattened out and in the distance you could see where God has sewn the horizon together, where the forest was stitched together with the clouds.
The troupe returned to their carriage and once again, magically fit inside the doors. The Beekeeper chose another route to return home, touring through the majestic countryside. They stopped at one vista, on a bluff overlooking a coiled river with bell towers of a church disappearing into the distant afternoon sun. The Beekeeper explained that within the walls of the church lived many ladies. The women wore only black and kept mostly to themselves. The blue copulas beckoned to the foreign girl and her companions. The Beekeeper returned them to their vehicle, bid them farewell, and group set off yet again.
After winding through the village roads, past houses that looked like they were dipped in Easter-egg dyes, the five-some reached the gates of the monastery. The ladies in the group including the foreigner, Masha, and Dasha tied brightly pattern scarves around their heads and then they all entered the complex. The cluster of buildings sat on hill, towering over the town and the river. The blue bell towers matched the brilliant blue natural backdrop. Our small procession of characters wandered throughout the yard of the compound, seeing the women in their long black robes but not interrupting their duties.
After admiring the scenery and the fine workmanship of the gardens and buildings, the five were approached by a somber woman, her pancake-round face showing the only hint of skin on her body. It was forbidden to wander and take pictures of their property the woman explain. But she forgave them for their indiscretions and guided them toward the exit, her robe billowing around her body as she walked them to the gate.
Well, even fairy tale characters need to eat. So the next stop along the companions’ trip is a picnic spot, hedged between two thick growths of evergreens overlooking a bend in the river. With songs and music, the gathering enjoyed fairy tale fare and drink, had their fill of both songs and food and decided it was time to head back. The Land of Yb was delightful and magical, but their own town was home. It was beginning to be home, even for the little foreign girl.
*Some of the names in this story have been changed to increase your appreciation for similar sounding Russian names. Several names have been kept the same, because the matched the other similar sounding names.