pursuing higher education. He began making plans, yet remained undecided about his future. He felt he could excel at anything he put his mind to.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. On a warm April evening, the two friends attended an operetta that had opened six months prior – a musical performance of Dunayevsky's Grooms. Although it was a comedy, Sacha was preoccupied with worries about his mother, who had been drinking heavily with a neighbor the previous day.
The performance ended late, and as Sacha returned home, he noticed a commotion near his house. Smoke and flames emerged from the cellar window where he and his mother resided in a tiny room. Fueled by desperation, he pushed through the crowd to reach the burning building. Despite attempts to hold him back, he broke through the fire. Tragically, a burning beam collapsed at that moment. The firemen managed to rescue him, but he was left unconscious and severely burned.
For three days, Mark visited both patients in the emergency room. His mother had been struggling with another course of treatment for two weeks, while Sacha remained unconscious due to his injuries. And thus, Mark lost his best friend…
The trees along the boulevards were veiled in a green haze, and the air carried the intoxicating scents of young leaves, freshness, and damp earth, along with something intangible and exhilarating. This time of year always held the promise of something new, something positive – a sense of renewal. And yet, it was also a time of profound loss!
Mark wandered the streets in a daze. Despite his naturally optimistic disposition, always meeting difficulties with a smile, he felt utterly bewildered. The tragic loss of his best friend had taken him by surprise, leaving him emotionally disoriented. Even his beloved books, which had always been close companions, couldn't provide solace during this trying time.
Witnessing his son's profound distress, the seasoned Yakov shared his wisdom:
«Life goes on, my son. You have to carry on despite the pain of loss. It'll hurt, and that's something you'll have to live with. But believe me, only hard work can ease that pain, little by little, yet it will never completely vanish.»
Mark, on the verge of tears, looked up at his father. The words continued to flow:
«So, all I can advise you, my son, is to work diligently, study diligently. Don't give up, no matter what challenges come your way. And be prepared for other losses that life may bring.»
«Daddy, is this your way of comforting him?» Anna was taken aback by her father's unexpected speech.
«I'm not trying to comfort him. Everyone has to find their own way to cope. I'm simply trying to prepare him for the realities of adulthood,» Yakov explained.
«I understand now, Dad. Thank you,» Mark replied gratefully.
Two years later, Maria also passed away. With his school days behind him, Mark felt a newfound clarity of purpose. He could now embark on his journey to Leningrad, where his dreams of the sky beckoned him.
Beloved little sister, who was experiencing a difficult farewell, and their father remained in the capital. But for Mark Maretsky the Moscow chapter of his life had come to an end, and in that moment, it seemed as if it were for good.
Chapter 8: «To Moscow…» and in Moscow
The Mirachevsky newlyweds' journey to Moscow took them through the Southern Railway Station in Kharkov, one of the largest in the former Russian Empire, where they had to make a transfer. After enduring several tedious hours at the station, they finally found themselves aboard the train. Olga, exhausted by the dramatic events of the past twenty-four hours, was slowly dozing off…
Her life up until that point had been a challenging struggle for survival. They lived in a rented apartment with the girls as dormitories were scarce, and those fortunate enough to secure a spot were not to be envied. The new authorities strangely allocated the most unsuitable premises for students in Kiev: the former museum of Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra, barracks once housing prisoners during the war, and even St. Michael's Golden-Domed Monastery, now devoid of its famous gilding, was converted into a dormitory. A sign on its gates read: «Housing for proletarian students.» Olga had to visit her classmates there and recalled the narrow cells and the cheerful, despite cramped conditions, residents.
Leonid gazed at his wife («wife!» – he enjoyed using that unfamiliar word) and tried to discern her thoughts. He was well aware of Olga's reserved nature; even in her school years, she sometimes appeared older than her peers.
«But how frightened she was at the station! And not for herself, that's for sure.» He realized with astonishment that he was grateful to that country boy, the rejected suitor, for the dangerous incident that had revealed Olga's feelings, of which Mirachevsky had, perhaps, not been entirely sure until then. Yes, she was pleased. Yes, she had accepted the «marriage proposal.» They got married. But his passionate temperament craved more. Now, the events of yesterday's fright unequivocally proved that their love was mutual.
«What are you pondering?» Leonid's question came so unexpectedly that Olga flinched.
Unsure of how to express herself, she didn't respond right away:
«Perhaps, about the peculiarities and twists of fate.»
He understood, of course. He was contemplating the same thing himself. But he wanted to uplift her spirits, so he asked with mock indignation:
«Are you calling our marriage a twist of fate?!»
«Well, if you think about it, we're truly stepping into a new life right now, at the gates…»
«Wow! That's what a degree in philology gets you – the ability to string words together like that! I wouldn't have thought of that. But it's late; let's get some rest.»
The unpleasant residue of the incident at Lazirky station finally dissolved as the train slowed down and glided through the Moscow suburbs, and Olga's heart fluttered with excitement: «To Moscow, to Moscow…»
The Bryansk railway station, the southwestern gateway to the capital, was initially dominated by the imposing platform – Mirachevsky couldn't help but grin as his wife descended to the platform, visibly astonished by the glass-and-steel structure spanning over the tracks. The place erupted with loud exclamations, spiraling into the vortex of customary commotion, with helpful porters weaving through the fray, leading to a bustling square teeming with individuals, carriages, and assorted vehicles.
For Olga, the first sign of their new life was a ride in a taxi-car, a recent addition to the capital's transportation.
Leonid whistled for the porters and hurried towards the bus stop, suggesting, «Let's go for a ride! It's a pity we won't catch a breeze.»
«How far is it?» Olga asked.
«Not that far. Are you tired?» asked Leonid, sensing her agitation.
«A little.» Olga was really out of her depth.
«But, Madame Mirachevsky,» he playfully bowed, «you'll get a glimpse of the city.»
They hopped into a sleek black car with a yellow stripe on the side and a canvas top, gracefully maneuvering through the crowd as they crossed the Borodinsky Bridge and ventured farther into the city. «Here is the Moscow River! The Garden Ring!» proudly narrated the aspiring railroad engineer. «He seems to excel as a tour guide too!» Olga couldn't help but admire her husband in every way.
Soon,
