{"id":4981,"date":"2011-04-01T01:10:55","date_gmt":"2011-04-01T06:10:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=5066"},"modified":"2011-03-13T20:45:19","modified_gmt":"2011-03-14T01:45:19","slug":"greetings-from-afar-16","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2011\/04\/01\/greetings-from-afar-16\/","title":{"rendered":"Greetings from Afar"},"content":{"rendered":"

I\u2019ll Never Leave You, Mama<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was a warm and sunny day in late spring, and the two little boys had been
\nout, like most of the local children, playing in the forest, and picking
\nberries\u2026 a common enough passtime for a pair of six years olds in a sleepy
\nlittle Russian village. It was 1962\u2026 a tense year for the world as a whole,
\nbut not so tense for the inhabitants of Stoyietal, which, having been
\nbypassed by the recently constructed M-8 Motorway, was a lethargic place,
\nwith most of the local \u201ccommunity\u201d life centered around the usual Russian
\nactivites of work, school, The Party and The Church. The old Moscow to
\nYaroslavl Highway\u2026 the road that bisected the little city, was mostly unused
\nnow, and generally served only to provide transport into Moscow the products
\nof the local factory, a conduit for heavy trucks laden with bricks, lumber,
\ncement and other items necessary to the building boom instituted a few years
\nearlier by then Premier Nikita Kruschev. In short, life was good in
\nStroyital.<\/p>\n

The two little boys crossed the old highway north of the city and started
\nout into the forest in the general direction of Taratovka, the next little
\nvillage, some five kilometers distant. They had intended to walk to
\nTaratovka, picking berries as they went, and catch the local electric train
\nback to the Stroyietal Platform\u2026 a two or three minute ride. Sasha and
\nPasha\u2026 Alexander and Pavel\u2026 had been friends for all of their short lives.
\nThey had both been born in Stroyietal, had grown up together, living in the
\nsame building, in adjoining flats, and\u2026 that very year\u2026 starting school
\ntogether at Public School 284. They were typical \u201cbest friends\u201d and were
\ncertain that they would be so for \u201clife\u201d.<\/p>\n

The trip through the woods to Taratovskaya was without incident. The boys
\nhad, in fact, a little trouble managing the heavy bucket that now coutained
\nsome five kilograms of berries that they had picked along the way. They were
\nglad to get on the train, even for the three minute ride back to their own
\nplatforn\u2026 just so they could put it down and rest their tired little hands.<\/p>\n

The conductor\u2026 there were live conductors in those days\u2026 announced
\nStroyietal Platform. Of course, the boys were already aware of this fact.
\nThey picked up their bucket and left the train along with all of the other
\ncommuters. It was now only a short walk home for them. They would make it
\nlong before supper, and have plenty of time to wash their berries\u2026 and of
\ncoursse\u2026 cram a few down as they did it.<\/p>\n

Fifty feet from the platform, they came to their first, and only obstacle.
\nThe road leading to their block of apartments crossed the old Moscow to
\nYaroslavl Highway, just as it came out of a blind curve. The boys looked
\ncarefully\u2026 both ways\u2026 then started across. They never saw what hit them. The
\nhugh Zil truck\u2026 what the locals call a \u201cTrumanski\u201d\u2026 because it is a direct
\ncopy of the GMC Ten Ton Army Trucks that Truman sent to the Soviet Union on
\n\u201clend lease\u201d\u2026 rounded the curve in a scream of brakes and blaring horns. The
\ndriver saw the two boys, but only too late\u2026 He literally ruptured the break
\nlines on the heavily laden truck trying to stop\u2026. but\u2026<\/p>\n

Ten tons of cement in hundred pound bags added to the weight of the moving
\ntruck made stopping impossible. The truck skewed, first to the right, and
\nthen to the left, in a screem of tires and a cloud of dust as the driver
\nfought for control. He tried with all his might to herd the big machine away
\nfrom the two little boys and into the opposite ditch\u2026 It was an exercise in
\nfutility\u2026<\/p>\n

With a sickening thump, the front of the Zil crashed into little Sasha
\nLushkov, tearing him away from Pasha, who was clear of the road surface, but
\nonly just\u2026<\/p>\n

The driver of the truck finally stopped the vehicle. Knowing what had
\nhappened\u2026 what he had done\u2026 he jumped from his cab and ran to the crumpled
\nbody of the little boy, now lying in a mangled heap, some twenty feet from
\nthe roadbed. Little Pasha began to cry as he realized what had happened to
\nhis \u201cbest\u201d friend, and ran home, as fast as he could. It wasn\u2019t far\u2026 not
\nfar at all.<\/p>\n

Strangely enough, Sasha still alive when the driver found him. He remained so
\nfor several minutes\u2026 long enough for his friend, Pasha to return, leading
\ntheir distraught parents\u2026 Also surprisingly, the little boy was still
\nconscious\u2026 barely\u2026<\/p>\n

The local Militia, who had arrived to question the driver of the truck and
\ntake the necessary statements had already summoned an ambulance. It was, of
\ncourse, too late\u2026 Little Sasha died in his mother\u2019s arms, looking up in
\nseeming wonder at her pain-twisted face, and that of his best friend. He
\ncould hear the plea in the voice as his mother begged him not to \u201cleave\u201d\u2026
\nnot to \u201cgo away\u201d\u2026 In his little mind, he was unaware of his own condition\u2026
\nonly that his mother was afraid that he would leave her, and that she would
\nbe \u201clonely\u201d\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t cry, mama,\u201d he whispered. You won\u2019t be lonely\u2026 I\u2019ll never leave you\u2026
\nI\u2019ll always be with you\u201d. Then, he closed his little eyes, and died.<\/p>\n

The funeral was one of the biggest in the history of Stroyietal. It wasn\u2019t
\nevery day that a child died. The schools turned out, the factory closed.
\nEveryone attended. The truck driver who had, of course, been absolved for
\nhis part in the death, walked solemnly and silently beside the tiny casket,
\nhuge sobs wracking his body as the procession wound it\u2019s way to the
\ncemetery. Like everyone else in Stroyietal, he knew the family. His own
\nchildren were not much older than little Sasha.<\/p>\n

Two years passed.<\/p>\n

Another child came the following spring, and Pasha, still stopped by the
\nLushkov\u2019s flat every day to say hello. Sasha\u2019s toys were still on the shelf
\nin the living room, and his little wooden chair still stood beside the
\nkitchen table. From time to time, his little sister would play with them,
\nbut, even as she grew, she never sat in the little wooden chair. In time,
\nthe Lushkovs decided that they needed more room, and began the process of
\nmoving to a slightly larger flat that had become available on a different
\nfloor of the building. As always, Sasha came over to help\u2026<\/p>\n

They were just getting ready to make the final trip, when someone noticed
\nthat they had forgotten Sasha\u2019s chair. It was still standing in its usual
\nplace, beside the kitchen table. Irina Lushkov, Sasha\u2019s mother, put down the
\nload of books that she was carrying, and stepped back into the now empty
\nflat. She quickly went into the kitchen and grabbed the little chair,
\nthinking to put the books in the chair, which was quite tiny and not heavy,
\nand take the entire load to the new flat all at once. When she stepped into
\nthe kitchen, she noticed that the little chair was gently rocking back and
\nforth, shifting slightly from one side to the other as if someone had just
\nbeen sitting there, and had risen suddenly. She looked around the room. It
\nwas empty. She called out to Pasha, who had been \u201chelping\u201d them move, and
\nasked him if he had been sitting in the chair. The boy came running back
\ninto the flat, to see what his friend\u2019s mother wanted, but, his answer to
\nher question was, of course\u2026 no\u2026 He had been well out into the hallway at
\nthe time. Irina Lushkov looked around to see if the toddler, Marina, was in
\nthe room\u2026 No\u2026 also in the hallway.<\/p>\n

Strange\u2026 She then reached down to pick up the little chair\u2026 At first, it
\nseemed unusually heavy, and slightly cool to the touch\u2026 As she picked it up,
\na tiny, child’s voice said\u2026 \u201cMama\u2026 I told you that I\u2019d never leave you. I\u2019ll
\nalways be with you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Pasha, who was, at that time, standing just behind her, also heard the
\nvoice\u2026 and recognized it instantly as that of his little friend\u2026 Today,
\nalmost forty years later, a far-away look still crosses the big man\u2019s
\nweathered face face as he tells this story\u2026 \u201cAs far as I know,\u201d he says,
\n\u201cSasha is still with them\u2026 They live downstairs you know\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a9 2011: Dr. J. Lee Choron; All rights reserved unless specifically granted
\nby \u00a0the author \u00a0in writing.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019ll Never Leave You, Mama It was a warm and sunny day in late spring, and the two little boys had been out, like most of the local children, playing in the forest, and picking berries\u2026 a common enough passtime for a pair of six years olds in a sleepy little Russian village. It was 1962\u2026 a tense year for the world as a whole, but not so tense for the inhabitants of Stoyietal, which, having been bypassed by the recently constructed M-8 Motorway, was a lethargic place, with most of the local \u201ccommunity\u201d life centered around the usual Russian activites of work, school, The Party and The Church. The old Moscow to Yaroslavl Highway\u2026 the road that bisected the little city, was mostly unused now, and generally served only to provide transport into Moscow the products of the local factory, a conduit for heavy trucks laden with bricks, lumber, cement and other items necessary to the building boom instituted a few years earlier by then Premier Nikita Kruschev. In short, life was good in Stroyital. The two little boys crossed the old highway north of the city and started out into the forest in the general direction of Taratovka, the next little village, some five kilometers distant. They had intended to walk to Taratovka, picking berries as they went, and catch the local electric train back to the Stroyietal Platform\u2026 a two or three minute ride. Sasha and Pasha\u2026 Alexander and Pavel\u2026 had been friends for all of their short lives. They had both been born in Stroyietal, had grown up together, living in the same building, in adjoining flats, and\u2026 that very year\u2026 starting school together at Public School 284. They were typical \u201cbest friends\u201d and were certain that they would be so for \u201clife\u201d. The trip through the woods to Taratovskaya was without incident. The boys had, in fact, a little trouble managing the heavy bucket that now coutained some five kilograms of berries that they had picked along the way. They were glad to get on the train, even for the three minute ride back to their own platforn\u2026 just so they could put it down and rest their tired little hands. The conductor\u2026 there were live conductors in those days\u2026 announced Stroyietal Platform. Of course, the boys were already aware of this fact. They picked up their bucket and left the train along with all of the other commuters. It was now only a short walk home for them. They would make it long before supper, and have plenty of time to wash their berries\u2026 and of coursse\u2026 cram a few down as they did it. Fifty feet from the platform, they came to their first, and only obstacle. The road leading to their block of apartments crossed the old Moscow to Yaroslavl Highway, just as it came out of a blind curve. The boys looked carefully\u2026 both ways\u2026 then started across. They never saw what hit them. The hugh Zil truck\u2026 what the locals call a \u201cTrumanski\u201d\u2026 because it is a direct copy of the GMC Ten Ton Army Trucks that Truman sent to the Soviet Union on \u201clend lease\u201d\u2026 rounded the curve in a scream of brakes and blaring horns. The driver saw the two boys, but only too late\u2026 He literally ruptured the break lines on the heavily laden truck trying to stop\u2026. but\u2026 Ten tons of cement in hundred pound bags added to the weight of the moving truck made stopping impossible. The truck skewed, first to the right, and then to the left, in a screem of tires and a cloud of dust as the driver fought for control. He tried with all his might to herd the big machine away from the two little boys and into the opposite ditch\u2026 It was an exercise in futility\u2026 With a sickening thump, the front of the Zil crashed into little Sasha Lushkov, tearing him away from Pasha, who was clear of the road surface, but only just\u2026 The driver of the truck finally stopped the vehicle. Knowing what had happened\u2026 what he had done\u2026 he jumped from his cab and ran to the crumpled body of the little boy, now lying in a mangled heap, some twenty feet from the roadbed. Little Pasha began to cry as he realized what had happened to his \u201cbest\u201d friend, and ran home, as fast as he could. It wasn\u2019t far\u2026 not far at all. Strangely enough, Sasha still alive when the driver found him. He remained so for several minutes\u2026 long enough for his friend, Pasha to return, leading their distraught parents\u2026 Also surprisingly, the little boy was still conscious\u2026 barely\u2026 The local Militia, who had arrived to question the driver of the truck and take the necessary statements had already summoned an ambulance. It was, of course, too late\u2026 Little Sasha died in his mother\u2019s arms, looking up in seeming wonder at her pain-twisted face, and that of his best friend. He could hear the plea in the voice as his mother begged him not to \u201cleave\u201d\u2026 not to \u201cgo away\u201d\u2026 In his little mind, he was unaware of his own condition\u2026 only that his mother was afraid that he would leave her, and that she would be \u201clonely\u201d\u2026 \u201cDon\u2019t cry, mama,\u201d he whispered. You won\u2019t be lonely\u2026 I\u2019ll never leave you\u2026 I\u2019ll always be with you\u201d. Then, he closed his little eyes, and died. The funeral was one of the biggest in the history of Stroyietal. It wasn\u2019t every day that a child died. The schools turned out, the factory closed. Everyone attended. The truck driver who had, of course, been absolved for his part in the death, walked solemnly and silently beside the tiny casket, huge sobs wracking his body as the procession wound it\u2019s way to the cemetery. Like everyone else in Stroyietal, he knew the family. His own children were not much older than little Sasha. Two years passed. Another child came the following spring, and Pasha, still stopped by the Lushkov\u2019s flat every day to say hello. Sasha\u2019s toys were still on the shelf in the living room, and his little wooden chair still stood beside the kitchen table. From time to time, his little sister would play with them, but, even as she grew, she never sat in the little wooden chair. In time, the Lushkovs decided that they needed more room, and began the process of moving to a slightly larger flat that had become available on a different floor of the building. As always, Sasha came over to help\u2026 They were just getting ready to make the final trip, when someone noticed that they had forgotten Sasha\u2019s chair. It was still standing in its usual place, beside the kitchen table. Irina Lushkov, Sasha\u2019s mother, put down the load of books that she was carrying, and stepped back into the now empty flat. She quickly went into the kitchen and grabbed the little chair, thinking to put the books in the chair, which was quite tiny and not heavy, and take the entire load to the new flat all at once. When she stepped into the kitchen, she noticed that the little chair was gently rocking back and forth, shifting slightly from one side to the other as if someone had just been sitting there, and had risen suddenly. She looked around the room. It was empty. She called out to Pasha, who had been \u201chelping\u201d them move, and asked him if he had been sitting in the chair. The boy came running back into the flat, to see what his friend\u2019s mother wanted, but, his answer to her question was, of course\u2026 no\u2026 He had been well out into the hallway at the time. Irina Lushkov looked around to see if the toddler, Marina, was in the room\u2026 No\u2026 also in the hallway. Strange\u2026 She then reached down to pick up the little chair\u2026 At first, it seemed unusually heavy, and slightly cool to the touch\u2026 As she picked it up, a tiny, child’s voice said\u2026 \u201cMama\u2026 I told you that I\u2019d never leave you. I\u2019ll always be with you\u2026\u201d Pasha, who was, at that time, standing just behind her, also heard the voice\u2026 and recognized it instantly as that of his little friend\u2026 Today, almost forty years later, a far-away look still crosses the big man\u2019s weathered face face as he tells this story\u2026 \u201cAs far as I know,\u201d he says, \u201cSasha is still with them\u2026 They live downstairs you know\u2026\u201d \u00a9 2011: Dr. J. Lee Choron; All rights reserved unless specifically granted by \u00a0the author \u00a0in writing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4981","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4981","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4981"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4981\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4904,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4981\/revisions\/4904"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4981"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4981"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4981"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}