Fourth chapter of the story.
Audio at the bottom.
First Chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/child-from-siberia-first-chapter-monday-fiction
Second Chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/child-from-siberia-second-chapter-thursday-fiction
Third Chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/child-from-siberia-third-chapter-friday-morning-fiction
Chapter {4}
{There is no place like home}
The frozen streets of Novosibirsk are rapidly melting, it’s late March and spring is finally coming. People start to spend more time outside, as the weather turns more pleasant. The main street in the city is full of retail shops and stores. There are even some high-street boutiques, with expensive luxury brands from France and Italy.
There’s an interesting blonde lady, wearing a very elegant red dress and some high-heeled black shoes. She is standing in front of one of these boutiques, she’s blindly gazing at some expensive designer bag handmade in Italy.
“But what a lovely design.” The lady says while staring at the bag with her charming blue eyes.
Nicely dressed people, walk in and out of these boutiques. It seems that the wealth from the oil and gas industry is in the deep pockets of these citizens. They’ve got a pile of money to burn, literally.
“Oh I’m out of time, I better start walking home.” The lady in the red dress mumbles while looking at her wristwatch. She hurriedly crosses the street, and starts walking towards the east side of the city. There is a huge park with a small lake on the way home, sometimes she likes to sit there to feed the wild pigeons. A small relaxing hobby for an important Siberian lady.
There is a very comfortable looking bench, right next to two huge birch trees. She likes birch trees, because they remind her of the place where she grew up. A distant happy memory of an unspoken hidden past. The lady in the red dress, now sits comfortably on the bench, while feeding the city pigeons. A flock of birds amass at her feet, as she scatters breadcrumbs around the floor. The hungry pigeons enthusiastically peck at the crumbs, a lively dispute over lunch.
“What a lovely day indeed, I just love these pigeons.”
Behind the trees there’s a raggedy figure is sitting next to them. Worn out and dirty looking clothes compose the shape of this figure. It seems to be a man, a vagrant sheltering himself from the cold, under these two birch trees. His purple frozen fingers shake as he tries to rub his hands in order to warm himself up.
The man slowly stands up and carefully approaches the lady in the red dress, “Do you have some coins?” He asks her. His feeble figure looks more pathetic than menacing. The woman looks at him in contempt and disgust. She reaches for her purse and takes out 500 rubles, “Take it and leave me alone.” She says.
The man slowly reaches and grabs the money, “Thank you, you’re very kind.” He sits on the bench and starts rubbing his hands. “Your face, it reminds me of someone.” The vagrant says while trying to sit comfortably on the bench. The lady in the red dress, feels uncomfortable by the unexpected companion, she’s not used to dealing with such lowly people.
“My name is Dmitry, nice to meet you.” He says.
The lady in the red dress, feels a sharp stabbing pain deep inside her entrails. An unpleasant reminder of a faraway past that doesn’t exist anymore. Her skin shivers and aches, emotional scars that can never heal.
“That name, I used to have a son named Dmitry.” She says.
A salty tear runs down the woman’s cheek, the cold breeze turns the tear in to frozen melancholy that’s taken away by the wind. The two large birch trees cast a shadow on the bench, blocking the view of the sun. It’s spring, yet it’s still frosty cold, the digital thermometer on her wristwatch shows -10 Celsius.
Dmitry stares blank in to the distance, “A long time ago, I used to have a mother.” He says while rubbing his hands together.
The two strangers share a moment of silence. Philosophical regretful thoughts of what could have been, cross their minds. One eventful regret after the other, the “What if.”
The woman in the red dress feels strangely sad for his lost son Dmitry, and also for the vagrant sitting next to her. Pity and compassion are two unfamiliar feelings for her. It’s never too late to change, even for wretched and rotten human beings.
“What happened to your mother?” She asks.
Dmitry tries to show a smile, his face hides under long dirty hair and a messy tangled beard that’s been unwashed for months. He tries as hard as possible to show some kind of emotions yet he cannot. It’s all emptiness inside, his heart is full of nothing, because he is nothing.
“She abandoned me when I was just a child.” Dmitry says.
The teary eyes of the woman progressively become even more sorrowful. Unspoken words of compassion that have never been said before, are about to come out.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” She says with a delicate soft voice. “Perhaps, you will meet her again someday.” She looks at him with her light blue eyes, and gracefully smiles.
Dmitry’s health is in really bad condition. Living in the rough in Siberia, is an inhuman and impossible task. Most vagrants would only survive one winter and no more than that. The most common cause of death is deadly gangrene from frozen limbs that spreads throughout the body. A slow and painful death is what awaits you on the street.
Normal people usually look the other way, nobody cares about the undesirable ones. Not even the government does anything about it, such things as shelters, are inexistent. Death on the street is what awaits for those unfortunate enough to become homeless. But this is not for Dmitry, because he is tough and a survivor.
“Thank you, but I care not for your pity.” He says to the woman while slowly standing up and walking away.
“Wait, don’t go.” The woman says, while trying to grab Dmitry’s arm with her hand.
He doesn’t listen, he’s tired of people, tired of life.
The woman peacefully sits on the bench, her world has been shaken today by a stranger. She’s baffled and puzzled in deep sorrowful regret. Unpleasant memories brought forward, by an encounter with a stranger, an unknown wanderer.
Dmitry slowly walks away from the bench and the woman sitting on it. Eventually, step by step they both disappear in the distance. His lungs burn, he suddenly starts coughing and spiting blood on the floor. The freezing cold air can tear your lungs apart from the inside. He keeps walking on the deep snow, with no direction, with no hope.
Snow starts falling from all directions in the sky, very heavy snowflakes completely cover the view. Dmitry is tired, he cannot walk anymore. His strength is slowly fading away, he abruptly collapses on the ground. His face is completely buried in the snow, he starts coughing once again and small drops of blood randomly drip on the snow.
“Mother, where are you? Will I see you again if I die?” Dmitry mumbles while shivering on the floor.
The snowfall gradually strengthens, until it becomes an unruly and wild snowstorm. The snow aggressively starts covering Dmitry’s body. He’s being buried alive in a frozen tomb made out of icy death. This is not the destiny that he had imagined when he was a child. All those happy wishful memories of summer in Lake Baikal are meaningless now. There is nothing that can save Dmitry from his predestined fate. Capricious destiny, will not change its mind.
The ancient Siberian soil where little Dima was born, entombs him in a tender and loving embrace. His frigid body is now encased in pristine snow and black dirt, the motherland is lovingly embracing him in death’s bed. An unintended final act of mercy, by his ancestral land. Destiny at hand, unexpectedly wise.
“Mother… I broke my promise.” He mumbles as his voice dimly fades away. “I’m sorry.” He slowly fades in to the black as he lets go of his sorrow. He becomes nothing because he is nothing. A poor boy, born in a piss-poor village in the middle of nowhere. His tragic existence finally comes to a very well deserved end, farewell little man. Better luck in your next journey.
Remembrance is not for everybody.
He is free at last.