A BEAUTIFUL STORY
By
BORISLAVA BORISSOVA
THE FIRST CHAPTER
In the 1930s, Istanbul, Turkey
It was a Palace, of which people addicted to history, orient, and beauty had dreamt to take a glance. The best architects and carpet masters used their chance to leave a trace through the ages by creating a magical home that preserved the spirit of old traditions. The colourful walls and ceilings of the saloons, fine crystal, and expensive furniture contrasted with a simple, small bedroom where its resident preferred to spend his hours in solitude and dreams. Despite there was long time before the fall of darkness with need for sleep, it appeared too quiet around him. So much the better! On the modest bed his mind, dealing with many hovering thoughts, could find decisions, a rest… As if his life extended to a fatal crossroad… and at first he tried to remember what changed his strong views, his steady opinions so much in his mature years? He was over thirty. But in those years what on Earth remained unchanged? Every day the world was saying “Good-bye” to something that had been rooted in it for centuries...
November 5, 1914, Sofia, Bulgaria
It was the beginning of a snowy, beautiful winter in Sofia. The capital city appeared cleaner and brighter under the cover of white snowfall, which hid dirty spots, black tree branches and dark roofs. But the touching beauty remained almost unnoticeable by the people who crowded the main streets of the city, especially those between the Orthodox church "Saint Nedelya" and the Bath Bashi mosque. A year ago from each of these holy places, divided by a small garden and a police equestrian cordon, voices for victory could be heard. Bulgaria, a former part of the Ottoman Empire and the Empire itself came out of the war between them, a war exhausted, devastated and suffered. After huge victims and privations, in the end the winners were only hatred in the hearts, intolerance in behaviour, and anguish in sensations until the pain soon prevailed over everything else.
Now the police between the temples of Bulgarian Christians and Bulgarian Muslims were needless and even Nobody showed astonishment at the girl, who went out of “Saint Nedelya” church only to make some steps along the garden and stop at the entrance of Bath Bashi mosque with a lighted candle in her hands. The church's service was over. It seemed the same with the mosque’s one. Only Mustafa was missing in the yard outside. Perhaps he needed to pray longer. She stood peacefully in waiting near the wall as if she had gathered all the patience in the world. Some women in peasant dresses walked by her. A few people in modern clothes took phaetons. The town was becoming more cosmopolitan with every passing season. Therefore she scanned the passers-by with sincere curiosity when a man put on his shoes outside and stretched his hands suddenly to her:
“Mustafa!”
“Let’s go walking to get warm. It is too cold. I had a word with the imam. He took a rosary over which he will say prayers nine days and then return it to me to bring with myself everywhere. Nothing is easy for me, Maria. With me everything will be difficult for you, too…” He sighed. “So I promised a big offering to Heaven. It must be on my side, on our side…”
She whispered, her breathe touched his ear:
“I left bread and flowers, and paid so the three great prayers be read for us: Ciprian's ones, Dignity and the Lord's Prayer. I took this candle and if I manage to keep it burning on the way home, my request could come true. In the church, in which you have never been step, I prayed to my Christ to provide his blessing for both of us, not only for me!”
Moved, Mustafa showed all his sincerity:
"I asked my Allah, with whom you have never been familiar, to take care of you because I will be far away from here soon. I must go to a place where you should never be. To the front line..."
As if wheezy scream flied from her breast:
"No war! Not a new war!”
“I am a soldier, Maria! Three days ago Serbia and Russia declared a war on the Ottoman Empire. Now France and Great Britain have done the same.”
“If Bulgaria enters this war, it means we will be enemies again! On top of all other differences that divide us…” She sounded desperately. “The only common thing between our countries remains one borderline. Why? Peace should be the most common thing between people! Even militaries must know it!" Maria held carefully the candle despite the risk of falling down on the slippery streets. “Loving Heaven, good and white, suffused with dreams from our earthy side, first give us peace and piece of love, and also for hopefulness might!”
While hearing her, he made a shelter with his palms around her candle to protect the flickering light from the snow and wind. Close to him the snowflakes had made sparkling crowns over her hair for an instant before they melted. She appeared so beautiful, as nothing else under that sky!
In the 1930s, Istanbul, Turkey
A doctor spoke honestly:
“If he awakes up from the coma, it could be for the last time. He is on the verge of his vital powers…”
“I thought he dreams nightmares…” – a servant answered him.
The man lying in the bed heard them somehow; fell in short reflection before gazing his wide opened eyes to the few people around his bed. A sound finally made it from his moving lips:
“Not nightmares anymore! I dreamt reminiscences of my life. They were real. And beautiful! That November of 1914 in Sofia seems very long ago. Pain has waned; the beauty of that time is still alive…”
1914, Sofia, Maria’s home
The kind welcome to the guest was followed by a bowl with sweets, pieces of banitza, the traditional food, and cups of hot tea to overcome the traces of wintry coldness over their pale lips, frozen hands and cheeks. Sitting comfortably on a solid divan among mild cushions, with a first sip Mustafa was feeling warm and passionate:
"General Achev, I would never ask you without having the confirmation of your daughter as it is."
"She doesn’t know you... You are a man with a tough character.”
Blue flames as if exploded in the eyes of both men with hearing a determined voice near them:
“Dad, it is easy for everyone to love good people. But it is difficult to have a heart for the tough ones. If my heart is warm and able to give much more than others, I should be with a man like Mustafa because everyone deserves to feel loved.” – Maria had just left some pieces of cake over the flowered table-cloth in the large parlour.
Long-experienced in hectic situations, the white-haired general Achev mastered the inner stream of mixed emotions to reply softly, letting his strained body to lean back in the armchair:
“I have heard he followed no safe road in his country... You are a dangerous man, lieutenant. Maria would never have a peaceful life with a man like you and your political pursuits.”
“You know war times are hard times!”
“What do you expect to change with your marriage? And a wife of Bulgarian origin, a daughter of a Bulgarian general is not the best choice for someone, who is inclined to a military career in Turkey...”
“Not everyone is afraid of hardships. When I took my first difficult road I did it because the easier ones were busy already. Now I am used to living on my way. If I who keep in my heart lofty ideas for my people refuse their defense, how could I expect someone else to provide it?”
He did not notice that they were sitting under a worthy picture in the large parlour with whose live colours the sun loved playing through the large windows. No simple thing could catch his attention. That afternoon Mustafa was worrying about the desires important to his heart. At first he thought if it would be too painful he would retract but courage and persistence could always be found in him in large amount if he wanted something very much so he went on.
Therefore this time the piano remained untouched despite how much she loved to play for guests. Her father also liked music. So did Mustafa! The two men shared similar blue eyes, medium height, moustaches, and something else that Maria could herself describe best. She adored her father and it seemed she had seen in Mustafa the same man only about twenty years younger. Both of them were always open for sharing words on every topic and it made the young woman to feel very comfortable in their presence. But it was the first time she had not spoken with her father before with anybody else.
Usually their mutual confidence put the others at a distance, including her mother of Maria’s upbringing long ago. Now it was the loving daughter exactly who caused the painful issue. It could be avoided if the girl was not so assured in the general’s approval. A bit of pain for her found a place in general Achev because she was too you to understand what she was doing:
“Lieutenant, you have enough enemies in your homeland and, also, on the front where everyone could be killed… You do not lead a peaceful life! My daughter would live with permanent fears for you. How would she be secure next to you?”
“General Achev, I am honest with you. My place is at the front. There are a few days to go there and start a division.”
“No, Mustafa! No war! Never a new war!”
“Believe me, Maria, nobody desires peace more than I do! The Ottoman's entry into the war is a wrong resolution but the political leaders preferred our involvement. I should defend my country instead of watching from the sidelines, from Sofia.”
He kept silence that the decision had opened another new front, an invisible one between the people who dealt with the power in Istanbul. For days political and personal, difficult and more difficult issues burnt his mind and no clear solution appeared for any of them.
With a promise for consideration, the general permitted them to say “Good-bye” in private in the vestibule on the first floor. Maria hardly kept her spirit:
“Protect yourself, Mustafa!”
“Stay in peace for me, Maria.”
At the same time general Achev sat down at the desk in his study to mark in his diary:
"This story has made each of us really unhappy..."
The winter hugged him outside. The cold could not stop the emotional girl to run after him. Her only sister did it! Older and reliable, Ani caught her sister’s arm and drew her in a corner:
"Are you crazy?”
“Stay on my side, Ani!”
“My God… You must gain our father’s approval at all costs!"
"I know! But that quiet, kind, lazy Balkan’s blood pulsing through the veins of the two men, whom I love the most had just burst like geysers in both of them! Ani, you must be living in a fairy-tale if you suppose they can peacefully decide something that concerns me!"
In the 1930s, Istanbul
The doctor confirmed to his devoted ones:
“Soon he will go after his dreams forever… Let say a prayer for him.”
The clothes and a few things prepared for his funeral he placed in a chest personally some weeks ago. In the past, on the front, he always expected death like a bullet, quickly and suddenly. It appeared the best way to die… But in the last days he stopped being angry for his agonizing sickness. It gave him an opportunity to ensure, after the last crossroad, what he would like to take for the world beyond … The blue costume, black shoes, a little copy of the Koran, single amber hidden in a pocket... An old letter on a yellowed paper attracted the attention of his people. There was not a sign of embarrassment in them to feel free to read it. The mailer had sent it from Sofia long, long ago:
“Mustafa, even the long days come to an end. The stars are on Sofia’s sky already, the night is reigning. Do you see the same stars, winking like candles above my home, above my head? There can’t be another sky with so magnetic stars all over the whole universe! The half--asleep town is mine, the streets are mine, the trees in the park are mine, the wind in the grass is mine, Vitosha mountain is mine... Somewhere beyond the hills, the Black sea is mine... Its endless rhythmic water is mine... Time is mine! The century is mine, in which had happened both of us to be born on this Earth and to share the same grass, sky, wind, sun, news…
And the thoughts of you are mine. And the whole warmth of my heart is mine, yet, unfortunately it is not yours. Who else could keep so much warmth for your heart as mine does now for yours? I do not know what to do having too much from it and why it exists if it is useless especially in recent days... How to share with you the nicest evening full up with all my love for life, with loving sensations while you are under thunderbolts of bullets and blood…”
Why would the man take that old paper with him to keep it forever in the coffin?
