Struggle: The Path to Power - Владимир Андерсон

— What do you think? What is love?

— When I first saw him, I didn't immediately realize that he was the one I was destined to live with for the rest of my life… Yes, sympathy… but nothing special… A day passed, maybe a little more, and there you go! I'm crazy about him. I don't know what it is, but I think about him all the time. I can't even imagine myself without him… I don't know how to explain it, but there was a moment when I became different… It's like cupid piercing me with an arrow, and there's no escape — it's like it's

supposed to be…

And, you know, it's still like that. I love him like I did then. Every time we are apart even for a few minutes, I miss him… and I can't wait to see him again… to hug him, to kiss him… and when that moment comes — when I hear that he is somewhere near, opening the door or the floor creaking with his footsteps, I just can't believe my happiness. I feel so at ease… I never wondered if this is the love that so many women want to feel, but I can't do it without my husband.

How close those words were! How close.

Masha thought about what kind of love is more like her love: the one when you think about your beloved all day long, or the one that makes you worry when you are apart and makes you happy when you meet? A very complex and ambiguous question. And the answer is the same: on the one hand it is both — everything is as they said, on the other hand it is neither so nor different — everything is in its own way, i.e. it is felt by one's soul, and it is not the same as theirs: all souls are different.

But still… Whatever love was: the beloved was dear. This "on the whole" made Masha angry, and she thought even more deeply. But no matter how many thoughts came to her, no matter how many sides she considered, she could not move from the spot — only the sense of time was gone.

"Mashenka, let's go, my daughter," the grandmother said as she approached the girl.

Noon had already passed — it was now about half past one.

Masha crossed herself three times, with three fingers. She had never thought about the meaning of "three fingers", how it was used, or why it was necessary at all — she just did it as she had been taught: she was used to it.

On leaving, the place seemed quite different from what it was at first: now, apart from the beauty and wildlife, it was well-kept. Now the deceased are better off.

They walked back very slowly and talked a lot. They remembered the past and, especially, funny incidents — it helped themselves: they remembered what good people their relatives were.

This time we walked much closer to the river, almost near the bank, so that the water sometimes splashed on my clothes. The water was murmuring around, and we walked slower and slower, stopping every fifty meters and looking at the hills on which trees were growing interestingly, at the fish that sometimes sprang a few centimeters out of the water, at the pebbles that reflected wonderful multi-kilometer patterns through the water surface. All this appeared only now.

We got home in the late afternoon, by sunset, by the time it was time to go to bed.

Masha quickly fell asleep, and dreamed a terrible amazing dream, which before appeared only in parts, but this time — from the beginning.

She is in red silk robes standing inside a golden cage. In front of her two men are arguing about something. And all around are vast fields and two huge armies against each other, one in light armor, the other in dark armor, and they are so huge that everything is covered with their warriors, and you can't tell which one is bigger.

The two who were arguing with each other, not the leaders of these armies, but in high ranks, spoke in unknown languages, and the impression was that each spoke his own, but both understood each other.

And Masha distinguishes only one word, privately repeated by them — her proper name.

And so they finish arguing, stop for a moment, and simultaneously announce to their armies.

Dark: "Partuhu."

Bright: "Portudy."

Masha woke up in a cold sweat and in tears.

That grim dead light that races across the room.

She crawled, almost falling off the bed and clung to the edge, "This can't be tolerated! They are playing tricks on my head out there!" Everything was shaking inside her, and fear was all around: where was the plague, where were all these warriors, where was the horror, and it was all here!

— God, I can't. I can't do it without him. God, forgive me. What have I done? What have I done that I have to live like this? Why didn't you take me away with him? What did I do wrong?

Masha was crying, hiding in the shadows by the bed, and I didn't want to look at anything. It was unbearable to look at anything — so bad that it made me nauseous. It became short of breath, and my breathing quickened on its own.

She opened her reddened eyes and, peering around the walls, began to calm down a little through measured heavy breathing. With each breath, though it didn't get easier, at least it didn't get heavier.

Getting used to the heaviness, Masha raised herself to her knees, put her hands on the bed and, looking up at the distant moon, began to pray.

Her breathing was quiet and wide in the air, but a