Dept. of Russian Literature
Oxford
Professor Irina Pavlova is a dashing lady in her sixties. She was born in Vladivostok but lived her childhood in Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, until she emigrated permanently with her family to London. She usually gestures a lot, but this time she was intently examining my final exam for the Extension Course in Russian Literature. Its scent is pleasant and somehow reminds me of my elementary school teacher. She took a deep breath and closed her folder with my texts, after making some notes.
- Yes, yes, Anzhelika Nikolayevna, your course is completed, and you passed it with flying colours. Мои поздравления!
- Спасибо!
- And what are your plans now?
- Well, to be honest, I... I don't know!
- Decide soon, because your scholarship will expire next month. If you choose another discipline, I won't be upset, believe me. By the way, I don't quite understand your desire here in the West to learn the Russian language. That's enjoying suffering!
I found her sincerity funny.
- Maybe I'll return to my old government job, but I'm not sure. My mother's health has worried me...
- A difficult situation. And your father, what does he say?
- I have not been in touch with him since we moved from Krasnodar. I was only 4 years old.
- What was he doing?
- He was an Officer. From the Air Force.
- I understand.
- I didn't say anything to my mother, but a year ago I travelled to Krasnodar to look for him. In the same building.
- And you found him?
- No. There was only one family in the place, who bought the apartment from a realtor. I asked the neighbour next door, an elderly lady. She told me that my dad just disappeared out of the blue.
- Well, as an officer he must have been reassigned...
- I visited his air base. I was told there that he retired. Nothing more. They had no more information.
She made a gesture with her hands.
- This is telling you, Anzhelika Nikolayevna, that it's time to move on. Define yourself. Ah, if I were attached to my past I would still be swallowing sand on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. Or God knows where... Take a few days and think about it. If you want to continue, I'll be happy to guide you. I have some pretty boring and difficult books on our bookshelf to get us started.
I got up and shook his hands.
- Thank you for everything, Mrs Pavlova.
At home, I opened a bottle of wine. I took it while watching the window. I felt an indefinable inner emptiness, discontent with everything.
It started to rain. I looked at the trees outside struggling with the wind. Nobody seemed to win. I put away the bottle of wine and went to bed.
I dreamed that I was in a distant country. There were tanks in the streets and buildings were on fire. Dust and the smell of diesel confused my senses. I entered one of the buildings and saw a figure, a man wearing a black hat. I shouted:
- Hang on!
The guy disappeared. I walked through dark corridors full of pipes. Finally, I came to a large hall. The man in the hat was waiting for me. I walked over and he handed me a piece of paper. I tried to read it but I couldn't, my vision was blurry. I woke up in agony.
I got up and went to the window. The rain had passed. But I had a vision that made me doubt I was awake. The man from my dream was in front of the house. He put something in my mailbox.
I quickly got out and went to the box. There was a squiggle on it, the letter alpha. Inside the box, I found a typewritten memo. It said:
Barbara Elliott
London Cafe
March 15th, 7 pm.
/FB
--oOo--
BLUE ANGEL is a retrofuturistic fiction series. Anzhelika Volkova, a British Intelligence officer, journeys through the infinite aspects of reality.
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