SHORT STORY
Faith
a manifesto on dialogue
by Mary D.
A STATEMENT FROM THE ARTIST
I wrote this piece one summer evening in the kitchen, in one breath. There is a war going on in my country. A lot can be said about it, but in short, they are trying to destroy me and other citizens of my country for being Ukrainians. Just for the fact that we exist. My piece was written with thoughts about the past of my people, as the Soviet Union (Russia) tried to destroy all that we believe in.
The fight for the right to speak and write in the Ukrainian language freely began many centuries ago, when our territories were occupied by the Russian Empire. Decrees were issued that forbade writing in Ukrainian, and humiliating myths were created that Ukrainian is the language of an uneducated people. But we always had people who were ready to protest, and that is the reason why our classics and modernists died. The great poet and artist Taras Shevchenko, who openly criticized the tsar (Russian emperor) and chose despite everything to preserve the Ukrainian identity, died in exile in 1861. And an equally great poet Vasyl Stus, who was locked up in prison for writing in Ukrainian and wanting Ukrainian schools in our country, died in 1985. My parents were 5 at the time.
They were killed for their words. I thought about them and hundreds of other talented writers and cultural figures while I was writing my work. It began as a dialogue about faith, God, religion and the rules that it establishes, but eventually became my manifesto on the importance of culture and language to people. People suffered, lived and died for their ideas and Words, because they had faith in them and knew what power they had.
My characters don't have names or other physical characteristics except for clothes and eyes, because I want to make these images relevant to everyone, regardless of gender, age, nationality, race and so on. Perhaps some of you might be surprised by my use of dashes instead of quotes, but there is no mystery, just in the Ukrainian language we denote dialogues in this way.
I sincerely hope you will appreciate my piece. Enjoy reading.
Quiet in the evening. On the main street -- no matter what city, because such streets are in every one -- with an endless circle of original and atmospheric cafes with terraces, trendy shabby, with a pleasant yellow light. In one of these cafes, at a small table on the terrace, hidden from reality by pots of forget-me-nots and acacia, two sat.
The First sat wrapped in a blanket and warming his hands on a cup, his slim physique a little arrogant. Such persons are characterized by tightly fastened collars, like glass eyes that are physically real but clearly show nothing. The figure gave the impression of a man with a hopeful and dreamy look, who, despite a great imagination, had standardized dreams.
The Second, sitting opposite, was relaxed: undone shirt, draped over the back of the chair cloak, indifferent smile and sparkling eyes. A person of clearly complex character, had principles, but not many people managed to understand them all. He held his cup freely, like an astronaut returning to earth, forgetting that there is gravity here so the tea will not hang in the air if you make a careless movement with your hand.
They sat as if they were seeing each other for the first time, and maybe they were, or maybe it was just an awkward pause that had dragged on so long to let both of them know that they were separate from each other. In a word, they sat looking at the cups, lights and passing cars.
The First addresses the Second:
- Are you a believer?
The voice, like the eyes, radiated hope, hope for the desired answer.
-Yes, of course.
The Second answered, returning to reality once he felt the beginning of an interesting conversation, and such people always look you in the eyes when they have interesting conversations. With a smile on his lips, the Second exhaled and continued in a cheerful and certainly mocking tone:
- We are people, by nature we have magical thinking, so we need faith. What do you believe?
The gesticulation was limited by the cup, but he managed to show quite clearly with his hand to convey the word.
- In God, of course. Are you into something else?
The First sounded not so much indignant as puzzled, as if only now realizing that a weirdo was sitting opposite. The Second smiled and squinted, leaning back and taking a sip from his cup.
- I believe in the Word. Not as specific as your God of course, but with powers no less.
The Second said this with his eyes closed, as if enjoying the situation, only opening his eyes to look at the reaction of the First.
- How can you believe in the Word? It is not a religion, it does not even have commandments. The Word is just a tool, soulless as a hammer. God is the creator and mentor; the affection that you feel
deep down. He teaches you what’s right, helps you find your way, is the Word capable of this?
The First was convinced of his views, and truly convinced people recite their opinions in a relaxed way, because they know that it will somehow remain with them.
- Don't tell me.
The Second stretched out, something passionate tickled his chest from the middle, so despite the evening, the Second seemed to begin to wake up, his eyes already shackled by sparks of curiosity. The Second put down his cup and led by waving his arms.
- The Word has no less power than all your Gods, it is life-changing and teaches. If it had no power it would have died in hard labor poets and writers, in just a couple of sentences. No, my friend, I understand your beliefs, but let us agree that if there were no Word in your Bible, Quran, Torah, there would be no power. For let us look at the essence of things– who are the prophets in all the religions of all the nations? These are people who believe and carry the Word! They write it down for others to read, rewrite, and carry to people. So the Word has all the power we could give it. They died for him, they fight for him and teach him.
The Second looked at the First, who listened with interest and bewilderment. The First often had to hear disagreements with his opinion, but none quite like this. The Second sat down in front of him. He really liked this discussion, because he believed disagreements make us alive. Without them, primacy in strength, intelligence, beauty, will only be reduced to primacy in cruelty.
- Do you mean to say that all poets and writers in the world are prophets?
The First desperately tried to understand only heard. The longer the conversation lasted, the larger his eyes became.
- Not all, but among them there are those who knew the truth, lived, felt and wanted to convey the idea, and your Gods wanted the same. They sent you people, and through them letters. Do you understand?
- No, I'm sorry, it's nonsense! You’re saying religion consists of words, but there’s more to it – these are still actions, more feeling… it is holier, not material.
The Last said almost in a whisper, as if afraid to exceed the limit of statements on this topic.
The Second looked at the First for a long time. Of course, such people sincerely believe in an extraordinary canon for them. For them, it is unshakable granite, the only correct manifestation of magical thinking, although they do not call it that. The Second grunted and refused to retreat.
- Well, what keeps you from killing?
Asked the Second, whose eyes were already giving off an orange gleam.
- God, of course! He sees everything!
Said the First, there was a kind of manner in him to speak as if he were telling everyone a well-known fact, like a teacher in junior high, smiling, condescending.
- Did you? Did he personally tie your hands or could he hide the knives?
- Well, no...
- So.
The Second said, raising his index finger.
- It is not God who holds you, but his Word, his power, which was put into your head not even by God himself, but by people. And after that you will say that words have no power.
- Yes, these are the words of God! But you are talking about humans!
The First was finally defused.
- And what Writer is worse than God?
The Second interjected with excitement.
- Because these are people, sinful people, people far from those pure thoughts that God brings us.
The tone of the teacher explained the First.
- So it is better! These are people! And this is the greatest power of words!
The Second jumped, an action uncontained unless with a straightjacket, and that is not a fact.
- Because they are people, and people are clear to us. They lived, acted only a few decades ago. They said and wrote things for which they were killed and tortured because they knew their words had power. Greater than commandments, closer than commandments. For the word of a writer or a poet can give the only right that religion or God himself can never do! It gives us the right to disagree, it gives us the right to act, it incites us to life and will not condemn for it. How many wars were started, only because religious people were convinced in their own and exclusively in their own right that Islam or Christianity were the only right ones, how many people were killed, killed only because they believed the wrong words in someone's opinion. Yes, of course, I say obvious things, besides those that are not inherent in modern society.
Nevertheless, I have the right to make mistakes or to disagree, because I am a human being and I believe in the power of the human word, and therefore I can not wait for a bright future after death, but create it here and in my faith for this desire no one will condemn. I have not seen such mercy from God. You disagree with his word, you have no right to exist. You agree and exist in a system that will postpone your life for later, justifying it with a test of loyalty. You are interesting people, religious, because all your faith rests on the fact that somewhere, someday, someone will come and make you a good life. You do not carry sincere love and care, because someone ordered you to do this, you do not follow the call of your heart. You are followers of someone else's call, which you cannot understand yourself.
You are interesting people. You have the opportunity to be creators, and you have chosen the path of imitation, although it is understandably easier to shift responsibility to another incomprehensible than to realize your own power, the power of man in humanity.
The First sat quietly, and he saw in the Second a mad man whom he would never understand. At least not today, so when the Second went down, the First put the cup down and said.
-You know, my friend, perhaps you are right. Words really have power, but my belief in something different from yours says that everything that has already been said, and the rest will be superfluous.
The First drank the tea and wrapped himself tighter in the blanket.
The First sat wrapped in a blanket, the Second sat on a roll. Both looked at the stars. Both saw something in them. The First did not agree to the end with the Second, the Second did not agree to the end with the First. Although the conversation ended in awkward silence, they did not feel shame, did not feel the loss. They just looked at the stars and saw something.
People need faith to live. For everyone has the right to write his own history, using the Words in his own way. And this is their only advantage - the ability to write any stories, which makes our existence a little more interesting.
Behind the backs there were footsteps, another chair moved to the table.
Where there is a Word, there will always be someone's history written as if equally, but so different, because this is Life.