Strong men were holding her firmly by the hand. Being accustomed to submitting to everybody silently, she was going obediently among a small crowd of unknown men. She wasn't afraid: she recognized them as priests of the town church due to their cloth. But the curiosity of youth forced her to peep out from a shawl pulled over her eyes: where and why are they leading her?

          They came to a square and moved towards a church. There was a man by the church wall, sitting on the ground. He was barefoot, without any hat, wearing a plain shirt. She has never seen him, but she could guess: he was that strange beggar that all inhabitants of the town talked about. People say he is perhaps a madman: he hasn't a penny to bless himself, but he is neither sick nor a cripple; he is a hefty lad -- but doesn't want to work. He only loafs to towns, gathers a crowd around himself and fools people's heads with some kind of rubbish. But maybe it's either the time we live in or people have gone out of their minds: many of them listen to him. Here he organized so many followers to ramble with him. Supposedly, they are the same slackers and ragamuffins...

          The man was sitting alone. They came close to him. She moved towards him quietly and stretched her neck to look at him from behind a priest's back.

          He didn't pay attention to anyone and was playing with sand serenely and thoughtfully, drawing something on the ground.

          ...Once she had heard her husband, a military officer, talking with his friends. They said: this beggar is not half-baked; he just pretends to be off his head. Quite the reverse, he is very sly, but he can't throw dust in their eyes! As if they don't understand he is simply a cutthroat and he wants to kill the King to mount the throne himself. This impostor names himself to be a king and seduces the people to win over those good-for-nothings. But he will be arrested soon and hang up, and his whole "retinue" -- too!

          "You bum!" someone screeched with a nasty tenor. The others supported him, but the oldest priest lifted his hand, and they felt silent.

          "Hi, man!" the senior said. "We came to talk to you."

           The man calmly lifted his head. He threw his long hair aside and began to look peacefully at the people, who interrupted him at his important business.

          She was overcome with curiosity, so she wanted to scrutinize and to understand this crank. He was shapely and good looking, wearing a plain long robe. His hear was long and straight. An ordinary face. But there was something unusual with his make-up. It was either with his expression: calm, peaceful and -- it seemed -- joyful, although he didn't smile. "Indeed, he is blessed," she thought. Or something unusual was with the color of his beautiful eyes and hair? Or with the color of his skin? It didn’t seem like this scorching sun bathed his face in light, but that a small candle was shining inside him, illuminating his body. ...She had never seen such eyes, either. How had he gotten these blue eyes? Maybe, everyone in his country has such piercing blue in their eyes? ...Or maybe, he received them as a gift from the heavens, at which he loves gazing so much?

          ...People argue at the market. Many of them say: he isn't a dotty; he is simply a sincere and kind person. He came from very distant country that has a strange name Heavens. He says: in that country, all people are happy, there are no grief and poverty, and there are no deceivers and villains, because love and compassion govern there. And he says more: if people are kind and sincere here too, they could live happily as those do in that country...

         "We came to ask you," the senior continued. "Here you teach people how to live rightly. You are so brave to rescind and change our old laws..."

         "It's an advantageous deal -- to pretend to be a saint!" the same voice screeched again. "That's the best way to cover up your own sins!"

         The senior lifted his hand again, trying to calm down the impatient heckler. A young heart isn't bored for a long time. She already wasn't worried by the question: why did the priests need her? Watching curiously this "conversation" (where one side was silent), she twirled her head like a small finch among ravens. It was funny for her: either the polite indifference of this strange man and the hardly noticeable cunning look in his eyes, or how "the upper class" did its best in front of some sort of beggar.

          ...Love and compassion? What is it -- love? ...She didn't know.

          ...And what is its power?

          When she was a little girl, she had a friendship with a little goat. She played and talked to it. She washed and combed its hair. She missed it, sitting for hours on the bench, while she was waiting for it to come home from the pasture... Then her father killed it. He said: God needs such a thing.

          Maybe, her mother loved her? She called her a "baby", pressing her to her heart; she pitied her. She sighed sometimes, combing her hair... But no sooner had her breasts grown round, she was forced to marry to this loathsome stinking old man. They say that God's law demands that.

          But perhaps, love is those butterflies that began to beat their wings in her breast, when she saw that new boy in her church. She recognized him: he was a son of the neighbors of her parents. She played sometimes with him in their childhood. Now, he had become a shapely handsome youth. Today, he came close to her on the market and said, "I remember you. You got beautiful. Do you remember me? Give me your basket; it's heavy. I'll carry it to your home." The butterflies beat so strong in her breast, that she couldn't answer anything. She just hung her head down, so he couldn't see her eyes and guess about these traitorous butterflies through them. They went together. But they didn't even have a time to say something: after a few steps, they were stopped by the people. The boy was pushed back, and she was grabbed by the strong men's hands...The boy moved away silently. Who would be opposed to ministers of God?

          "You regard yourself a righteous person." the senior continued. "And you teach other people..."

          "But yesterday, you ate your dinner with unwashed hands! And before yesterday, you made the scandal with the tradesmen in the church!" the possessor of the tenor shouted hurriedly and then was shut up by a look from the senior.

          ...People say astonishing things in the market. They say -- he is a Son of God. And God sent him to the people, so he could tell them what he, God, thinks about them, and so as to teach them real laws and save them from sins.

          How can it be?

          But what on earth people can't concoct such a lot! How can you believe these fibbers -- traveling merchants, who lie without shame and fear! So they say one more thing: there is a country in the world; it is a long way away north from here. It can be so cold there, so that water is converted into stone. And from the sky, instead of rain -- there is a cold white down falling and it glitters like a diamond. And so much of it falls, that it covers everything: ground, and trees, and houses with thick shining cloth. And everything gets to be so white, so light blue. And the diamonds are gleaming so much, that it hurts the eyes to look at it. Like a fairy-tale!.. So can you believe that? It's nothing other than a pack of lies!

          "Look at this!" suddenly, the senior turned to her. She hung her head down quickly like a kid, who was naughty right now. "Here is a woman. We have leaded her over here to learn what you say about her. She is a sinner. This woman is married. But today we caught her with another man. She committed adultery."

She shuddered. What is he saying? That is an abominable lie! She didn't even say a word to this guy! But if the butterflies live in her bosom -- is it a sin?

          But she knew what this verdict of guilt meant. Such a thing is not forgiven here... The butterflies huddled up together in one heavy lump of a fear, and it fell down.

"Our law says: such a woman must be killed with stones. What are you going to say about that? What must we do with her?"

          She lifted her head, searching in the hope for his look. He has such kind eyes; he can't be cruel! And suddenly, they really are going to obey him. Maybe, that love that governs in his country is going to suggest to him, how to create this miracle!

Finally, he began to speak.

          "If your law says such a thing, do it! A sinful soul must be cleaned. If she will be cleaned by such a death, so kill her! But a sacred cleaning must be done by only those who don't have any sin themselves. Who doesn't remember any of his own sins? So, throw the first stone!"

          And he bent down and began to draw his figures in the sand.

          She didn't expect such a betrayal. She was so mistaken! She breathed her head involuntarily, became hollow-cheeked like one little lump of horrible waiting.

          She was waiting for a long time. She didn't see anything through the shawl pulled over her eyes. She only heard the rustle of the sand under the people's feet. Then an absolute stillness came. Bit by bit, curiosity overcame the fear. She began to look about. Finally, she threw her shawl down on her shoulders and looked around. Nobody was there.

          One man was sitting on the ground and playing with the sand.

          She was staying, not believing in the miracle, not knowing what to do now.

          The man raised his head, threw his hair aside and smiled widely:

          "Hi, girl! Where on earth are your offenders?" his cunning eyes were laughing.

          She only shook her head; she couldn't say anything.

          "Did nobody condemn you?" asked he merrily. He spoke with her simply with a friendly smile as though to a child.

          "No." she blinked with her wet eyes.

          "And I don't condemn you, either!" gave he a flirty wink and laughed. "Come on, calm down. I know all of them are wrong."

          Nobody had spoken with her in such a way. She became quite happy; she was laughing with him together, and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. And the Love and the Compassion lived in his eyes. Her butterflies began to beat furiously, they escaped from her breast, carrying her far away: somewhere to the heavens, to some country of dry white water and downy diamonds...

          "Sir, but what do I have to do now? Where to go?"

          "Oh, girl! You are a free person. Everybody is free. You may go wherever you want and do whatever you want... But be careful -- don't sin anymore!" shook he his finger and laughed again.

          She was staying for a while and moved resolutely towards him. He became serious, put his look up and whispered something. She passed her eyes over there, where he looked, and suddenly, she shuddered, stopped, pressed her hands to the breast and almost gave a scream.

          What did she see suddenly in his eyes or there, in the heavens? Maybe, she heard a stubborn, obtuse scream of a crowd: "Crucify! Crucify!" Or she felt a horrible pain from nails that lifted a live body up, to the heavens?

          She came up to him calmly and confidently and knelt down:

          "Savior, may I remain with You? So I can wash Your feet before dinner?"

She restrained herself. She didn't allow out the scream that was sounding the alarm in her breast, "When the heavens will capsize in Your eyes, but Your faithful friends will scatter away with fear and shame, disavowing  You, -- who will take down Your body from the cross?! ...Except me and Your Mother".

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Oh, Belarus! Who will take your body from the cross?

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Toronto.

2002.

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