Dedication
302 Words
To the memory of my Mother
A friend of his mother’s, Iryna Romanivna, lived in a pre-revolutionary building in Lviv Square, and when he was a child her home had a remarkable effect on him. Venetian windows that looked out on to the old part of town, high ceilings, paintings on the walls — everything was so different from what he had known at his parents’ house at Vitryani Hory. Iryna Romanivna’s accommodation was not self-contained; she had a room in a communal flat, and in addition to the main door there was another one which always remained closed, hidden behind a large bookcase. That door must have led to the neighbours’ room in the communal flat. However, he used to think it led to some different world. When he first asked Iryna Romanivna what would happen if they opened it she whispered that if you did not do so carefully you might disturb some very powerful sorcerers!
Ever since he has been living in America, he has occasionally had dreams about that room, though he never consciously remembers it. He dreams of the gold stripes on the wallpaper, the tall windows and the roofs of the old houses beyond. Now he is pushing the bookcase aside and opening that mysterious door, to find himself in a neatly whitewashed, sparsely furnished room in a rural cottage; there is just a table with benches in the middle, reflected on the well-varnished floor as though in a mirror. He takes a step inside this white room and he feels an eerie draught. On the wall there is a sloping mirror — he must have a look in it. Then Iryna Romanivna calls him: “Zhenia, where are you going? Come back this instant!” He wakes with a feeling of deep sadness that he has missed seeing something extremely important.
- Writer
