“Chudov, is it you have painted the frescos in the church?”
He chewed his lips and mumbled, “Yes. Father Oleg said, ‘God has given us this sacred spot. We ought to adorn it.’”
“And you have?”
“Yes. My hands recalled their old skills and it seems to have turned out well. People are pleased with it. It used to be a Rural Cultural Centre, and now we have made it into a little church. Although our benefactor, the person who initially made the donation for it all, because he remembered it as a child, – he was born in Bykovo although he lived in Tver – this businessman from Tver was blown to pieces in his Mercedes. So the Father can only remember him in our prayers ...”
“And who is this priest of yours?”
Chudov swallowed and stopped chewing. “He worked in some research institute, lost his w
