And so I left the chapel, and Gavril, whom I both longed for and feared longing for. The thoughts and feelings swirled inside me, a maelstrom of emotion and discord, and continued to drown out the voice of my Father. Was I abandoning my mission? What was my mission? What was real and what was a production of the juices that this body excreted to flow inside of me?
The demon's words haunted me. Was I there to protect, or procreate? One I knew how to do, the other I hadn't the faintest notion of, but the very idea filled me with a dreadful longing. I feared it, and hated it, and wanted it, and yearned for it. That mysterious and inexplicable act that could only happen between a man and a woman, that created life.
Pleasure had been built into the human form, as had pain, both gifts from God. Both served as lessons, as tools to curb or reward. Pleasure in and of itself was not forbidden, and it was not merely the carrot on the stick to encourage reproduction, otherwise such pleasure would only be possible for the purpose of conception. It was not the idea of pleasure that created such turmoil within me.
It was the acts that would be performed, and the admissions that would be made, and the vows that would be broken should that pleasure be obtained.
~:~
"Ah, did you quarrel with your Popiy, Snegurochka?"
"No, but I am leaving Rechka. Is there anyone who can go to the chapel to tend to him until I can find a permanent replacement?"
The starosta peered at her through his brushy brows. "What's all this then?"
"I cannot stay, that is all that needs be said," she said brusquely. She knew she was being rude, but politeness was something that required more energy than she had at the moment. There was a great wrenching agony in her chest, and it was everything she had not to cry out because of it. "Do you know of someone?"
"I am sure we can find someone until Kyiv finds someone more suitable. Perhaps the elder unmarried daughters will take it upon themselves to care for him until this someone arrives. But what of you, Snegurochka? Where do you go?"
"It does not matter."
"It does matter. Winter comes, and it will be too cold to travel without great preparation, which you have neither the funds nor the inclination for."
"The cold does not affect me."
"Perhaps not yet, when you are fresh from such a walk, but it will when the snow is piled several feet upon the ground and you are weary from a day's travel on foot. Come in, we will have tea and talk."
Hesitantly, she obeyed, and found herself seated at the table inside the starosta's house, sipping a handleless mug full of steaming tea.
"You know, your Popiy was sitting in that exact same spot just a few weeks ago, after you had quarreled during your last visit to the village together."
Despite herself, she gave a watery smile and ran a finger down the arm of the chair. "We did not quarrel," she murmured.
"Well, something had happened. He was all twitterpated. We had a nice talk, though, and it all turned out all right."
"And you are thinking perhaps we can do the same?"
"Mayhap, mayhap not, that is up to you."
"It will turn out all right, the steps I take will insure that."
"Such drastic steps, though. Are you not afraid they are too large? That you will trip and fall?"
"If I do, then that is my responsibility. I will not be grabbing onto anyone to drag them down with me."
"So serious. Is the weight of the world so heavy upon your shoulders?"
"Not the world. Just my part in it. Father Gavril is important, and my remaining endangers him."
"Endangers him? My dear, you are not the first to fall in love with someone they should not."
"What?" she blurted, startled. Love. It was the first time the word had been applied.
He gave her a wrinkly smile. "But of course you are in love with him. That is the only thing that creates such pain."
"Then you know why I leave."
"I know that is why you think you must. You are not strong enough to bear with it."
She shook her head. "That is not all of it. I know your ways are not mine, and you do not understand why it is that Father Gavril cannot marry—"
"I'm not so ignorant as all that, Snegurochka. It is his faith. He has eschewed the touch and love of woman because the touch and love of his God is that much greater."
She stared at him in open amazement.
"I have been doing some research of my own into the Christian church, and while I do like what I am seeing, and feeling, there are things I do not like. That is one of them."
"It shows the strength of his faith, that he is not to fall prey to such emotion. God has replaced any need for them."
"You speak that as if you honestly believe that, but if that is so, why are you here?"
"Because I—I—"
"Because your faith in his faith is not as strong as you think. Or is it because, as I said, you're not strong enough to bear the thought of living with a one-sided love?"
"No! Neither of those! I would never—"
"Settle down, settle down. It was only a question. Then why do you flee as if the wolves were snapping at your heels?"
"Because…I am not sure of what words to use…because what I am feeling…it is impossible. Or it should be. Obviously it is not impossible, as it is happening, but it should not be! If this impossible thing has happened, what others lurk? No, the risk is too great. He will need another assistant."
"Do you believe you were sent by God to help this man?"
"I know I was."
"Then why do you doubt God now?"
"Because now I have the will of man, and it is the nature of the will of man to circumvent the will of God, like an unruly child who insists they want more sweetmeats despite the parent who knows they will make the child ill. It is this will that makes me falter now, and creates such a storm inside me I can…I can no longer hear the Voice of God."
"You are wise for recognizing such, Snegurochka. There are outside influences and inside influences, and sometimes it is difficult to recognize which is which. But it can be done."
"Tell me how! Please! I beg of you!"
"The how is not so difficult, find a quiet place and think. Find some menial task that occupies the body but leaves your mind and heart free to explore that storm you're hiding from. You have to fling yourself into it to defeat it."
"So I was right to leave," she said, half to herself.
"That I do not know. The Popiy's guidance could be of help to you during this time, he is a man of great insight, and he knows the ways of your God much better than I do."
"I will not be imposing upon you for long. I merely accepted your invitation to tea."
"So you are intent upon leaving us?"
"Yes. I must."
"Wait a few days, I implore you," the old man said, and his eyes were so earnest that her determination faltered. "We will be able to at least give you enough to see you to the next village, four days walk from here. You can find the starosta there, and he will help you as I do. I doubt you took anything of use from the chapel, just as I do not doubt that the Popiy told you to."
"I only brought away what I came with, and this coat." It would have looked odd if she had been wandering around in the November morning without one.
"It can't be helped," he sighed. "Stay with me while we prepare for you."
"I cannot ask you to—"
"Snegurochka," he said sternly. "It is my wish that you remain. Your upbringing, or lack thereof, is a stain upon this village, and one I know we can never erase." She shifted uncomfortably, knowing the memories he was recalling of the poor orphan left on the outskirts of the village to be false, planted by the same powers that sent her to the priest. "So let us do this for you. Let us do it for ourselves."
"Very well," she replied weakly.
"And in return you can cook my meals and clean my house and whatever other little chores I may have, how does that sound?"
"Much better," she said in relief.