The snow clung stubbornly to the pine needles and bushes, patches of white stubbornly resisting the warmth of the approaching spring. The villagers of Donerov huddled indoors, sipping warm tea and basking in the glow of their fireplaces. But for Ivan and Verisha, the arrival of spring meant one thing: it was time to weed the garden.
The two men stood in the courtyard, bundled in their warmest clothes, preparing their tools for the day's work. Ivan adjusted his gloves, his breath visible in the crisp air, while Verisha muttered under his breath about the absurdity of weeding in such weather.
"Why can't we just wait until the snow melts?" The valet grumbled, hoisting a pair of shears onto his shoulder.
"Because the master said so," He replied with a smirk. "And you know how he gets when things aren't done on time."
Verisha rolled his eyes but said nothing further. Just then, the door to the manor opened, and Igor stepped out, his tall frame wrapped in a thick coat. His grey eyes scanned the courtyard before coming to rest on the two men.
"Verisha," he said, his voice calm but commanding, "I need you to check on the children in the mansion. Ivan will accompany me for a walk and help with the garden."
Verisha's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "As you wish, master," he said, shooting Ivan look that could only be described as lucky you before heading off.
He watched him go, chuckling softly. "Well, it seems Verisha doesn't like the kids as much as I hoped he would."
Igor laughed, a rare sound that made Ivan glance at him in surprise. "He's been grumpy from the start. There's nothing I can do to change that face of his."
Together, they headed towards the garden, tools in hand. The garden was a sprawling expanse of greenery, a labyrinth of paths, arches, and hidden nooks. It was a place of enchantment, but also of endless work. He had always marveled at its beauty, but today, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread as they approached its entrance.
"Ready?" Igor asked, glancing at Ivan with a faint smile.
"As ready as I'll ever be," He replied, though his tone was light, his shoulders tensed at the prospect of the task ahead.
The garden was a living maze, its paths winding through endless arches, tiny huts draped in vines, and fountains that never seemed to stop flowing. Flowers of every color dotted the landscape, their fragrance mingling with the crisp spring air. It was a place of beauty, but also of chaos a place where one could easily get lost.
Both master and servant worked in silence, their movements synchronized as they weeded the stray grass, their tools cutting through the earth with practiced ease. Hours passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky, but the garden seemed endless. Ivan's hands ached from gripping the shears too tightly, and his back protested with every bend.
Finally, he let out a groan and unceremoniously slumped onto a patch of soft grass, staring up at the sky. "I give up," he muttered, closing his eyes.
His master, who had been admiring a fully bloomed rose nearby, glanced over at him with a faint smile. He snipped the rose from its stalk and walked over, his steps deliberate.
"Tired already?" Igor asked, his tone teasing.
He opened one eye to look at him. "Exhausted," he admitted. "This garden is a monster."
The merchant chuckled, sitting down beside him. He held the rose in his hands, its petals soft and fragrant. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, more to himself than to Benedikt.
Ivan propped himself up on his elbows, watching as the merchant toyed with the rose's petals. "It is," he agreed. "But why the sudden interest in roses?"
his expression turned thoughtful, his gaze distant. "You know, when I die," he began abruptly, "I don't want to be reborn as another human being. I'd rather be a rose perfectly formed, like this one. Free from rules, free from cares."
Ivan stared at him, stunned into silence. It was the first time Igor had spoken about death, and the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. He wasn't sure how to respond, his mind racing to find the right words.
"We can only die once," He said finally, his voice tentative. "None of us can be reborn. Everything that is created will return to dust. We're biological beings, evolved over billions of years. God, if he exists, is just a figment of our imagination, created to explain the unknown. Everything depends on our decisions, not some higher power."
Igor sighed deeply, his gaze still fixed on the rose. "Science can explain how the world was born," he said, "but it can't explain why. There's something beyond it all, something greater, something unseen. Maybe it's God, maybe it's something else. But it's there."
He frowned, his mind grappling with Igor's words. "But what does that have to do with roses?" he asked, his tone cautious.
Igor smiled faintly, handing the rose to Ivan's. "When a person dies, they return to the earth," he said. "Their essence nourishes the soil, giving life to new things. In a way, they're reborn, not as humans, but as something else. Like this rose."
Ivan took the rose, his cheeks flushing as he held it carefully. "I… I don't know what to say," he admitted, his voice soft.
Igor chuckled, leaning back on his hands. "You don't have to say anything," he said. "Just enjoy the moment."
The garden stretched out around them, a living tapestry of vibrant greens and soft pastels, the air thick with the mingling scents of blooming roses, damp earth, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers. The sun hung low in the sky, its golden light filtering through the canopy of leaves above, casting dappled shadows on the grass. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of the breeze through the trees and the occasional chirp of a bird, their melodies weaving a fragile harmony into the quiet afternoon. Benedikt sat on the soft grass, the rose Igor had given him cradled delicately in his hands. Its petals were impossibly soft, like satin against his fingertips, and its fragrance enveloped him, sweet and intoxicating. He held it as if it were something precious, something fragile, something that could shatter if he wasn't careful.
He was still processing the other's words, the weight of them settling uneasily in his chest. The idea of rebirth, of becoming something pure and untethered, like a rose it was poetic, almost beautiful, but it also felt like a confession, a glimpse into a part of him that he had never seen before. He looked up at Igor, his brow furrowed in confusion, his lips slightly parted as if to speak, but no words came. He felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, leaving him unsteady, unsure of where to place his feet.
Ivan heard his master sigh a heavy, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world.
Igor knew that in this country, religion was non-existent and the concept of god was taken out of the citizens after the revolution. Books indoctrinating religion was banned then burned as big bonfires in the space reserved for the 'traitors' who abandoned the nation for religious activities and misleading the common man with the slogan of god being the all-seeing and the one the people should have faith in. Selected songs and dictation of appropriate hairstyles for men and women were the norm. Children are taught from the beginning of absolute obedience, recognizing equality among their peers, only males men and boys, mind that females are strangely not included in that list, complying with respective authorities (for example the leader of the nation) and to believe that only what the leader says its right, it is the universal truth and nobody can question it. But it's not like anybody cared anyway as long as they don't preach the bible in the public square they wouldn't be executed even if the books were banned.
Fortunately, the leader loved science very much so he made sure to state facts from a more…. scientific angle for events that are not under their control.
The black market earned quite a huge profit from illicit sales of religious texts smuggled in the disguise of normal looking books approved by the government with the extra baggage of clothes, cheap liquor and weed. Igor got a hold of it, read everything from beginning to end wrote some parts down for reference then burned the books due to fear. Being caught holding religious books could land him in serious trouble, from going to jail for very long periods of time or being killed on the spot for being a so-called traitor towards his country and countrymen. He wouldn't want to be caught dead with that thing they call the 'bible'
"моя любовь... (my love) He coughed on his fist before continuing. Even if science can tell how the world had been born. We have not witnessed it first-hand as to how it happened, the safer side is to believe that a higher entity or force is present to make us process the wonders of the world a little easier. When man was first created he emerged from the ground as a figure without life. He couldn't speak, couldn't laugh like we can and could do nothing but stand there motionless like a statue. God came down from the heavens after creating everything else for the period of six days breathed life into that clay figure and he moved for the very first time in his life, took his first breath of the world the god itself created and witnessed his glory. science can only explain so much, they dehumanize it to matter and particles, atoms and a nucleus.
It's true when a person dies he may not be physically present with us all the time. But if we go back to a certain rule in science it clearly says that 'matter cannot be destroyed completely they transfer to others instead' just like that when a person has 'expired' he returns to dust. The dust slowly mixes with the soil to create fertilizer and the so-called fertilizer nourishes the soil and became the nurturer of life around them. From the death of one species another one sprouts from the ashes of the previous owner so life goes on and on and the dead are being reborn day by day." Igor shook his shoulders then gave another rose towards the absolutely flummoxed. Ivan who looked at it, blushed like crazy then accepted it after sometime, smiling shyly like a maiden on her first date.
The lord had an inkling that he shouldn't have gone astray from his so-called morals of an uptight citizen who abhorred religion to the extreme. He couldn't help himself as he was morbidly curious after reading every single religious texts and extra theological essays about the attainment of nirvana and life after death.
Igor should have felt shame. He was a loyal citizen. A rational man. Once, he would have spat at the idea of divine whispers.
But now, after nights spent hunched over smuggled texts, after absorbing every forbidden word on salvation and eternity, he could no longer dismiss it.
The thought haunted him.
Not the fear of death.
The curiosity gnawed at him
Not the fear of death
He still remembers how he held it; the ultimate contraband
The Bible
He read it in the dead of night, fingers trembling, scribbling passages onto scraps of paper before feeding the pages to the flames. Possession meant execution. Or worse interrogation, torture, a slow death in a labor camp as an example to others.
Yet the words clung to him like the roots of his hair
And it will never let him go....