by Boris Akunin
And so the rumor spread that of all places on earth, Basilisk's Hermitage is the very closest to God, located on the very outskirts of the Kingdom of Heaven—which is the reason for its other name, Outskirts Island. On visiting the archipelago for the first time, some people used to think the island was given that name because of its closeness to Canaan, where all the churches stand and the archimandrite lives. But this little island was not close to the archimandrite—it was close to God.
The hermitage has always been inhabited by three especially distinguished monks, and there has never been any greater honor for the monks of New Ararat than to complete their earthly journey in the caves there, on the bones of the righteous men who have preceded them.
Of course, not all of the brotherhood have always thirsted fervently after a rapid ascent to that Other Kingdom, because even among monks there are many to whom the earthly life appears more attractive than the next one. Nonetheless, there has never been any shortage of volunteers; on the contrary, there has always been a long queue of avid applicants, and just as there must be in any queue, there have been quarrels, disputes, and serious intrigues, so impatient have certain monks been to cross as soon as possible the narrow channel that separates Canaan from Outskirts Island.
One of the three ascetics was regarded as senior and given the rank of abbot. He was the only one whom the hermitage rules permitted to open his mouth and speak—but not to say more than six words, which had to come directly from Holy Writ, and another one or two which could be chosen freely; these latter words usually conveyed the basic sense of what was said. They say that in olden times the abbot was not even permitted this much, but after the monastery on Canaan was revived, the hermits no longer wasted time on gathering meager food to eat—berries, roots, and worms (nothing else that was edible had ever been found on Outskirts Island as long as it had existed)—but received everything they needed from the monastery. So now the holy hermits whiled away the time carving cedarwood rosaries, for which the pilgrims paid the monastery good money—sometimes as much as thirty rubles for a single string.
A boat landed on Outskirts Island once a day to collect the rosaries and deliver necessities. The head of the hermitage came out to meet the boat and recited a brief quotation that contained a request, usually of a practical nature: to deliver certain food supplies or medicines or shoes or a warm blanket. Let us assume that the abbot said, “Unto him he gave a blanket” or “Let there be brought pear-water.” The beginnings of these utterances were taken from the book of Genesis, where Isaac addresses his son Esau, and the final words were added to express what was urgently needed. The boatman remembered what had been said and conveyed it word for word to the father steward and the father cellarer, and they tried to penetrate its meaning—sometimes unsuccessfully. Take, for instance, the aforementioned “pear-water.” They say that one day the hermitage's abbot indicated one of the other monks with his staff and declared darkly, “All his innards poured forth.” The senior monks leafed through the Holy Writ for a long time and eventually found these strange words in the Acts of the Apostles, in the passage describing the suicide of the contemptible Judas, and were greatly alarmed, thinking that the ascetic must have committed the very worst of mortal sins and laid hands on himself. For three days they tolled the bells, observed the strictest possible fast, and offered up prayers to be purged of the pollution of sin, but then it turned out that the venerable monk had simply suffered a bout of diarrhea and the abbot had been asking for him to be sent some pear liquor.
When the senior hermit told the boatman, “Today dost Thou release Thy servant,” it meant that one of the hermits had been admitted into the presence of the Lord, and then someone would be chosen from the queue to fill the vacancy. Sometimes the fateful words were not spoken by the abbot, but by one of the other two unspeaking brothers. In that way the monastery learned that the former elder had been summoned to his Bright Dwelling in Heaven and henceforth the hermitage had a new steward.
On one occasion, about a hundred years ago, a bear that had swum from the farthest islands fell on one of the ascetics and began tearing the unfortunate soul's flesh. He began crying out, “Brothers! Brothers!” The other two came running up and drove the beast away with their staffs, but after that they refused to live with the man who had broken the vow of silence and sent him away to the monastery, as a result of which the exile fell into a mournful state and soon died, without ever opening his mouth again, but whether he was admitted into the Radiant Sight of the Lord or is now dwelling among the sinful souls, no one can say.
What else can be said about the hermits? They wore black vestments that took the form of a coarsely woven sack, belted around with string. The cowl that the ascetics wore was narrow and pulled down over the entire face, with the edges sewn together in a sign of their total isolation from worldly vanity. Two holes were made in this pointed hood for the eyes. If the pilgrims praying on the shore of Canaan happened to see one of the holy ascetics on the little island (which happened extremely rarely and was regarded as an exceptional piece of luck), the sight that met their observant eyes was of a black sack meandering slowly between the mossy boulders as if it were not a man at all, but some kind of disembodied shadow.
And now that we have told you everything about New Ararat and the hermitage and Saint Basilisk, it is time to return to the courthouse archive room, where His Grace Mitrofanii has already begun interrogating the New Ararat monk Antipa.
“SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT over in the hermitage—our people have been saying so for a long time.” (These were the words with which Brother Antipa began his incredible story after he had calmed down somewhat, thanks to the slapping and the tea.) “At Transfiguration, when it was nearly night, Agapii the novice went out onto the spit to wash the senior brothers’ underwear. Suddenly he saw something that looked like a kind of shadow on the water near Outskirts Island. Well, what does a shadow mean—you can see all sorts of things when it's getting dark. Agapii just crossed himself and carried on rinsing out the smalls. But then he thought he heard a quiet sound above the water. He looked up, and Holy Mother of God! There was a black shadow hanging above the waves without seeming to touch them, and he could hear words, but not clearly. All Agapii could make out was ‘I curse’ and ‘Basilisk,’ but that was more than enough for him. He abandoned the things he'd been washing, ran back to the brothers’ cells as fast as his legs would carry him, and started shouting, saying that Basilisk had returned, full of wrath, and he was cursing everyone.
“Agapii's a foolish boy—he hasn't been at Ararat for long—so no one believed him. And for the underclothes he'd left behind, which were washed away by the waves, the father assistant healer gave his ears a good pulling. But after that the dark shadow began appearing to some of the other brothers: first to Father Ilarii, a most venerable and restrained senior monk, then to Brother Melchisedek, and after that to Brother Diomid. Every time at night, when there was a moon. Everybody heard different words: some heard a curse, some heard an admonition, and some couldn't make anything out at all—it depended on which way the wind was blowing. But they all saw the same thing, and they kissed the icon in front of Revered Father Vitalii to swear to it: someone dressed in black vestments down to his heels and a sharp-pointed cowl, like the monks on the island wear, floating above the waves, speaking words and raising his finger threateningly.
“After making inquiries about the miraculous events, the archimandrite scolded the brothers roundly. He said, ‘I know you whisperers: one fool blurts out something and the others are only too happy to ring the bells and spread the news. It's true what they say: monks are worse tittle-tattles than gossipy old women.’ And he rebuked them in all sorts of other ways, and then strictly forbade anyone to go after dark to the side of Canaan where the Lenten Spit stretches out toward Outskirts Island.”
His Grace interrupted the monk's story at this point: “Yes, I remember. Father Vitalii wrote to me about the stupid rumors and complained about the mon
ks’ weak-wittedness. In his opinion, it comes from idleness and inactivity, and so he asked my blessing to involve the entire brotherhood up to the rank of hieromonk in work useful to the community. I gave my blessing.”
Sister Pelagia took advantage of the break in the story to ask quickly, “Tell me, Brother, approximately how far is it from the place where Basilisk has been seen to Outskirts Island? And does the spit stretch out far into the water? And another thing: Where exactly was the shadow floating—right beside the hermitage or some distance away from it?”
Antipa blinked and gaped at this highly inquisitive nun, but he answered the questions: “From the spit to Outskirts Island would be about three hundred and fifty feet. And as for our patron, before me the others only saw him in the distance; they couldn't make him out clearly from our shore. But Basilisk came up really close to me, about from here to that picture.” He pointed to a photographic portrait of the Governor of Zavolzhie on the opposite wall, which was about fifteen paces away.
“Not just ‘some kind of shadow,’ but Saint Basilisk himself?” the bishop roared at the monk and clutched his beard in his fist, which was the way he expressed his mounting irritation. “Vitalii's right! You monks are worse than market women!”
Antipa cringed at these terrible words, pulling his head down into his shoulders, and was unable to carry on speaking, so that Pelagia was obliged to come to his assistance. She straightened her steel-rimmed spectacles, tucked away a rebellious lock of ginger hair under her veronica, and said reproachfully, “Your Grace, you're always talking about the harmfulness of hasty conclusions. Why not listen to the holy father without interrupting?”
That made Antipa even more frightened, for he was certain that the primate would be absolutely furious at such insolence; but Mitrofanii did not grow angry with the sister and the glint of fury in his eyes faded. He waved his hand at the monk. “Go on. But mind, no lies now.”
And so the story was continued, although its telling was somewhat burdened by the lengthy excuses that the terrified Antipa felt obliged to include.
“I'll tell you why I disobeyed the archimandrite's order. It's my calling to work as an herbalist and treat the brothers who think it a sin to visit a secular doctor. And you know the way it is with us monastery herbalists—every herb has to be gathered on the day of a special saint. Lenten Spit, opposite the hermitage, has an area where more herbs grow than anywhere else on the whole of Canaan. Hard-wort, good for overindulgence in wine, grows there under the patronage of Saint Vonifatii; and there's flock-weed, good for lascivious passion, under the patronage of holy Saint Fomaida; and pouch-weed, good for protecting against evil enchantment, under the patronage of Saint Kiprian, and many other healing plants. Because of the prohibition I'd already failed to gather joint-weed or gem-weed, which have to be pulled with the night dew still on them. And on holy Saint Eufimia's day—she guards against the shaking sickness—the late whisper-wort flowers: it can only be gathered on this single night in the whole year. How could I miss it? And so I disobeyed.
“As soon as all the brothers had gone off to sleep I crept out into the yard and past the fence and across the open field to the Farewell Chapel, where the hermits are locked up before they're put in the hermitage— the Lenten Spit is close by there. At first I was afraid and I kept crossing myself and looking around, but then it passed and I felt braver. Late whisper-wort is hard to find—it takes practice and a lot of effort. It was dark, of course, but I had an oil lamp with me, and I covered one side of it with a rag so that no one would see it. I was crawling along on my hands and knees, pulling off the flowers, and I'd forgotten completely about the archimandrite and Saint Basilisk. I reached the very edge of the bank of earth; after that there was nothing but water and a few rocks sticking up. I was just going to turn back. Suddenly I heard it, out of the darkness …”
The monk turned pale at the terrible memory, his breath came faster, and his teeth started chattering, and Pelagia poured him some boiled water from the samovar.
“Thank you, little Sister. Suddenly this voice came out of the darkness, quiet but penetrating, and I could hear every word clearly: ‘Go. Tell everyone.’ I turned toward the lake, and I was so terrified that I dropped the lamp and my bag for collecting herbs. I saw a vague, thin figure just above the surface of the water, as if someone were standing on a rock. Only there weren't any rocks there. Suddenly … suddenly there was an unearthly glow, bright, a lot brighter than the glow from the gas lamps that shine in our streets in New Ararat. And then he appeared before me perfectly clearly. A black monk in a cassock, with light pouring out from behind his back, standing right there on the water—the small waves were splashing under his feet. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Tell them. It shall be cursed.’ He spoke and pointed to Outskirts Island with his finger. And then he took a step toward me right across the water—and then another, and another. I screamed and waved my hands in the air; I turned and ran as fast as I could …”
The monk began sobbing and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Pelagia sighed and patted the poor soul on the head, and at that Antipa went completely to pieces. “I ran to the father archimandrite, and he only swore crudely at me—he didn't believe me,” the monk complained. “He locked me in the punishment cell, on bread and water. I was in there for four days, shaking and praying the whole day long, my insides all shriveled up. When I came out I was staggering. And there was a new work of penance waiting for me from the father superior: I had to take a boat from Canaan to Ukatai, the most distant of the islands, and live there from then on, at the viper nursery.”
“Why is there a viper nursery?” Mitrofanii asked in amazement.
“The archimandrite's doctor, Donat Savvich Korovin, thought of it. A man with a cunning mind, His Reverence listens to him. He said the Germans are paying good money for viper venom nowadays, so let's breed the snakes. We squeeze the venom out of their repulsive jaws and send it off to the land of Germany. Ugh!” said Antipa, spitting angrily and crossing his mouth in order not to be defiled, and then he reached under his cassock with his hand. “Only then the most experienced and godly-wise of the senior monks met together in secret and told me not to go to Ukatai but to flee from Ararat without permission and come to Your Grace and tell you everything that I had seen and heard. And they gave me a letter to bring with me. Here it is.”
The bishop took the gray sheet of paper with a frown, set his pince-nez on his nose, and began to read. Pelagia peered over his shoulder without standing on ceremony.
Our most Reverend and Just Lord!
We, the undernamed monks of the New Ararat Communal Monastery, fall at Your Grace's feet in humility, imploring you in your great wisdom not to turn your archpastoral wrath upon us for our willfulness and audaciousness. If we have dared to disobey our most reverend archimandrite, then it is not out of obstinacy, but only out of the fear of God and the zeal to serve Him. The labor of this earthly life is but a fleeting dream, and men are subject to empty fancies, but everything that Brother Antipa will relate to Your Grace is the absolute truth, for he is a monk known among us as a truthful and generous-hearted brother who is not inclined to vain dreaming. And also all of us who have signed this letter have seen the same thing as he did, although not as closely.
Father Vitalii has hardened his heart against us and will not listen to us, but meanwhile there is confusion and vacillation among the brothers, and we are also afraid: What can this oppressive sign mean? Why does Saint Basilisk, the protector of this glorious monastery, raise his finger in threat and lay a curse on his own most holy hermitage? And the words “it shall be cursed”— what do they mean? Were they spoken of the hermitage, of the monastery, or perhaps with a wider meaning of which we of little wit are afraid even to think? Only to Your Grace is there granted the possibility of expounding these terrible visions. Therefore we implore you, most just lord, do not order us or Brother Antipa to be punished, but pour forth on this terrible event the light of your wisdom.
Imploring y
our holy prayers and bowing low before you, we remain your unworthy brothers in prayer and your sinful servants.
Hieromonk Ilarii
Hieromonk Melchisedek
Monk Diomid
“Father Ilarii wrote it,” Antipa explained respectfully. “A very learned man, an academic. If he had wanted, he could have been a father superior or someone even higher, but instead of that he works to save his soul with us and dreams of getting to Basilisk's Hermitage; he's the first in the queue. And now such a bitter disappointment for him …”
“I know Ilarii,” Mitrofanii said with a nod, examining the request. “I remember him. Not stupid, with sincere faith, only very fervent.”
The bishop removed his pince-nez and looked the messenger over, sizing him up.
“But why do you look so tattered, my son? And why have you no hat? You didn't drive your horses all the way from Ararat, surely? That would hardly be possible across the water, unless, of course, you can walk on water like Basilisk.”
No doubt the bishop was hoping to raise the monk's spirits and lead him into the calmer state of mind required for a more detailed conversation, but the result was the direct opposite.
Antipa suddenly leapt up out of his chair, ran over to the narrow window of the archive room, and began looking out, muttering incoherently: “Oh Lord, how could I have forgotten! He's probably already here, in the town! Holy Mother of God, save us and protect us!” He turned to the bishop and began jabbering: “I came through the forest, hurrying to get to you. As soon as I got off the ship in Sineozersk the police officer gave me his carriage, so that I could get to Zavolzhsk as quickly as possible. They'd already heard about Basilisk's appearance in Sineozersk. And just as I was approaching your town, there he was, above the trees!”
