Your Love Incomplete

by Robert Bonomo

XX - THE WORLD

  It was Thanksgiving Day, 2012 and I splashed through enormous icy puddles towards the bus station in Elizovo, Kamchatka. November in Kamchatka is a terrible combination of fall and winter where today’s rain becomes tomorrow’s sheet of ice. The village we lived in, Elizovo, was about twenty kilometers from the main city of Pertropovlask where I went twice a week to give class. As the minivan with fifteen people aboard bumped its way toward Pertropovlask I gazed out on the leafless birches that appeared like giant hairs waiting for a cosmic tweezer to reach down and pluck them. The small bus was enveloped in the sweaty aroma of yesterday’s vodka and the Russian pop music that blared on the radio.

  From the bus station in Pertropovlask I struggled across hundreds of meters of ice until I finally reached the dinge apartment that I rented two days a week to give class. That day I prepared one young man for the EILTS, another house wife who wanted to practice her English for her trip to Thailand and finally a university professor who just wanted to practice speaking. For some I read the cards or interpreted their natal charts while others only wanted to do grammar exercises or vent in a foreign tongue. There was no giving them what I wanted, each needed something different and I had to figure out what it was and give it to them. It was satisfying work which made me feel constructive in a humble way that I could never have dreamed of years before in my other life. Around 8:00PM a friend came by who was quite psychic and he told me of a recent out of body experience and then dropped me off at the bus station and I got home around ten.

  The house was lonely without Marina who had gone to see her mother who lived near the Black Sea and then to see her daughter in St. Petersburg who was studying medicine on a scholarship. My visa had expired so it was impossible for me to travel and we couldn’t have afforded tickets for the both of us anyway as all the money I had brought was spent and we were living month to month.

  That Friday morning an old student who I had helped prepare for her English exam to be an air traffic controller came by and we had tea in the kitchen and she talked about her job and how she liked it. We had spent hours together listening to pilot/controller conversations and I remembered fondly how happy we both were when she passed the difficult language test. I’d once read the cards for her about a boyfriend and she asked me if I could do another reading. After an interesting spread the concluding card was The Fool and she confessed the question was whether she should leave Kamchatka. I explained to her that she couldn’t have had a more positive reading and she left happy.

  By this time I had disconnected the Internet and we had no television at home so long walks with the dog in the woods became my chief diversion. I did check my email occasionally at an internet cafe and had downloaded every lecture I could find of Terence McKenna who had become important to me again since the mushroom trip with Marina and the imminent arrival of his eschaton on the winter solstice of 2012. He seemed one of the few voices of the recent culture that could speak to me, maybe because what he talked about was unplugging the culture itself.

  While in the woods walking Leo the phone rang and it was an unknown number which usually meant a new student though I never liked those calls as I was illegally in the country. I answered it and to my surprise I heard the voice of an Englishman, the first native English speaker I had conversed with in over a year.

  “Yes, this Arthur Edwards, what can I do for you?” I was very intrigued at who could be calling me.

  “Hi Arthur, this Colin Grotte, a friend of Misha. He gave me your number. I’m here in Kamchatka at the Ontarious Hotel in Paratonka.” Paratonka was an area about fifteen kilometers south of Elizovo which had many hot springs and several hotels with big swimming pools filled with the hot, natural mineral water. “I was hoping you could come out here and see me, there are some things I wanted to discuss with you regarding a social media project that you had sent to Misha a few years ago. Do you have some time this weekend, maybe tomorrow?”

  “Sure, that would be very nice, what time would you like me to come out?”

  “How about for lunch? Twelve o’clock lets say. I’ll get you a room so you can spend the night here. We have a lot discuss and I’d like to have some time to get to know you.”

  “Sure, I’ll bring an overnight bag. I look forward to meeting you, see you tomorrow.”

  “Same here, see you tomorrow.”

  After several years of a calm and uneventful life it was uncomfortable to feel the anticipation and stress nagging at me. The peace of that afternoon and so many more before it had gone and I understood something had shifted. I felt clumsy updating the numbers in the excel to the then outlandish new valuations given for Facebook which had recently gone public. Lack of an excel sent me from New York and I was afraid another excel would send me from Kamchatka.

  The next morning I took the bus to a stop that was about two kilometers from the hotel and walked across the snow to the entrance. I’d been to the hotel before with Marina on my first trip to Kamchatka and it brought back all the memories of that desperate flight from New York. Upon arriving I went into the cafe and saw a tall man in his fifties with a mustache and thinning hair sitting at one of the tables alone. He looked at me and as I hesitantly approached him he got up and put out his hand, “Colin Grotte, a pleasure to meet you.”

  He had very powerful blue eyes and a strange aura about him that in earlier times I might have confused with something dark. During lunch he didn’t speak much only asking a few questions about what I had been doing in Kamchatka and though I was anxious to hear why he had come, I patiently waited and enjoyed the food as I understood he was simply getting a feel for me in his own, peculiar way. Over coffee he suggested we take a swim in the hot spring pool.

  But there the suspense continued as I floated on the water and observed the overcast sky and forest in the distance. Slowly, my peace returned and I regained the ballast I had lost since his call. After about twenty minutes in the pool we sat on the deck chairs and I watched the spooky spectacle of the steam pouring off him in the below freezing air. His accent was high end British but there was something Germanic about him. “Arthur, do you like billiards?” He leaned over and asked.

  “Sure, I enjoy them, but these tables are difficult, bigger and with smaller pockets than I was accustomed to in the States.”

  “Superb, lets get changed and meet in the billiard room. I reserved it for us. Let’s say in an hour?”

  “Great, I’ll see you there.” He got up and left the pool area and I took one more swim in the hot water before getting the key to my room from reception and taking a shower. I had brought a good sport coat that I hadn’t worn in over a year and went to the billiard room at the agreed upon time. He was already there and the room had been prepared with a table set for dinner, a bottle of very good wine on the bar and a tempting looking bottle of whiskey that seemed to call out to me. There was a buffet set up with smoked fish, sausage, salmon caviar and a big serving dish with elk meat in sauce. The balls were already racked and as I prepared to break, he opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

  “Tell me, Arthur, do you like it here?”

  “Very much.”

  “I understand you are married, is that correct?”

  “Yes.” For a moment I wondered if he were some kind of spook.

  “Misha has spoken very highly of you and as you probably know, he’s been following your progress. While he was quite sure you had reached the desired level we had to make sure and I just spoke to Misha and he was very pleased to hear of your progress.” I drank and listened as I hadn’t sipped such good wine in years. He began to pocket balls one after the other with a style that was gentle and elegant. “Pardon the display, billiards are a passion of mine; they calm my mind.”

  He finally missed a shot that was almost impossible and I did my best to capture some of his grace and was able to pocket a few balls until he took over and finished up. I racked the balls and he bro
ke and continued speaking. “Arthur, I’m familiar with your career, I’ve read your articles and I’ve observed that, unlike most people, you’re aware of the changes that are brewing in the world. The organization that Misha and I are a part of is working in many ways to help people find the path, the path you know well. We are not a public entity and only a select group of people even know we exist. We’re not interested in generating wealth or gaining political power or even cultural influence; the money, politics, religion and culture have many very passionate suiters, but we’re interested in something beyond that and we have plenty of resources to reach our goals. At some point in the future you will learn more about us but for the moment we ask you that what we discuss tonight remains confidential. What you say to your wife, if things progress, we can decide later.”

  “I understand. It will remain between us.”

  “Good.” He broke and pocketed two balls before missing then he continued, “The men and women of this organization come from many walks of life. I come for particle physics and Misha from psychology, but our purpose is beyond our fields of expertise. Slowly you will see and learn things that will speed you on your path but as you probably understand by now, these things cannot be openly talked about; it just doesn’t suit them. It’s the nature of transcendental truth to be veiled; this is self evident to those with the potential for real understanding. If you would like me to clarify something, please let me know?”

  “It’s clear.”

  “Very good. There was a project you sent to Misha several years back before the financial crisis and we took a serious look at it and were very enthusiastic about pursuing it further; however, one thing stood in our way.” I missed and he began to shoot.

  “What was that?”

  He pocketed a ball than took a drink of his wine and finally responded. “Well, that was you Arthur. You weren’t ready for the project and neither was anyone else, so we waited. There were certain qualities that you needed to cultivate and many things you needed to learn. You’ve learned quite a bit on your own and we now think you’re ready to come in from the cold. I want you to understand there are two parts, one is the website itself, and the other is your own development; both are equally valuable. People in the organization like Misha, for instance, do immense amounts of work but very discreetly- his accomplishments I couldn’t even begin to explain to you though one day, we hope, you will become aware of them and also begin your own work. Shall we have dinner?”

  We prepared our plates and sat in two large comfortable armchairs and ate. “Let me begin by talking about you and then we can discuss the website project. You’ve made great strides and Misha is particularly proud of you. I think you would agree that destiny has played an interesting part in your quest.”

  “Destiny?” I was following him but that last sentence caught me off gaurd.

  He smiled, the first time he smiled since I met him. “I think you will understand later. Let’s just say your progress has been noted. But, may I ask, do you feel there is more you want to accomplish?”

  That was a question that I thought no one would ever ask yet this strange man knew exactly what drove me. “Absolutely, I feel like I’ve just had a glimmer, and while there’s been progress, I often long for a teacher. I’m quite sure that I could advance much further since I’ve learned the humility needed to work with a teacher from teaching itself.”

  “Well, that’s really why I’m here, as your development is the true project, what you accomplish will proceed naturally from it. You’re as important as the website and we have plans for both, but I will let Misha fill you in on that side of things so let’s you and I talk about the website project.” He got up and went to the bar. “Shall we change to whiskey?”

  “Yes.” He poured two fingers for each of us and brought them back to the table.

  “We’ve consulted some very knowledgeable people quite recently and they were unanimous in that this site is viable. One thing I want get across and we feel this is the most important part of the project- almost all mass media has a strong cultural bias but what we want is a platform without censorship of any sort even though some ideas and movements will appear on it that we may find abhorrent; we still believe they need to be expressed. They’re part of the experience- the global zeitgeist if you like. Of course we will also create a platform to promote our own ideas, but we will just be one more of the participants. We haven’t really ventured into promoting ourselves in an extroverted manner but we believe this is a place to start finding like minded people and approach them to help put some momentum into the movement. The reason for this is that the highest levels of the organization are convinced we are arriving at a turning point and many changes and upheavals will soon be upon us, hence the added pressure to connect with as many of the awake as we possibly can.”

  “I’m in total agreement; I abhor censorship in all forms.”

  “Good. What resources will you need?”

  “Top notch IT guy, at least director level with extensive experience building websites, managing complex databases and building messaging platforms and forums. A really good designer, someone with a style and aesthetic that is harmonious with the whole concept and from the organization a finance person with responsibility for managing the payments which in the beginning shouldn’t be more than a few hours work a week.”

  “Okay, we have an IT person with all you mentioned and we have few designers that you can talk with, the finance person is already in place. The timeline you put into the original project, do you still think that you can reach those goals in three years?”

  “If the metrics work out in the beginning, then I think we can.”

  “Okay, let me give you the basic sketch of what we are thinking about. The organization has a base of operations, let’s call it, in Kenmare, outside Killarney in the west of Ireland. We have an IT team, a very good one, in Dublin with a Director who is often in Kenmare. We would like to bring you there, with your wife of course, to manage the project. We can offer you a pleasant home we have just outside Kenmare with a car and a home office. You will be paid ten thousand euros a month and you’ll have a renewable one year contract. We see you managing things until we hit the fifty-million user number at which point we would bring in some else to take things over. You’ll be given a non-dilutable two percent share. We would like you to come out this year before Christmas.”

  “If you really think I’m the person for the job, then I’ll do it. Please understand though, I need to discuss it with my wife.”

  “Of course.”

  “And just a few things, my Russian visa is expired and we have a dog and a cat that Marina is going to want to take with us.”

  “We can handle all of that. I’m going to Essa in the north of Kamchatka for ten days, when I come back lets meet again and that should give you enough time to decide. If you’re ready to move forward then I’ll collect from you the documents we’ll need. Misha has planned on having a plane here for you on December 21st.” I did my best to find that elusive poker face.

  “What a difference a day makes.” I said. We both smiled and he told me he was leaving very early the next morning and we said goodbye and planned to meet upon his return.

  I met Marina at the airport with three roses and she looked more beautiful than ever in the light snow. We took a taxi home where I had the table set with a bottle of wine.

  “Such a nice table, and wine; I’m so glad to be home.” She told me about her mother and daughter and I lifted the bottle to pour her a glass when she put her hand over it.

  “I have news.” She said, “I’m expecting.” All I could do was smile; I had no words. She was forty-three, in great health and said she didn’t see any problems. We had only spoken of the possibility a few times and agreed that whatever happened would be okay.

  “I’m so happy; I can’t believe it, such good news. And I also have news.” She raised an eyebrow and grinned
as if she already knew. I told her the whole story and the more I told, the more she smiled.

  “I knew something would happen like this Arthur, I could feel it. You just needed to be ready and you are. I’ve lived here all my life, I love it, but I want to see the world a bit and it would be nice to have a child in Ireland- our child will be Irish. I think that’s good, no?”

  “Yes, being Irish is a very good thing.” We weren’t going to fight the current, on the contrary, we were ready to enjoy the big changes that had swept over us. The very next day she gave notice at the hospital and that week we began the preparations. Time seemed to slow down as we waited for Colin and once we met with him Marina and I felt even surer of what we were doing.

  There was nostalgia in those last weeks as I said goodbye to my students and remembered how much I had grown. Kamchatka’s wild nature and peculiar people had been the crucible of my transformation. Friday, December 21st arrived and having said our goodbyes the night before we took our bags, Moshe in his cat case and Leo on a leash to the airport.

  We had been told to wait outside the main terminal close to a locked fenced gate and wait for the plane to arrive at 6:30PM. The airport closed at six and there were no more scheduled flights coming or going that day so we were almost alone except for two policemen who looked at us while they smoked.

  We stood in the cold with our bags, $300, the pets and no passports as the flurries floated down upon us. The two policemen lingered and like clockwork, at 6:30PM we saw a private jet taxing in from the main runway. We watched nervously as it continued to taxi and park about two hundred meters away from where we were standing. The door opened and a man with a black fur hat disembarked and exchanged papers with two airport administrators while a fuel truck approached the jet. The man with the black fur hat then began walking toward us, finally stopping on the other side of the gate and we looked at each other without speaking. After a complex and somewhat mysterious exchange of papers and passports, we finally made our way out onto the tarmac and toward the plane. As we approached I saw Misha walking down from the jet wearing a very nice black overcoat.

  We gave each other a big hug then I introduced Marina before getting on board the aircraft. I’d never been in a private jet and it was everything I had imagined. Wood trim, leather seats, a stewardess and a private cabin in the back. Misha told us that we would be taking off very soon and would be making a stop in Vienna for fuel before flying directly to Killarney. It was strange to be with Misha and not be speaking as we had always immediately dived into whatever was on our minds and had never ventured into small talk. Misha spoke to Marina in Russian which by that time I could understand and she talked about her work, her daughter and Kamchatka.

  I hadn’t been on a plane in over three years and it was strange to feel us climb so quickly up through the bad weather and out into the brilliant night sky. Not long after being airborne Misha motioned for us to move to the suite in the back where we would have dinner. The stewardess quickly filled the table with appetizers and opened a bottle of wine. As Misha and I began catching up I could see Marina was not feeling well.

  “I’m going to go upfront and try to rest, okay, just not feeling too well.” Misha asked me if everything was all right and I was unable to put off the good news any longer which lit him up in a way that I had never seen.

  “I can’t believe this, it’s wonderful Arthur! I’m so happy for you. We must celebrate.” Behind him at the very back of the plane was a digital clock that read December 21, 2012, 9:30AM, GMT. I went up front to check on Marina who was lying back with a blanket over her. She said she was okay and just needed to rest and let her stomach settle. Misha came with me and reached into his bag to take out a bottle and we dimmed the lights in the front cabin before returning to the back of the plane conspiratorially with the alchohol.

  Misha showed me the twenty year old Port, opening it it with care. The stewardess brought us port glasses and we leaned back and began talking in our usual manner. “Arthur, you’ve picked a wonderful woman, elegant, intelligent, and very attractive, for Marina.” We toasted Marina and he told me a little bit about the environment in Kenmare and how there were some very interesting people for us to meet and socialize with. He also assured me she would be well accompanied and taken care of through the pregnancy. His smile didn’t seem to fade and it infected me in a strange way. I told him of the progress I’d made and how Marina and the life in Kamchatka had changed me. He spoke to me a bit in Russian and wasn’t displeased at my rudimentary skills.

  Since our first meeting we’d never discussed my father and I wanted to finally find out exactly how he had died. At our first meeting Misha mentioned something about drinking so I assumed his death had occurred off duty. We hadn’t seen each other in almost four years and I wasn’t sure how long the next interval between meetings would be so I to took the opportunity to ask him. “Misha, there’s something I have been wanting to ask you for a long time and I hope you don’t mind me bringing it up, but it has been on my mind. I wanted to know the details of my father’s death as I had the impression that you knew what had happened.”

  He suddenly became quite serious and leaned back and then forward again. “Well Arthur, this was a conversation we needed to have at some point and I suppose this is a good moment to have it, considering the news we’ve had today and your new project.” I looked at the clock behind him whicht read 10:47 AM GMT. “I’ve thought long and hard about this and for the longest time I didn’t want to tell you, but I think it might be a good idea for you to know the truth. Please understand how difficult this is and I will understand if you get upset, even angry; it’s normal. But I want you to know that I’m sure of what I’m going to say, I’ve seen the results. There are no doubts.” I was completely confused, imagining the terrible circumstances of some horrible special ops mission.

  “Arthur, you father is not dead.” He looked me directly in the eyes and I, for the first time, saw it. The eyes, it was so clear and obvious I didn’t know how I hadn’t seen it before. “Your mother was a wonderful woman and she loved you very much. Once, while your father was over seas I went to see her, and well, you understand. We began a relationship, and, well. I’m very sorry for springing it on you like this, but after you asked about your father I felt like I had to tell you the truth.” I just breathed deeply and looked at him as he began to morph before my eyes. I saw parts of myself in his mannerisms and in his face. I couldn’t speak; words were the farthest thing from me. We both waited and then, slowly I was able to smile and feel something very good come over me. We both stood and hugged each other for along time and we began to cry and it became a far too powerful a moment to describe.

  “Just so you know, your mother had a test done and we confirmed it. There’s not any doubt. I stayed in touch with her but always through letters. I never saw her after the funeral; it just didn’t seem right for either of us. I was never sure why but that’s just how it played out, but there were many letters. So you know, he was killed by a man in a bar. They had fought outside and Jim had gotten the better of him but the other man returned later and shot him; it was over very quickly but the body was never recovered. The man was a local and was never apprehended, at least not that we know of.” He than began to tell me of his family which had become my family at that point and how they had emigrated after the revolution to France and finally made their way to the States.

  “You know Arthur, my father was a graf, a count and I, too, use the title.” He showed me a card with his name and title in Russian on one side and in French on the other. “I bought back our family estate in the 1990’s and you can stay there whenever you like with your family; I had it completely renovated. Now it’s owned by the organization but you’re welcome to use it whenever you like and your child will have the same privilege.” He smiled again. “You also have a right to the title, if it’s something you wish to have. You know, to reac
h certain levels in the organization one must have a child. It might seem strange but it has its logic that I will explain to you one day. Because of you, I was able to reach the highest ranks of the organization and your child will enable you to do the same. Your child, my grandchild, if you don’t mind me saying that.”

  I raised my glass, and stared up at the clock, 11.10AM, GMT, and gave a toast, “For us, I’m very glad you decided to bring me into your life.”

  “I’m very glad I did too, it’s been the most gratifying thing I have ever done.” That night we gave many toasts and talked all the way to a beautiful Saturday morning in Ireland.

  Vocatus atque

  non vocatus deus aderit