II –

Anapa is a city known to me from the times I was still a miss, sharing a long walk during occasional travels with a family here. Among the two chapels, one of which was standing close to the seaside, the second one, located higher on a hill, was based on the seeming border between forest and the city and could astonish one’s eye with a bewildering mass of fruit blossoms. The sea view could not impress me anymore, so the decision was made. The aromas are known to be a great relaxant, and the idea of sitting on the outside bench and leaving the mind to rest was alluring.

My walk was short, but the views were spectacular, a true pleasure for the eyes. I deeply regret forgetting my embroidery at home. Having a lace frame on your knees and stitch by stitch, with short, quick movements, making a small picture – a true frozen memory. And after many years, it will be evidence, silently stating: “I was there, I was alive”. Usually, to remember an overall picture, I carry this journal with me and make small drawings on the side, trying to capture the most important parts or the ones that stand out the most. In the hurry we were, Arne asked me to grab it. So I can only rely on my memory and try to write down everything the best I can. 

Big pine trees made a shadow on the road that continued until the very forest. Small bushes, whose name I do not know, in full greenery crowned the whole left side of the mountains. A true wonder of Anapa, the so-called an elephant ear tree catalpa, that was planted on the right side on the downhill, was preparing its lush buds for July blooming. Those trees were partly covering a small, hidden construction that revealed to be a chapel under closer look. A white, barely three-meter-tall building had four great arches, facing cardinal directions accordingly. On the very top a modest-sized cross served a reminder, that no matter how small and hidden the place may seem, it is still a holy place of sacred connection. Carved-in icons, aligned on three walls, were arranged in the compact altars. Following the canons of traditional Christian building, the door meets a congregant from the east, as well as a nearby pushed bench, clearly made by one of the citizens. For some reason, this awkward bench, which by only look showed the inexperienced hand of its maker, struck me to the very depth of my heart. Because somebody came here. Somebody, who came here to reveal the sorrowful secrets of passing life or, perhaps, just an intimate happy moment, came in here and thought, how wonderful would it be not to leave this place right away. It is at this time, when God already heard the prayers of his loyal follower, when you willingly chose to stay and share this moment of serenity with Him. 

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden opening of a door. A priest, probably finished with weekly maintenance, did not expect anyone at the steps of a chapel. He instinctively shudders, but once an understanding came to him, his eyes softened and thin lips formed a gentle smile.

“Why, I thought young ladies are not interested in God these days.”