Diophantine Above The Mountain of Caucassus (2)

Suddenly the scenes of the Battle of Wissembourg flashed back before his eyes. He saw his 24-years old himself, exhausted, in a supposed to be pretty sunny morning, at about 11.00. The small fir and pine forest outside the hamlet of Wissemborough looked menacing and however sweet and fragrant they might seemed, the odour of Death himself fulfilled the air.

The garrison in which he joined in was preceeded by the Crown Prince force of Prussia to reach Wissembourg. His company was destroyed, he himself was injured near his upper abdomen. The rest of his garrison fellows ran for each of their lives,out of town, or trapped and killed within the commune... luckily he was able to drag the body of one of his mercenary fellow, Giorgio Accardo.

Luck, it was merely luck was he able to escape the little parish. Being mercenaries, he and Giorgio were always dispatched in the frontest line of the garrison. Especially Giorgio, whose adrenaline rushed so vibrantly he led the company. The first bullet of the enemy transpired his chest in the silent circumstances of the village's gate, marking the first victim of the French and should have alarmed the other members of the companies... but Vito Fortissimo reacted the swiftest among his fellows. He quickly grabbed the falling body of Giorgio's and hid themselves behind the nearest wall before he squatted there. He was very fortunate to find a big, quite thick iron lid he used it as a shield.

What followed was the bombardment of more bullets and cannonballs in their surroundings. Vito managed to shoot two Prussian soldiers but he got shot he bled his abdomen. Being hurt, he quickly found another wall for a shield and found himself facing the edge of the pine and fir forest. He silently escaped as fast as he could... he could not really remembered how, but he managed it. He arrived there at the inner side of the forest, somehow he brought along Giorgio.

Giorgio did not make it. Vito Fortissimo could still smell the soil of that forest, where eventually he fell down, Giorgio's body beside him.

***

Vito Fortissimo was awaken from his thought. Then he scolded, for the third time tonight, as his Russian fellow grinned while offering him his hand. For God sake, now that he was able to forecast the last eleven steps of his checkmate!

I'm done, Vito sighed. His Russian opponent laughed, swigging his last big drop of his eighth mug of mead. Then kissed his Persian mistress.

Vito Fortissimo went asilenced. To see the kiss, suddenly he lost in the land of mortal Goddeses... where the creatures living were auburn-haired or blue-eyed, playing their lethal harps to whoever heard it, that those who remain complacent might need not know whether they play the dice between life and death.

Signore Fortissimo observed the Russian. He said his name was Viktor Grigorovitz... such a masculine name, yet his skin was such as he was freshly born, so smooth yet fair. Yes he knew that he must be someone with high rank in his batalyon, given his choice of mistress. He emerged from the Chamber of The Virgins, the highest paid room and roomates one could get in Roses' Lair. And look at those pair of sapphire blue-eyed miss he got...not to mention he was the first one for her.

Such a fine dawn, Grigorovitz said. His blue sky eyes gazed sharply towards the depth darkness of the forest outside. To had spent at least his one last month here, Vito fairly memorized it so well all the cusps of the panoramic laid there. It was quite a generous sight of the whole Caucassus mountains... the flat green hills of local grass interspersing the vast, mighty white snowy mountains where sometimes one could observe the horde of deers on their journey.

Master Grigorovich... you said we will discuss my abacus lesson, the Persian mistress curled her head on Grigorovitz' shoulders.

Vito flinched. He bent his back towards Grigorovitz. You... talk abacus? he asked.

Grigorovitz laughed.

The Persian mistress turned her head towards Vito, as though she had just realized that he was there all along.

You seem to be really surprise, my friend, Grigorovitz smiled thinly. It shall not be as special as it might seem, actually.

My great-great grandfather moved to America as an abacist! Vito said outloud, almost shrilling. Why--- who are you actually?

Viktor Grigorovitz got to his feet while igniting his pipe from his pocket. Interesting, he said. Not many young men I have seen appreciate such a name came from hundreds of years history. Allow me, my friend, to introduce myself, he offered his hand welcomed by Vito directly, as it shall seem I to be your next commandant in battle. Colonel Viktor Grigorovitz Braunsimov...

Vito Fortissimo did not really recognize the name, but now he could see the face of his commander for the next siege in Kars. He became so excited. Pleased to see you, Colonel, he said.

Diophantine Above The Mountain of Caucassus

Antonina Agnessa Braunsimova suddenly awaken in the middle of the night on November 1876. She barely could believe that she had been no longer dreaming... as the dream preceeding took her somewhat so much real.It was a snowy night outside the grand bedroom of hers, where the servants put in bunches of flowers in the summer, mostly tulips.

She forced her fading memory of the recent dream of hers... what was it? The impression was so strong she felt affected that she passed it already.

Yes now that she remembered... she became such a princess in the land of nowhere... where she dressed in a silvery gown. She was surrounded by silvery, white fog. She felt cold. Suddenly came a dark-haired woman so beautiful she could diminish all the cold just by her presence. Lady Antonina knelt before her as the beautiful shall recite to her a very important message...

You see that figure? the dark-haired lady pointed towards a direction, somewhere, Lady Antonina knew it was due south. Lady Antonina automatically stood to her feet and ran towards the direction.

Eventually there shaped a tall, slender figure with dark hair. A man. Lady Antonina had no idea of who he was.

Kill him! said a voice appeared in her head. It was, Lady Antonina knew, the same voice she heard from the dark haired woman... she should kill the man because then she would be granted a present for her lifetime... she should kill the man otherwise the man shall rob her happiness away...

Out of the blue it was, Lady Antonina acquired herself a silvery knife. And silently, without further hesitation... she stabbed the man on his back she knew would rip his heart out.

The dark-haired lady appeared after the dead man's body... and suddenly they were surrounded by light. The dark haired lady handed her a present... a beautiful, tender-looking baby... as she finally realized it was her most precious treasure she got on Earth, her son... Dmitri Mikhailov with his shining blue sky pair of eye.

***

It was such a clement afternoon down the town of Tkvarcelli, near the Black Sea. The gentleman shone in his walk, excited that he was once more given the chance to breath the air of the Land where the guardian of the Holy Land's Kingdom resides.

The Land of the Ottoman, as already represented by the fragrance of his name, did not prohibit the practice of slavery. The gentleman, as he came from the noble blood himself in his country, knew as where the men of his leagues took their leisure time in this particular land, in this particular city.

The place was called The Roses' Lair. Outside, it looked like other buildings surrounding it, only... that not just anybody could enter it.

He showed his coat of arm on his jacket to the guardian outside it.

The next steps were a poem of amour. The female procurer bowed at him, then asked him to wait in the lounge.

Then she asked him to enter a chamber with twelve most beautiful feminines she had.

The gentleman casted his eyes with utter carefulness upon each of the females' postures. His desire tonight should be satisfied with the best...

His sight stopped upon an auburn haired, wistful-eyed maiden with such a touch of Persian gesture and Scachrezade charm shining out of her body.

His moment stopped.

He met his long-lost lover from the other time.

He approached the maiden. Embraced her to his chest, and whispered in her ear,

Persian? Abacus...

The maiden quietly responded, Ja...

Ordinary men and women on Earth, if they have the knowledge already, would translate it as a conversation in Prussian...

The gentleman chose her.

The procurer bowed once more to him, admiring his choice once more. A man from the Braunsimovas surely has the greatest taste of virgins.

Silently he escort her to the room of his choice in Roses' Lair.

***

Vito Fortissimo had become the night's consecutive champion of chess games held between the gentlemen in Roses' Lair. But he was yet to sip his first red wine.

His gaze fell upon a semi-dark-and-brownish-haired man emerged from the Chambers of The Virgins. He happened to be the last man in the room he had not challenged in the game. The man seated himself with the auburn-haired mistress of his tonight on his lap, ordering a glass of honey-flavored-tea.

The Fortissimo gentleman suggested one of the waitress to order him a glass of iced red wine with a note to challenge him for a chess. The gentleman with his mistress glanced at his new acquaintance that night, Signore Fortissimo. He smiled and thought, that during these uncertain hours when he would be summoned to his post in no time, one or two games of chess would be maximizing his spare times after women. His side, Russia, was not going to win easily anyway... he could defend and win back his country on chess table. He gently asked his Persian lady to get him a cup of coffee before then gave him company to Fortissimo's table.

It was such a peaceful night during the era of the War of Russo-Turkish. Italian, Russian, and even the Turks soldires gathered together before tomorrow heaven knows when Ezrael shall greet them. Playing chess, slept with the could-be same women in turn, drunk by wines both red and white.

In The House of Roses' Lair, the average sides existed were the neutral zones. Tomorrow they might end up killing each other in the battle field.

Signore Fortissimo had his defeat for three consecutive chess games that night. The defeater, Viktor Grigorovitz from the Land of Russia as he knew him, was drunk by eight mugs of mead while bragging about his vision on Diophantine equation. Checkmate, checkmate, checkmate...

Fortissimo had his goosebumps for the first time in his chess life. He was barely drunk.

Black Pearl From Prince

Boston, Spring 85.

The neighborhood of Prince Street, Boston, is no friendly to anybody from higher bourgeoisie class than there was there. She just hoped that one day she could strike the fact right on the noses of those bragging lads in her office. She did not mean it to be racist.

People called her Maple around here. Everyday she woke up early at about 5, facing the feature of Friday Foster, her--although imaginary--true, idol. Everyday since she was four, she always dreamt of becoming like her... smart and determined no matter how people prejudice her appearence,still be able to humming happily about what today would bring her, and each new day was an opportunity before her. Carpe diem, she was always going to seize the day!

Now that she was 24, she actually could have her her own place somewhere cozier, somewhere with more prestige... with her current salary. But she just couldn't do it. Aunt Kelly was so stiff she could not let her face each day alone, just like the way she once allocate her time and love to adopt her from the orphanage.

She could have already her master degree in computer science, making her the first and only person, woman, and the Afro-American to handle and use the internet among colleagues from different races in her office. But no matter how busy she was, in the morning, as usual, since she was in the fourth grade, she would prepare Aunt Kelly breakfast with their routine favourites: sunny-side egg and coffee on Monday and Tuesday, waffle and mapple syrup and orange juice in Thursday, fried potatoes and sausages on Friday. On Saturday and Sunday Aunt Kelly loved to cook her sweet porridge or tomato soup.

All in all, life so far was perfect for both of them. Especially for Maple, who had been really pleased with herself for being able to give back to Aunt Kelly, her saviour for at least the last ten years.

***

Maple, you get going now? Aunt Kelly stiffly stepped down the stairs with some little cough. Maple deftly gave her a hand and had her seated. She poured her a cup of her de-caff coffee while biting her first toast. Alan will fetch you again, no?

Maple smiled. Aunt Kelly had always been supportive no matter who she went out with. As this was her first time to be engaged in a relationship with another grown-up, Aunt Kelly seemed fine even though Alan was rarely being mentioned by her in front of Aunt Kelly. The only encounter that Alan would meet her was the brief 15 minutes when she was getting her make-up ready in her bedroom while Alan waited in the lounge. Aunt Kelly would always friendly started a conversation with him. And she thanked God that no matter how sometimes Alan was such a bragging lad either, he seemed to respect Aunt Kelly as she wished.

But today she had been ready earlier and Alan would not have to wait, as she would be attending the welcoming of Spring apprentices in her office in Tremmont Street.

The door bell rang. That's Alan, Aunt Kell... I'd better get going! She kissed the white old lady on the cheek.

She grabbed her beret and put on her shoes. Outside, a tall, shaven dark-skinned man had waited in his car. Many other guys around the neighborhood had actually envied the man. He had been the one who was able to go out with The Black Pearl from Prince.

Morning Dew Outside The Window

Princess Fatima Adara Ash-Shahab opened the broad window of her bedroom, stepping ouside at the balcony. It was a bright, crisp early September in her Father's Mansion in the suburban area of Sacramento. She looked upon the citrus grown near the stools in the balcony; it was as though they greeted her by producing such an abundant, raw, cool dews she could almost wash her hands and face with it. She rubbed off the dew, feeling their coolness.

Far away at the horizon she gazed, her olive-dark eyes shining of welcoming a brand new day. She was the vigorous princess.

Morning dew and a bridge of rainbow at the horizon... she would be encountering something special today.

And her premonition turned usually to be true.

Tia-Zahrra... she winked at her coming maid.

Tia-Zahrra smiled with utter understanding. Well... she didn't mind it to play the role as the princess of the mansion, it was just... quite annoying that she needed to change clothes everytime her miss asked her to.

The 18 years old Joshev Rabin shone among the many porcelain-skinned face strolled along the alley in Arden Fair. All eyes starred upon him(especially the women's), astonished to see such a creature so adorable. As he walked, the wind felt so breezy and the sun seemed to be shining more tenderly. An androginy tried to nudge him. But his body swayed so buoyantly he could not be touched. However, the androginy was a little bit luckier than the staring women due to his previous attempt. He could smell the fragrant musk odour from Joshev's jacket. For the androginy, it was another heaven.

Joshev Rabin walked inside Nordstrom and took a tour in lingerie section. As he was about to climb the stairs up, an abundant volume of clothes fell upon him and he stumbled down. He felt a rather heavy burden impinged him on his chest. He got to his feet and looked upon the culprit. It turned out to be a plump girl(he estimated to be around 20)with a long nose carved upon her Middle-Eastern feature. She looked rather awkward.

But Joshev smiled cheerfully and offered his hand, gently helping the girl got to her feet.

I am sorry... the plump girl blushed.

That's allright, replied Joshev friendly. Such an enourmous shop you have today. Well... I'd better get going.

He nodded and waved. And walked away outside the store.

The plump girl went stunned, astounded by him. What a polite gentleman!Never did it occur in her present appearance that such a fine looking guy treated her as such...

Tanja! she waved at her hastely coming shopping maid, holding more bunches of outfit.

I know, I know, she winked at her lady.Tanja had witnessed the previous occasion, too. So shame that you didn't ask him his name!

The plump girl smiled while gazing at the direction Joshev Rabin went to. She could still smell the musk odour...

She did not know what made her so sure to meet the gentleman again.

But her premonition usually turned out correct.

The Kiss

Lady Yelena Agnessa Fedorova had for so many years fallen in love with her distant cousin, Dmitri Mikhailov. She was captured by his calm, poise manner and thin smile, his cold blue eyes, his dialectic proficiency, his beautiful violin playing, his waltz dancing, his horse riding... his everything. The fragile princess was actually the one true heir of her Father's weavery business around Kudryashovskiy. If only she had not been that fragile, his father would be really pleased to introduce her to the whole detail of the job... but he just couldn't.

The fragile lady did not excel at school; Master Fedorov just reckoned it as another misfortune of his, that the only child he got from his beloved late wife inherited the 'slow brain gene' (he called it) of the whole family. She could not play good piano but one two songs, her body was quite weak she could move no gracefully nor merrily in the kitchen. The Father has run out his wit; he was even fullheartedly willing to 'sell' his daughter's body, the only possession he thought the lady has left, to any gentleman he thought would be prominent enough to be his son-in-law. No, he doesn't have to be really rich, just steady job would do just fine. He has to be caring enough or else, pity his daughter enough to take care of Yelena at least Mr. Fedorov would not feel really guilty towards his wife.

(Being an Orthodox Catholics, quite a pious man, but not really into the church, he did not remarry and concentrate some of his time to manage some private schools for disabled children)

However so, he never let his daughter knew what he really thought about her. For Lady Yelena, their relationship remained just fine... and she really wished she could make her father proud. In her opinion, she could not excel at academic life because she was sick so often she could not catch up with the materials. She did not really like to play music, just to listen to anybody else playing it would be enough for her.

But however hard it was for her memory to keep up wih her biology recitation, sequences of mathematics formula and algorithm she must cope up with, she memorized it so well all the details of her first encounter with cousin Dmitri.

It was March 9, 1884. A spring celebration was held among the Braunsimovas(family from her Mother side)in the family Grand Citadel in Novosibirsk's country side. And she saw the cold blue eyes as innocent as Siberian cat... at that moment she knew why The Braunsimovs were called The Russian Sky Blue. His mother, Lady Antonina, introduced him to her. She smelled the fragrance of masculine lavender the time the boy kissed her hand.

She was about 4, and the boy was about 9. But until the next 23 years, never did the fragile lady stop dreaming to be his bride.

During those times, Dmitri Mikhailov maintained such a cordial cousinship between them. He was, as usual, loving and caring for his families, of course including her. But however there exist already many tease and gossips towards both the Lady and the Gentleman to be wedded, since many other family member noticed how Dmitri concerned a lot about Yelena...

Dmitri married another lady. Who bore him a son, Ricardovich.

Yelena was sad. She locked herself in her room for so many nights as she managed to keep nobody noticed.

She maintained good relationship with Duscha, Ricardovich's mother, and became one of the persons the boy loved most. She did not marry anybody else. She just could not stop praising Dmitri.

Until one night, that very night that gave Lady Yelena a chill to the history of her heart. She was in Dmitri's citadel for her usual visit.

She usually wandered around at the northern tower to observe the sky with her little telescope. When her step died suddenly as she passed Dmitri by. He was sweating, and his eyes looked so sad. Yelena knew something has strucked him so bad. Only once did she ever observe his eyes looking as such...

And suddenly, tenderly.. Dmitri held her tight in his chest. And kissed her.

That night would never be forgotten by Yelena. It was the night when Dmitri Mikhailov proposed her, made her Madame Yelena Agnessa Braunsimova.

Meanwhile, Mr. Fedorov could not believe the fact. Yelena gained such a strong position before him. He became to love his daughter very much for obtaining such a fine husband. And he could no longer stare towards Dmitri's eyes. He inherited his business to Dmitri who then manage it on behalf of Yelena.

And so the kiss... became such a local legend the society around loved to speak about. About a girl who finally reached her desired love after a long wait. After a long submission.

Due To Raden Saleh

Dmitri Mikhailov was a fine gentleman in his early 35. Young but barely felt, his wealth expands from the heart of middle land in West Siberian Plain to Nanjing, Shanghai, Hongkong, Erdenet, and Irkutsk in the East, Toolonlahti, Amsterdam, Den Haag, and Braunschweig in the West, which then would he use all of them as his milestones to conquer the Lands of the South.

A prominent noble man from Russian Empire himself, as one true Heir of The Great Braunsimov dynasty, he was of course served with the best in almost every western country he stepped on that Russia has good relationship with. One of the most progressive lobby towards him came from the Netherlands' dynasty of Van Rijkmaar.

It was a warm summer morning on the bank of the River of Ob, where he could see a pair of naughty fox beneath his favourite hawthorns grown near the transparent white door of his study. Seeing those foxes together disturbing the little squirrel before they both chase and savour it, again, he knew, together-- reminded him of how he once struggled to establish such a dream family of his own. A family where... the wife and child would be so close to him. Yet so obligant.

Master, a knock on the door across the hall sounded, and Dmitri sipped his tea. He pressed the button beside his left hand, ringing the little toller above the knocked door suggesting he was ready to receive whoever coming. It was Bogdan, his 54 years old Head of Household.

There is a present for you, said Bogdan, with a chuckle. From Lord Van Rijkmaar in Netherlands. Apparently he still tries to offer you Lady Marianne Wilhelmina...

An African-European man entered in, bringing a vast rectangle wrapped in brownish paper. He opened it in front of Dmitri before then dismissed himself out of the room.

It was a portrayal of two beautiful young ladies, daughters of Lord Van Rijkmaar himself. The Dutch left a note saying that it was painted by the notable Raden Saleh, the great artist from the Land of The South where Dmitri planned to invest. Marianne Wilhelmina, was of course, the prettier. And the prettiest among the two. The Lord had repeatedly asked him to marry her. What made him still so reluctant to deal was that he knew the history of the old Lord. His family had long he knew to have strangling debt resulting from his speculative deals in the wars for the ownership around East-Indies. Thus to marry the daughter meant that he had such a morale obligation to help the old Dutch with his debts.

However, my master... doesn't she grow all this time? Bogdan said while preparing to hang the portrait in the gallery. The Braunsimovs have long been known as Russia's most notable collector.

Dmitri remained silent. Indeed that he planned to travel to Netherlands imminently, to observe his tobacco business there... but the present was as though adding him more obligation to visit Van Rijkmaar family.

The face of the more beautiful than before Marianne Wilhelmina lingered over his mind.

He could just make her his concubine, he had more than enough power to do it. He doubted that the old Dutch would mind it, but he had not too much idea of this girl Marianne. Once they met five years ago, she was this timid 13 years old little blonde girl, she barely even dared to steal a glance towards him.

He thought about his son, Ricardovich, from his legitimate betraying wife, Duscha. Those little blue eyes were each day being more and more overcasted than ever, one could hardly believe that it belonged to the young face of the Heir of the mighty Braunsimova dynasty. Ricardovich was only five but he never smiled, or laughed, as other five years old did. Dmitri knew that the child missed his parents.

But Dmitri could not look up to the little boy's face. It reminded him too much of Duscha, those bright blue eyes... of the love they once shared, of the betrayal she did, with that bastard. It reminded Dmitri too much of how sick his heart was to love Duscha so much to receive her betrayal in return.

So Dmitri made up his mind that indeed, Ricardovich would never be his successor. That boy would only grow as lame, coward man just like his mother, and, ha ha ha... Dmitri chuckled bitterly alone, it was indeed, maybe his unconscious mind driving him to create such a disadvantageous, uncomfortable circumstances that Ricardovich grew up in.

So The Readers saw the aftermath, unfortunate condition could a boy like Ricardovich endure because of the decision the mother once made.

The Father was at present prepared his journey to the Netherlands to find himself a new wife, to provide him a new son, a new Heir for what supposed to be Ricardovich's throne.

A Fall Break in Frost Street 13

Two weeks before the Fall Semester started, the Faboulous Five (they called themselves)stayed together in Charlotte's residence. Miranda slept in the same room as Anthony, Carrie stayed together in the guest room across the stairs with Samantha, and Charlotte stayed in her own bedroom. The Mashburns have owned the house since 1974 and since they befriend each other, it has become one of their favourite place to spend semester breaks. While it actually less in size compared to Samantha's or Anthony's(the richest two among them), there was something so homy there Miranda tried to rationalize it at present.

'Well, so... Carrie, now it's your turn...' as she measured one by one of her friend's temperature body and 'state of mind'(don't really know how she determine it)to survey the girls' responses of coming again to the house.

Oh come on, Miranda... you can't quantize something so peculiar like this... for example, protested Carrie, I just broke up with Ashton, so how could you take the conclusion that everybody is happy when they come here? Not to mention that this is our first day here!Of course, I'm happy to be here, Charlotte...

Charlotte and Anthony giggled, Samantha said nothing as she was busy with her eye lashes. Ann helped Charlotte served the tea, and she admired the order of Charlotte's kitchen, the choice of cookies in the pantry, and the classic Julia Child's cookbook laid inside the first row of the buffet.

Mr. and Mrs. Mashburn were shopping downtown, and she promised to welcome them with the family's secret recipes of stuffed luncheon and tre leche. The agenda at present as Miranda planned was tea and schedule planning. Samantha had to fulfill her promise to bath in the lake nearby as she lost her bet to Carrie, Carrie needed to be accompanied to buy some consolation shawl to forget her break up with Ashton temporarily, and all of them wanted to go around Syracuse University to meet some cool guys. They were all needed to be scheduled carefully.

I bet it's the family, Samantha sipped her tea. You know... the house is full of your parents' love, Charl... something barely I get backhome.

All four of her friends went asilenced. They knew that Sam's parents divorced when she was eleven and that she had faced it roughly. Sam was once rehabilitated for using light-level metamphetamine for her frustration and more on that, maybe later.

Ha ha ha... I know you'll be speechless! she laughed so hard that Charlotte, Carrie, and Miranda giggled awkwardly.

Nope... I just knew it that it was your silly tactics, Ann responded casually, once again establishing her reputation as the cold-blooded one in the clowder. Samantha jumped at her and randomized her hair. You cold blooded twat! She giggled.

Well, if only her friends knew that indeed, Ann did not really interested in being sympathetic towards any of such feeling of Sam, or Carrie, or Miranda, or Charlotte's about their personal problems. At this level, when she was only 16, all that she cared about of maintaining the friendship was so that she could observe how did her fellow teenagers cope up, interact with their environment and problems. She wanted to become a neurobiologist someday... she thought she needed to train herself from now on to get used to social problems.

So Anthony... how is Dave doing? Charlotte shyly asked. Carrie and Miranda booed and Samantha hugged her. Yes, if there was any, then the only reason that Charlotte would befriend someone so weird as Anthony was because she had such a lovveeely brother! And Charlotte meant it; no matter how Anny told her that he was one of the greatest playboy on Earth Ann knew, Charlotte had been ready to endure all the consequences. She got to be the last one for David!

Anthony laughed. She glanced a bit towards the window, at the reddening maple leaves across the street in front of the house.

She thanked God once more, before starting to spill her report out to Charlotte about her brother, Davidovich. As these two weeks would be another fun Summer Break...

The Shiny Pathway

Anthony could still remember the shiny pathway that led one following it to the Grand Citadel of Stanislav-Andrei Markov on the bank of the River of Ob, West Siberian Plain. It was spring 1977. She, Jo, Dave, and Mom, and Papa were taking a short trip to the land of their Ancestors, The Soviet Union.

Even the 5-years old Ann could understand the tension happening during their visit. Papa said that she couldn't cry there or hug Mommy too tightly as usual... she should not trouble everybody else. It was a very strange trip, since after they dropped themselves out of Helsinki, Papa drove all of them inside a rotten-looking jeep for six days in a row, and suddenly they arrived in a freezing, serene pine- wood where there shaped a five hundred yards flat snowy space. A helicopter picked them up, and a military-dressed stewardess,Anthony felt she would poison them no matter how beautiful she might seemed, offered she who curled anxiously on her brother's lap a cup of hot chocolate. She reluctantly gave it a little sip now that Jo sipped it first.

When they arrived, eventually she felt a little better. It turned out to be quite a spring down the town they supposed to head. They stayed for one and a half month in a building(she later knew it to be the Novosibirsk Legislative Provincial Building) where she, Jo, and Dave played cricket every morning in its backyard. Papa and Mommy always tried to smile but Ann, as well as her two brothers, knew how worried they really were.

And it was so strange that during the last three nights, Anthony kept on dreaming of this heavy voice, calling her name down a foggy alley. Anthony, in this dream, followed the voice and suddenly she arrived to a fog-shaded tall, big figure she could not see his face.

But she knew the figure was smiling at her.

On the forty-seventh day, another military-uniformed one, this time a blonde, cold-eyed man guided them heading towards this place... where the gate towards the main building was shining beneath the spring sun. Jo was the one standing next to her little steps, holding her left hand tightly. The guiding man, turned out to be leading them towards a mighty citadel she always dreamed of to be castles Mom told her in stories some nights before she slept when she was 3 years old. The story was portraying Vassilisa The Brave, a name of a girl whose legend so famous her uncle, Fadev, made it his daughter's name.

More military-guys emerged and the five of them was guided to a high-ceiled, medium-sized chamber where Papa and Mom busily signed some papers and documents. The bored little Ann silently slipped her legs away and strolled around the surrounding alley near the chamber. Luckily Jo saw her, and quickly followed her.

What's up Ann? You can't trouble us, you see... Jo whispered in her ear. He raised her in his arms.

Jo... I heard a voice! Ann whispered back.

That moment, they arrived in a deserted alley with a wide, empty semi-dark creak with a broad window importing a ray of sun light to the room. Jo smiled, shaking his head. Oh, it must be Ann's another imaginary friend...

It's calling me, Jo, from here!

Ann, we'd better get back...

But as he turned his body around, Ann frantically pulling his ear, Look Jo!

Jo turned back to the wide empty creak. He was stunned.

A transparent figure of an old, bearded man with an early 1900 Russian-style tux was beaming peacefully towards... Ann. He waved his hand, and slowly melted within the morning ray of sun-light.

For a moment neither he or Ann spoke. Then slowly Jo turned his head upon his sister, who yawned. I miss Mommy, Ann said while curling her head on his shoulder.

Silently the still-shocked Jo walked with Ann in his arm, back to the chamber where Mom, Dad, and Dave were still struggling with papers. Seemed that nobody noticed that both of them were missing for a moment.

The family eagerly packed their bags and headed home. To Nantucket.

In the airport in Helsinki, Jo told Mom that Ann and he saw the mysterious old, transparent figure. Mom told Dad, and he was beaming. So strange that the smile reminded Jo of the old figure's .

That was your Great Grandpa Dmitri, he patted his head. You know what, Jo... he finally accepted us.

Jo casted his gaze upon the bright blue sky that also shared by the Baltic Sea. He remembered all the six days cruise in the jeep, the tension for one and a half months in the building where they lived, the papers signed, their taken photograph in order to validate their family's ownership to the tourism of the citadel.

So that was his Great GrandDad Dmitri, the one who was notoriously known in their circle to be the man who was disgraced by the marrying of Grandpa Ricardovich and their beloved Grandma, Brendamilikan.

Eye of The Golden Horses

The Readers might always find the happy frames of Brownsimov's daily lives.

But not The Clan of The Hidden Horses. What they usually observe are blood, plot, and big pictures. They shadow the every step of Anthony's. Every move Davidovich made. Every place Joshev be.

Once there said that Fritz Novozybirsk Braunsimov, one of the Great Great ancestor of the current Brownsimova who lived circa 1500's made his journey to the Land of The Vast Desert in the Far East... where there said that there lived The Ancient Wise who mastered the art of conserving talent. Yes however weird and cheap it must be, he sold talents in shape of children, or baby, to whoever desired them.

Fritz bought this Eurasian little boy who had so much traits of the mighty Genghis Khan himself inside his blood. That time, rarely anybody could understand the method of Fritz' extrapolating one's potential. The Eurasian boy was seen to be this lame guy by his surrounding.

Until, Fritz bought him and cure him, but more on that, maybe later.

He was called Khaka. He became Fritz' personal bodyguard, was shared some of his stocks in global market in East Japan, and was asked to make his own dynasty.

Khaka married two descendants of the oldest Viking family, and paid his debt of being raised by Braunsimovs by being their paternal bodyguard, which was continued on by his descendants. They called themselves The Hidden Horses before The Brownsimova. Because they operated like the hidden horses inside some puzzling pictures.

So be careful when you wanted to mess with the Brownsimovs... the time you had your weapon ahead of them would be the time some of the Hidden Horses snipers had theirs ahead of you.

La Claire de La Lune

Ricardovich Alexandrov Braunsimov was rather a jittery man at heart when he was younger. Some psychologist might conclude that he suffered a deficit-attention disorder made him insecure all the time, even rarely dare to look straight in his talking partner's eye. His mother died when he was two, and somehow his father, Dmitri Mikhailov, was trembled so bad he kind of forgot who he really was. He never looked straight into his son's eyes. Up until Ricardovich turned 12, his father rarely spoke to him... and Ricardovich could not understand but to swallow it uneasily to his throat to believe that his father remained an arrogant man in front of him.

Ricardovich was tutored privately at home. He was never too brilliant at anything; no matter that how Petrov, his mathematics tutor was one of the best algebraists in Russian history, something just blocked Ricardovich's mind to comprehend the materials he learnt. And it just did not happen in math; he could not excel in everything from Russian literature, geography, history, government... he just hated academic lives so much. The only thing he could bear was music. He had been good in it, being able to master the Hungarian Rhapsody when he was 12.

He always had been happy to play with piano. Every maid and Kruschev the old gardener praised him a lot and seldom did they continue their work when the Young Master played his fingers down the grand piano in the Main Hall inside the manor. For a moment could Ricardovich smiled at himself to listen to his own playing and felt that he worthed something.

Music is the only thing made him dare to stand before his father about his capability.

No matter how his father ignored him, as usual, of him and his talent and his everything.

One day when he was nine, the Grand Piano in the manor's Main Hall broke one of its strings. The bored little Young Master Ricardovich was waiting and waiting for the repairer to fix it so he could continue playing, but it took some time... so he strolled along the alley of the third floor where it was deserted because the maids were busy cleaning in the lower storeys.

He leaned himself before the small window balcony at the end of the alley, quietly humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It always felt night at heart, and the light only came from the generosity of the moon... the music, the only thing he excelled of. He missed his father. He never knew his mother, but Father would never disignore him no matter how good he played the piano.

He casted his gaze around the scenery of the alley behind him. Something looked really strange... but what did? The tapestry on the wall on his right side was silently glued as usual, as well as the reddish empty brick wall on his left side. The empty brick wall, strangely, was different in colours... he just realized it now. Well, he did rarely observe this floor, though...

There were five rows of milder red colour along the left wall.

And inside the rows, there were even subtler periodic pattern of colours... our Little Young Master became quite intrigued to figure it out. His head was only full of pattern of music, if there were any, so he didn't really expect to be able to see some meaning behind the pattern. Gosh, he could barely able to see pattern in simple maths... how could he expect to derive something special of some subtle pattern on the wall he barely see?

So funny how five rows reminded him of five rows in alphabetic music notes(he was quite fluent at it, too)... na na na na na... he could remembered the sequence of the first verses of moonlight sonata... it should be here, here, here... as his hand traced down the rows of different colours

... to be surprised that every finger-tap he made on the different-coloured rows touched his hand upon the subtler colours of the pattern! His heart chilled... how could this happen?

But he started to feel excited. I found something here! The pattern sings Moonlight Sonata the first verses in alphabetical music notes! He anxiously tapped on every following sequences until the end of the wall...

and the wall slid opened!

Anxious but excited, the Young Master stepped inside the medium sized, high-ceiled room where he saw a painting of a very beautiful, strong young lady with a balalaika in her hand. He was strucked at heart by her beauty... it was as though he met his long-lost first love.

But what distracted him from the painting was a gigantic black, Grand Piano slightly covered by dust at the bottom of the painting. He was really happy. Not only was he able to find this secret room all by himself, he also acquires his new friend! Gosh... and this piano is the Boesendorfer Concerto Grand Piano, one that he always wanted! Doesn't any maid and servant here know about this room whatsoever?

He opened the grid and started playing Moonlight Sonata...

Suddenly, his Father appeared behind him with a loud noise.

Ricardovich turned his head around, so anxious that for the first time their eyes met, what the little boy saw was an outraged, furious man he hardly believed it was his Father. The man who should have been loving him all this time...

You tedious prick! the grown up man roared, and slapped Ricardovich so hard on his face.

The maids and servants hurrily ran along to the thunderstrucked Young Master, who sadly wailed before Dmitri Mikhailov.

The Father who should have loved his son.

Wine Toasting at Gare de Lyon (2)

What are you doing here?

It was two am in Paris in mid December 1988. Two young men, both wearing long coats and two kinds of hat; the shorter one wore a navy blue beret and the other one tightened his medium semi-boy scout-ushanka. They strolled along the area of Paris Champs Elysses, somehow this freezing cold forced them to look for a temporary shelter so they could go home after the snow stopped storming.

The taller gestured so the shorter followed him enter a small restaurant at the end of the road. It was one of his favourite place to hang out. The shorter man was quite surprise to see that inside it was spacious. It reminded him of some trick he learned from Fitzwix the old Royal Architect back home, but he used magic anyway... these Human Race merely used some (he found out later) interior tricks; less pillars, high ceiling, and of course, stairs that lead underground instead of upstairs. They seated themselves in the ground floor near the broadest window.

A waitress sticked out a pen and a note, ready to scribble down their order.

What, you have not been eating anything before? the taller man asked, raising his eyebrows. Hmm, said the shorter. He was indeed, confused. Why don't you order me the same one as yours? he shrugged.

So that was how they ended up together each savouring a bowl of beouf bourguignon, a bowl of boullabaise, a couple of profiteroles, and a bottle of red wine.

I do have heard this concept, though, said the tall man, Davidovich James Brownsimov. He smiled understandingly at the young man before him, whose face reddened because of the wine's heat and mannered like a child having his first sweet candy. The concept of dual... each vector space has their own unique pair in dual space. He straight realized it the time they got face to face earlier in the cafe he went into apprentice. That glint of excitement and naughty shine of the boys' eyes just reminded him of his own.

Suddenly the reddened face become sane, and the boy grinned extremely naughty. This is my first time arrived here, I don't know why The Door led me here, he said with a yawn. Usually I got to the other side of the world where the people are brown-skinned and women kept on offering themselves.

David laughed. Yes,this is definitely his dual. Oh well, he hoped that this boy would turn no boring at all in the end.

So, tell me... what was it like in your world?

Why so hurry? What, so you could sabotage me rightaway? The other boy sneered.

Both of them laughed and toasted. From now on, each one of them should be really careful on each other's mischieves.

The Sight of Two Skies

The brunette gentleman with his blue eyes gazing upon the Soedra Strandgatan was sipping his coffee while leaning upon the stainless fence on the bank of the river. The river that leads him to the Lake of Hjalmaren, where he felt extremely blank at heart.

Erik Wilhelm Ahlgren his name was. As he spoke people would notice his heavy German accent, no matter how his tongue spoke in Russian, Swedish, or even Japanese. His blue eyes sharpingly casted his talking opponent and, as he always did in his presentation be it in Uppsala Universitaet or in that Medical School in Cambridge, MA, words were coming curtly and so much in efficiency from his mouth. He did not have many friends; as far as he remembered, he only get socialized either with his medical colleagues in the state oncology department back then when he was in colleges, or with cashiers in department stores where he usually shopped. Since he was born people recognized him as that Silent Brilliant-at-School Guy.

Last summer he had a promotion from his co-supervisor, Prof. Koenig. The old internist had been a family physician for this rich noble-blooded Russian family for thirty years, and in their present generation one of their ladies had been very sick. Koenig contacted his supervisor, Prof. Sinai Joachim. Joachim and Erik specialized in therapeutical treatment of oncology. Koenig believed that Joachim could handle the lady's disease best. During the whole previous year, Erik had helped him examine the lady's medical records and symptoms and concluded the most appropiate medication she should endure.

They agreed that the miss should spend at least two years in exposure of mild sunlight to help increase the concentration of vitamin D in her body. So the family villa in the Lake of Hjalmaren became the choice of the first summer of the therapy. In the winter time in Europe, she will be moved to Melbourne, Australia. Erik signed the contract that it was him who will be in charge of the miss' health procedure. He was given full wage and a bedroom in the villa and a car so he could go back and forth from the villa to his office in Oerebro. Today would be their first encounter as patient and doctor.

Excuse Me! a voice of a man called upon him. Erik turned around. A big, tall muscled man wearing a long coat approached him. Could you please tell me where I can find a ride to rent?

Erik was about to open his mouth to answer, when he realized that they were being watched rather casually by a maiden wearing a greenish morning coat. He explained the direction briefly, and the big man said thank you. When they left, the maiden nodded to Erik with a slight smile.

Not a bad first stranger experience in my second time to Oerebro, thought the blonde maiden.

The town of Oerebro was shining tenderly as usual, displaying the castles and contemporary baroque building.

However, the maiden still could not forget her first sight of the town of Karlstad three hours ago, despite the additional encounter with the handsome brunette young man who gave direction to rent a car here in Oerebro.

The sight of two skies, apparently, does not only belong to Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

Afternoon Tea Party of Little Miss Anthony

Maybe because Rose Mary, her beloved Mother, was half-English, was that how her appetite and habit ran also in Anthony's vein.

Anthony was exquisitely a big fan of teas and every occassion involving it: she loved to invite her friends and colleagues when she grew up to afternoon tea parties held before her green house, or held her little birthday parties with tea-themes. By tea themes means that as much as possible should every element of the party contained tea: she will dress herself with rose-tea fragrance, and slip some tea leaves at the back of her ear, and so did her friends in her social group in high school: Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte, and later on, Miranda(familiar with their names? Sure, they're typical American names). The served dish would be tea-flavoured cake, black tea cookies, and the cammomile tea would be the girls' favourite choice of beverage. Sometimes they would also made tea-flavored consomme from the recipe Dave, Anthony's brother of whom the other four really idolized-especially Charlotte, who became madly in love with him since the first time they met(she said) gave them. The scheme with consomme usually marked a pyjamas party of the five.

Samantha had Danish and Spanish blood, Charlotte and Miranda were Germans, and Carrie was half Irish and French. But they fully grown as American teenagers, and came from rich white collar families. They were really intrigued by how Anthony and her royal half Russian and English blood continued their daily noble tradition, starting from their poise, calm manner to their yules and debutes.

But little that they knew about Anthony's small fragment of childhood, one that maybe Anthony herself nearly forgotten now.

It involved her tea- fanatism as a child, when she was about three or four, playing afternoon tea party with her favourite toys: Teddy the Bear, Mrs. Norris, Goldstein, and Bloomsburry, the maid-dolls which she portrayed to have noble bloods. (So funny that each of them might be Ann's resemblance of her ideal friends, and maybe that was why in her more grown up lives she tended to choose befriend four people)

And magically, the toys spoke back to her.

That was why she always loved to spend her afternoon alone just by the four of them in the backyard (that time her family made her live in the villa in Nantucket). The maids were busy cleaning the house and somehow felt naturally thankful that Ann wasn't being nosy as the other four-years child might be, so at least for two hours every day Anthony would be left alone playing by her dolls there.

The habit was observed heavily by some child kidnapper who wanted to kidnap her to extort her father's fortune.

One day, Julian, the name of the kidnapper, who accidentally, always operated alone, sneaked down the backyard and arrived behind little Anthony who were unsuspicious of his presence. She merely turned her head a little to see who was coming, and offered him to join her playing tea.

Yes, Sir, come play with us...

At the time the dolls were also inviting him, that was when the actually- superstitious Julian ran for his life. For God sake! The dolls are talking!

As she grew up, Anthony eventually forgot to play with her toys. They were now stored, although properly, in the warehouse.

But sometimes some childhood memory about the occassion echoed at the back of her head. Sometimes she felt lonely, and yet she knew that maybe she needed to see her old friends-the dolls- to kill the feeling.

Anyway, to totally dismiss a hospitality with something we were once close to, was rather not a good thing.