The Stones of Years Ch. 04

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

He was conscious of the cold air now, and the coming of night.

"Lev?" he said.

Silence.

"Lev? We must go."

Silence.

He took a step nearer...

"Don't come any closer to me," he heard Lev's voice oh so softly on the wind now, then he saw his brother stand and walk away from him, away from everything.

"Lev!" he shouted, but his brother walked onward – and into the darkness.

Misha Podgolskiv walked to the water's edge and looked down into the crowded darkness. He couldn't understand what he saw at first...

...the drifting shapes made no sense...

...bodies soared on unseen currents...

...resolved into...

"What?!" he yelled.

He fell to his knees and started laughing. He laughed so hard, and for so long, he began to cry...

___________________________

"When I stood the moon had risen. It was so cold... so windy, and still I could not move."

Still Wakeman remained detached from the words he heard; it was all he could do now to remain at the same table with the old man. He felt he knew enough to genuinely detest his brand of evil, but there remained a dread fascination attached to these simple words – and he found he could not turn away from them – not yet.

'What had happened out there?' he wondered. 'What did he see down there?'

"But... why did you laugh?" he heard Somerfield ask, and he looked at the old man again, his heart full of dread and loathing. "And, you said he'd been shot. I don't understand..."

"No, I said I saw explosions – in the snow and ice, Ms Somerfield. I do not know what happened or the even the why of what happened; I can only relay what I saw, what I understood at the time, and now. I suspect the old monster was so enraged he couldn't see straight. Or maybe it was the hand of God. Take your pick – whatever comes to mind. I'm sure your imagination will suffice." These last words were laced with bitter sarcasm.

"But what was in the water? What did you see?" this from Wakeman.

The old man looked into the smoky gloom of the present room – and beyond, into the smoky depths of a distant lake. His voice trembled as if the forces he had seen drifting in the darkness yet walked his haunted land, for given events of the past several hours – perhaps they did.

Perhaps they did.

"I saw Kushnirenko..." he began, but his voice broke and he cleared his throat.

"The doctor... the doctor and Valentina had apparently pulled Kushnirenko under... the water was only – at best – ten, twelve feet... you see, they pulled him down and wrapped him in her chains. I saw all three of them... no, the four of them... drifting on currents so obscene...

"...there are not words, Ms Somerfield, for what I saw. Perhaps 'Hell' would suffice, but I'm sure some might say 'justice' – while others might be content with a word such as 'vengeance'. But does it really matter? I suspect not..."

"You think they were alive..."

"Unmistakably so, yes."

"But, how?" Wakeman said. "Weren't they under..."

"Time had no meaning under there, doctor – none at all. But there was, as I believe has been mentioned, either purpose in these events – or there is none at all, anywhere. But that was not the worst of it."

"Not..." Somerfield began...

"No, no, indeed not. Valentina was shackled to Kushnirenko, true, but her face was locked in a grim smile, her eyes looked skyward, her arms moved in the current as if..." and his voice trailed off again...

"As if..." Somerfield – imploring – begged him to continue...

"Her arms seemed to move with some terrible volition all their own... as if she was alive down there, conducting a vast orchestra..."

"What! You don't mean..."

"... and I suppose I must have been... been having a hallucination of some sort... because as I looked at her... at my Sara and her father and that monster... the water around their chained bodies was filled with... it was like stars had come to life all around them..."

"What the fuck are you saying!?" Wakeman shouted, and people turned to look at him. "You're full of shit, you know that? Certifiably full of bullshit!"

Wakeman threw back his chair and stomped out of the bar and into the night. Somerfield watched him leave, shook her head at Wakeman's immaturity, then turned back to Podgolskiv. The old man's head was hanging down now, his forehead resting on the table, and she could see he was gently crying.

She reached across the gulf of space and time and rubbed the old man's shoulder, ran her fingers through his hair for a moment while he settled down. If even half of what the man said was even remotely true...

"What about Lev?" Judith asked as softly as she could when she felt him ease somewhat.

"What about him?" Misha said through tears that had shielded him from the inevitable for so long.

"You said he walked away... off... into the night..."

"Yes."

"And? Didn't he say anything as he left?"

"He moved to another cabin that night. We did not speak again, but I seem to recall he did mention the Sonata, and the dream, as he walked away."

"What do you mean by 'seem to recall'?"

"Just that. It is not clear to me. We have not spoken since that day. Not to one another, but it was clear to me that he had seen what I had seen."

"Are you serious?" Somerfield gasped.

"It is clear to me, Ms Somerfield. I have had the dream myself... or whatever you would call this vision..."

"You said Leonard... Lev, brought you here?"

"Yes. He brought me here. It was, I suspect, arranged by one of his patrons. I never knew the details. When I arrived he had gone..."

"But what... What happened in the camp – before he escaped? If he didn't leave the camp, well, did he quit his music?"

"Oh Lord, no. He retreated into the depths of his music, and he began to grow hard – like a shell. A protective shell. I mean that quite literally – hard. He grew lean and taut, full of muscle, and his music took on fierce characteristics even as his body changed. The very opposite of me, as I'm sure you can tell. I concluded, if you will, my descent into mediocrity. A small price to pay for such treachery, don't you think?"

Podgolskiv looked at his hands again and shook his head; when he continued all he could think of was the blood that had covered his hands – then, as now.

He drifted on those current – now, as then...

"He attacked the piano – except on those rare occasions he found his way back to the feminine side Madam Soloff had cultivated. I once heard him play the Clair de Lune, while he was still in the camp... it... her phrasing had mellowed so when he confronted the truth within those phrases; I would say that time dissolves to meaninglessness when he drifts within Debussy. Such brilliance. I have never once heard the piece so completely laid open, his soul so completely examined, as when I heard him play that night."

He paused, looked into his empty glass and shrugged.

"How did he get to America?" Judith asked after a moment.

"During the Carter years, I think, he was invited to New York. To Carnegie Hall. Foolishly, the authorities let him go, though I understand he was under very heavy guard at the time. Anyway, I don't know the details. We've never talked about it, you see."

"Todd said it was in all the magazines," she said gently. She could only imagine how lonely he must have been. "So you remained behind?"

"That's a remarkable way of putting it, Ms Somerfield. But yes, why not; indeed, I chose to remain in the concentration camp."

"I'm sorry... I didn't..."

"No, of course you didn't."

"So, well, after the fall of the Soviet Union he arranged to have you brought to New York?"

"So it would seem."

"You said another thing, something I've been wondering about. Something about how we all build out own prisons..."

"Ah."

"What did you mean by that?"

Misha looked away again, then down at his hands...

...'So much blood...'

"I chose, you see, to turn away from my brother... when I embraced Sara. I turned from my family to short-sighted lust, and I have, you see, paid the price ever since. Without that love, without my brother and my mother and father, I had my prison all to myself – just as, I'm sure you can see, I must have wanted it. My treachery provided the stones with which to build the walls, and time provided all the punishment a man might ever need, or desire."

"Desire?"

"Attonement, Ms Somerfield. The price we pay. For building our little prisons. For turning away from life..."

"So, where do we go from here, Mr Podgolskiv? What about Mrs Tomlinson?"

The old man looked through her, to Todd Wakeman. He was coming back to the table, and he was carrying three glasses. He sat heavily, pushed snifters of cognac to Judith and Misha.

"Sorry," Wakeman said and Podgolskiv shrugged, picked up his glass and sniffed.

Somerfield ignored the glass in front of her. "Misha? What should we do about Tracy?"

"Ina Balinski," he said finally, softly.

"Who?" Somerfield said.

"The woman from Julliard," Wakeman said, then he turned to Misha. "What of her, Mr... Misha. What..."

"She knows... well, if anyone knows, she will know where to find him."

"So what?" he said. "I mean, why do you want to pull your brother into this?"

Podgolskiv focused on the darkness around him for a moment, then turned his attention back to Wakeman: "Don't you see it, Doctor? Whatever happened has come to pass to... it is part of a journey... it was meant to close a circuit. Tomlinson and Lev need to... need to be brought together... to finish the Sonata... to close this circuit..."

Somerfield seemed perplexed: "Why this music, Misha? Why is it so important?"

Podgolskiv turned away again, held his hands up speculatively to the smoky blue room and examined them.

Wakeman and Somerfield looked at him for a moment, then at one another. Wakeman shrugged, clearly trying to classify the form of the old man's delusion...

"Misha?" Judith said. "Misha? Come back to us, please... please..."

Podgolskiv held his hands higher, toward the stars that filled the room even now.

"It is part of the promise," he said finally, quietly.

"The promise? Misha? Who..."

"The promise Lev made to my mother. Before they killed her."

Wakeman and Somerfield looked at one another again; after a long pause Todd began again:

"Mr Po... Misha? Where are you right now? What do you see?"

"The sun, Dr Wakeman. The rising sun. Can't you feel it?"

So ends Part Two ofThe Starlight Sonata

The Sonata concludes with Part Three,"Heart of the Sunrise"

12
  • COMMENTS
4 Comments
ReadsalotReadsalotover 15 years ago
Wow.

I hope "Heart of the Sunrise" is coming soon.

AnonymousAnonymousover 15 years ago
Fantastic Writing

It is incredible how the story have grown. Thank you for such a beautiful and moving story. It is a very refreshing story of love, promise, friendship, brotherhood, evil and contempt blended to a powerful cohesion. I hope you publish a book some time soon.

AnonymousAnonymousover 15 years ago
Brilliant

There should be a way to introduce many more readers to this absolutely beautiful and superbly well written piece of literature.

AnonymousAnonymousover 15 years ago
Stunning!

In fact, almost overwhelming. Intricate and fascinating.

-- KK in Texas

Share this Story

story TAGS

READ MORE OF THIS SERIES

Similar Stories

The Walters Brothers A prologue to Split Trails Ranch.in Novels and Novellas
Come Alive Ch. 01 Sailing along the razor's edge.in Romance
All Because of a Rusted Swing Set Can a rusty swing set bring about true love?in Romance
Split Trails Ranch A western romance.in Novels and Novellas
A Horse with No Name Pt. 01 Does a man with no past have a future?in Romance
More Stories