OLIVE SKY IN NEDRAG DLIW

by Nastassia Makouchyk (Belarus)

A leap into the unknown Belarus

Today the sky is olive again. Once more, Savva opens his eyes in the morning, feeling velvet-soft grass beneath him, and his gaze first goes up to it – the olive sky. Savva no longer remembers how much time has passed since the moment he painted it in this colour. But he perfectly remembers the day when he entered a new life. This was another trip abroad, and this time it was an incredibly picturesque country of Nedrag Dliw. And, indeed, an interesting name. For many centuries, many domestic and foreign scientists have been trying to solve the riddle of such an unusual name, and they state with confidence that this is in no way connected to the fact that if you read the words on the contrary, you will get a Wild Garden. “It is just a coincidence,” they say. - "The roots of these words go back to ancient times, when people still believed in the existence of Isis." Well, if they say so, who dares to argue with scientists. This is now a new religion. Every time, walking in the mornings, he wonders why people do not pay attention to the olive sky. Savva never dared to ask anyone about his concern. People here are a bit private and, whatever you say, it is still a different country with a different mentality, and no one would like to embarrass anyone, it is easier to pretend that you are not interested in it at all. Who knows, maybe the answer will come to you one day, the main thing sometimes is to remember that you are looking for it. In the window of one of the houses, Savva sees the beautiful young man Maya in his usual place - the windowsill, and, as always, with a book in his hands. Sometimes it seems to Savva that he is the silent work of some gifted sculptor, but every time Savva passes by, he lifts his head and gives a soft smile, taking his eyes off the text. Maybe one day he will see Maya sitting on a bench in the park, and then, without hesitation, will sit down next to him. It does not matter how many times he tried, Savva could not enjoy the sunset that he was so used to watching in his homeland. Here, probably, just like when he was in Ukraine or Morocco, the sun disappears without permission: a moment – and it can be gone. And the night is the only time when Savva does not see the olive sky and for the first time, feeling such peace, closes his eyelids. A trembling hand barely reaches for the helmet, and weakened fingers only from the second time manage to find the button to turn on the sun. Beams coated in dirty green paint remotely resemble that mysterious olive sky, and a bright work jacket – terry grass. Savva rises to lean his back against the wall, feeling through the thin shirt pulling coolness that comes from a single stone protruding from the ground. He stumbles upon Maya’s gaze that all this time he so calmly watched his awakening, peered into crooked lines, ugly scratched with a nail, and decided that he would never talk to this young man in his life, and even he will not sit down with him in the park. For breakfast today, the last drop of water from the flask and the last chance to get out of this gloomy and stuffy city. “So,” it seemed as if one of the passers-by had decided to cheer the miner in an attempt to rise to his feet, but it was only his own husky voice. He stepped over the worn jacket, heading for the fork. Maya’s soft smile instantly disappeared when Savva passed by, unable to give him a drop of the former attention. He remembered that the colour of the olive led to a dead end, and therefore this time stopped in front of an uncharted dark road that no existing star in the universe could consecrate. Only when Savva crossed the border did he realize that he needed neither the sun, nor even a tiny spark to make his way.