the Ringing cedars of Russia
Vladimir Megre English translation by John Woodsworth

Book 1. Anastasia (1996)

Through a window of time


Anastasia, if you are so smart and omnipotent, that means you could help me?”

She looked up at the sky and then again at me.

"In the whole of the Universe there is no being capable of more powerful development and greater freedom than Man. All other civilisations bow before Man. All sorts of civilisations have the capability of developing and bringing themselves to perfection, but only in one direction, and they are not free. Even the greatness of Man is beyond their grasp. God —- the Great Mind — created Man and to no one else gave He more than to Man.”

I could not make sense — at least right off — of what she was saying. And again I uttered the same question, pleading for help, not fully understanding what kind of help I needed.

She asked me:

“What is it that you have in mind? Do you want me to cure all your physical ailments?

“That is a simple matter for me. I already did this six months ago, only in the principal area of need no benefit came about: the dark and destructive elements common to people of your world have not lessened in you. And your various aches and pains are trying to come back again... 'You witch, mad-woman hermit, get out of here this instant!" you’re probably thinking, right?”

“Yes,” I answered in amazement. “That is exactly what I was thinking — you read my mind?”

“I surmised that that is what you might be thinking. Indeed, it is written all over your face. Tell me, Vladimir, do you not... well... remember me, at least a little?”

The question dumbfounded me, and I began carefully examining her facial features. Especially her eyes. I really began to think that I might have seen them somewhere before, but where? 

Through a window of time 121

‘Anastasia, you said yourself that you spend all your time in the forest. How then could I have seen you?”

She gave me a smile and ran off

A short while later Anastasia came out from behind the bushes dressed in a long skirt, a brown buttoned cardigan, her hair done up in a shawl. But without the quilted jacket in which she had greeted me on the riverbank. And the shawl was tied differently Her clothes were clean, though not stylish, and her shawl covered her forehead and neck... and I remembered her.

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