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Ilya closed his eyes. Even after all this time, he still could not believe his good fortune, the blessing of being with the one he loved – the one who loved him.
Their heartbeats, pounding in rhythm just moments before, began to calm … still beating in harmony.
Shane’s soft breath fluttered across Ilya’s chest; his fingers drifted gently in their wake. Shane and Ilya never tired of exploring one another’s bodies. There was always something new to discover.
Shane’s wandering fingers touched the gold chain.
He had never seen Ilya without it.
Still basking in the afterglow, drowsy and happy, Shane fingered the outline of the Russian orthodox cross.
An idle curiosity rose to the surface, and Shane murmured, more to himself than to Ilya, “This cross – it’s different from … regular … uh, the traditional ones? The crosses I’ve seen all my life. I wonder what it means. These three bars, I mean.”
Ilya lifted his hand to rest next to the hand he loved; the cross slipped gently from Shane’s to his.
Ilya did not answer for so long that he might have fallen asleep. Shane had almost forgotten he had asked a question.
But then Ilya spoke.
“This was my mother’s cross.”
Ilya’s voice was quiet, but tinged with such a deep sorrow. Shane bit his lip.
“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered. “I didn’t know. You don’t have to …”
But Ilya spoke again.
“Is meaning – but not like intended.”
Confused, Shane glanced up, and Ilya smiled down at him, that wry, crooked smile that Shane loved so deeply. A smile that was so very much Ilya … but this one faded into a sad, trembling smile.
But Ilya Rozanov had a lifetime of experience in being brave in the face of things that are scary.
“Top bar … that was name and crime. But – um, what is word? Irony. They meant it to be cruel, as mockery. But no; what they said about him was accidentally true. They killed him because of who he said he was. They didn’t believe him, but was true.”
“Jesus, you mean?” Shane asked, and felt Ilya nod, just once.
“Iisus, yes. ... Second bar – the long one – that was also the irony. Arms stretched out wide, yes? Hands nailed to cross to be torture, to kill. They did not know it was his choice, to reach out – embrace. So they saw their own lie but he knew the truth.”
As he spoke, Ilya’s thumb had moved from the top bar to the middle, rubbing the edges as he had so many times, so many times, so many times, all in those years, all those years since he was 12 years old.
Ilya was quiet again. His eyes were soft, gazing into the misty memories of his own shattered childhood.
The day he had come home to a house that was cold, and dark, and quiet.
A house that would never again be warm or light or filled with laughter.
It was the day he had called for his mother for the last time – the first time his call was met only with silence.
She was on her bed, and at first Ilya had thought she was asleep. But something about the languid droop of her hand told Ilya something was wrong.
Trembling, fearful, he had crept closer … closer … somehow knowing even then that she was far beyond his reach.
“Mama?”
His voice was so small.
The silence was so large.
His mother’s face – so young, so beautiful, so full of laughter and sadness – was pale and still.
Her sparkling eyes, once the color of the river reflecting blue skies, were dull.
Her hand, once so soft, so gentle, so comforting, so warm … her hand was white and cold.
Ilya’s eyes, wide and frightened, had stared at his mother’s hand. In the dim light that came from the hallway, he caught a glint of light – a flash of gold. It was his mother’s necklace, the delicate gold chain woven between her fingers like lace.
Instinctively, without fully realizing what he was doing, Ilya had reached out to touch his mother, and the chain had slipped from her hand into his own.
Only a moment later, there was a loud crash behind him. His father had entered the room, his hulking silhouette blocking the feeble light, casting the room into complete darkness.
Ilya did not remember much of what had happened next. His memories were a jumbled blur of loud, angry voices and loud, angry footsteps as rough hands pulled him away from his mother’s side, pushing him toward his room with orders to stay there, stay there, be quiet, be quiet.
And Ilya did stay there, and a small part of him had remained there ever since.
And he was quiet, and that same small part of him had been quiet all these years.
Ilya was told a lie, and he was told to tell that lie, and he knew it was a lie.
Ilya knew his mother had taken her own life. It had been her choice, not an accident.
She had escaped through the only door available to her.
And in all the years since, Ilya’s broken heart had suffered, wrestling with an unknowable question, fearful of the answer. The space in his heart that had been filled with love and security collapsed, replaced by loneliness and despair.
Ilya continued to gently stroke the bottom bar of the cross, as one might rub a magic lamp in hopes of conjuring a genie to make the wish of his heart come true.
There was a long silence, during which Shane heard, as from a great distance, Ilya whispering to himself in Russian. Shane Hollander had learned long ago that sometimes, when emotions were too heavy, when thoughts were too complicated, Ilya sometimes found it easier to speak in Russian first, then to translate those words into English.
And so now, Shane waited, quiet and still. He would have waited forever if that’s what Ilya had needed.
“This bar,” Ilya said finally, his finger pausing on that bottom bar, but his voice was raspy and he had to start again.
“This bar – it is the balance between sin and … what is word? Saving. Like the soul?”
Shane’s voice, too, was hushed and reverent. He felt he was in a sacred place. Without realizing it, Shane had wrapped his arms more tightly around Ilya and was holding him close, listening to the beat of his heart, listening to the words of his heart.
“Salvation?” Shane whispered. “Redemption, maybe?”
“Redemption. Yes.” Ilya was quiet for a moment and then said it again: “Redemption.”
Ilya took a deep breath, then let it out. That simple sound sparked a long-forgotten memory in Shane’s unconsciousness: Ilya had sighed just like this before pouring out his heart in the Russian language all those years ago, when, unknown to Shane, Ilya had first confessed his love and all the emotions that had burdened his lonely soul for so very long.
“My mother, she was … of faith. She went to church; she took me too. She wanted me to trust. She taught me the things she believed. But when she died, they said …”
Shane reached up and touched Ilya’s cheek. “You don’t have to – ” he said again, but Ilya placed his hand on Shane’s and smiled again, the sad smile that broke Shane’s heart.
“I want to tell you,” Ilya whispered. “I want you to know.
“Mama, she believed in God. She prayed, and I prayed too, but God did not answer our prayers. When she … when she knew she would die, she took off her cross, because she knew her dying was a sin.
“The bottom bar … it is the balance – the dividing line of … vyéch-nast’? Eternity. One side points to Heaven, the other to ….”
And now Shane could feel the tears on Ilya’s face, or maybe they were his own tears, as they held one another close in this holy communion of two souls that had long ago become one.
“My Mama taught me these things. The good thief, he was sorry for the wrong things he had done. God forgave him and he was welcome in paradise. But the bad thief – he was not sorry. Even at the very last, he would not say he was sorry. He knew what he was.
“So all those years, I wore my Mama’s cross. My father did not know. My brother did not know. I never let them see it. They would not understand.” Ilya laughed, a short, bitter laugh. “They did not even notice the cross was missing. It meant nothing to them.
“I did not go to church anymore. I knew there was no … redemption … for me. I knew what I was – what I am. I was angry with God, that he should let my mother be so sad, that he would not honor her faith or answer her prayers.”
Ilya’s voice slowed as he continued to speak; he paused often in search of unfamiliar words. Shane remained very still, not moving at all. He was simply there.
“I did not pray anymore,” Ilya said. “If my Mama was not welcomed to Heaven, I did not want to go there either. So I wore the cross as a reminder of my decision. I accepted my … suzhdeniye … judgment. I was not sorry. I would go to hell nepokornyy. Defiant. So when you met me, yes? I wore my cross all those years with third bar pointing down. I knew my destiny.”
Shane was openly weeping now, his heart breaking.
But Ilya gently wiped the tears away with his thumb, whispering words of comfort in Russian that Shane could not understand.
“No, but listen, moy lyubimyy. Shh, shh. See now? The cross is turned. I do not have the words to say – not even in Russian – but this new lesson I learned. I will tell you now. Maybe you will understand, yes?
“You do not remember how I wore cross - down - when we met. But something spoke to me that day. It was like voice inside me. I did not understand.
“It did not happen, not for a long time. But at the cottage – it was first summer together. You said you love me. My heart overflowed. I went to the lake by myself and sat for long time. The sun was rising and it was like first dawn of creation. I know, I sound very poetic, yes? Haha! But I will never forget. The sun shone on water and made it sparkle, like the cross, you see? And I felt my Mama very close to me, and I heard that voice again, and this time I knew it was her. And I thought, ‘How can this be true?’ Because only the souls in Heaven can still speak to us.
“But it was true, and it was true because you love me. Like my Mama loved me.
“I turned my cross to point now to Heaven, because I wanted to believe. … I wanted hope.
“My Mama could not save herself. I could not save myself.
“But you saved me, Shane.
“You saved me … and you are the answer to my Mama’s prayer.
“See, Shane – if Iisus could know what is true, and believe strong in that truth even to death – even if everyone else insisted on lie – he can know what I am is true too. What we are is true. And it is good.”
There was nothing more to say. Ilya and Shane lay together as one soul for a long time. Their bodies, their hearts, their spirits, a sacrament of love.