Stolen Cherries

One of my favorite months of the year has always been May. I loved it in childhood because in mid May we finished school year and the long awaited summer holidays started. I loved May because of its still fresh pleasant weather with the warm rain, with the green grass and trees in white and pink bloom. I loved May because of the first home grown roses and strawberries for my birthday. I loved May because it was the start of my mischievous summer adventures.

Denis, Sasha and I planned our night raids. We associated for a season because we trusted each other – we trusted the secret, the fast feet and ability to run, and finally ,that we would cover for each other.

Ten houses down the road, our neighbors had a cherry garden with few other fruit trees. We invaded their garden because the cherry tree was fast to ripe, before the market was flooded with the fruit, their apricots were sweetest in the whole of the neighborhood and we knew that if caught they would forgive us, because after all – we were neighbors. And so we went, two boys and me – under the moon light we climb the trees and pluck the cherries, stuffing our pockets and filling our plastic bags. I still remember my dress pockets wet and colored. Soon the dog starts barking as we giggle and whisper to each other. Of course, the neighbor has to come out to check on the dog and the garden.

The lights come up and my heart beats fast as I consider whether to run or stay and hold my breath and cherries. In a moment I decide that I can jump off the tree, and I do. I ran as fast as I can, catching up with the boys and hear the swearing of our neighbor and the dog chasing after me. We make it safe and hide in the lilac bush and sit there for a while, trying to catch on our breath and giggling like crazy. I get overwhelmed with shame; my cheeks turn red and burning. As everything becomes calm and the lights go off we go to the water pump and wash the cherry to later enjoy it on the bench. It is way late after nine, and I know it is my time to return home; in a hurry I eat a bunch of cherries and the rest I give to Denis, because I liked him and he was rather a brother to me.

Certainly no one knew about the event but three of us, a couple dogs and our neighbor.

It was later that I confessed to my mother that I had been robbing the cherries. She was kind enough not to punish me, but she was also honest and carrying enough to instruct me. And I – I was committed to mischief. I only dreaded the dogs chasing after me.

Something Was Special

That particular Sunday morning had always been sunny and later closer to the noon it would rain. Those were happy spring days when the snow melted and the trees became green. Neighborhood was alive and children ran on the street, popping to each other homes and breaking painted eggs and eating baked sweet breads.

As I look back at it, I find it interesting that we had Easter during the Soviet time. Well, it is a different story if I or any of my friends for that matter knew the reason of the celebration.

I remember I felt shy to respond to "Jesus has risen!" with "Risen indeed!" because I did not understand who or what they were talking about. The word Jesus in Russian was so alien to me. I had no clue of the "risen" part of it either.

Nevertheless, there was something special about that day every year. I was not interested too much in eggs though I liked the sweet bread my mother and later my sister baked.

Couple years later I heard something about Son of God dying and then becoming alive again for the humanity. I did not grasp it too much but something was divine about it, something sacred. And I loved to look in the rainy sky and think of God who, like somebody said, was crying for us.

And now, many years later I say a prayer of thanks to God who brings peace into my life. I do miss the rain and even if God does not cry now, I know He loves us, the humanity.

Jesus has risen indeed!