THE LITTLE BLACK NOTEBOOK

THE LITTLE BLACK NOTEBOOK

BY ANA-MARIA MANOILA

(London, 01/03/2021)

The dawn light creeped in, animals were waking up, the smell of fresh morning rain was embalming my soul, birds were singing, a random owl was still flying around owling her heart out. I was 6 at the time, the year was 1916, a few months into the Russian occupation of my hometown, I was getting ready at 3 am to go with my father to bring the few cattle left to the fields. We always started early in the morning, as by lunch time the heat was unbearable. Russian soldiers were living at the time in our home, and we were allowed to sleep only in a small bedroom, all 5 of us: myself, my two brothers, mom and dad.

Ivan was a pretty decent soldier, he always woke up with us in the morning and shaved his beard every day at dawn. I never understood as a kid why someone would wake up so early in the morning to dress up and wash. He had this weird black powder to coat his moustache, and he always sung in the morning. He had a good voice, he enjoyed so much his singing. He told us he had family up in Moscow, they were very up tied and apparently rich, but his dad was a military officer, and believed that by only doing military service in life, you can truly be a proper man. Ivan was nice, always obeyed orders, I didn’t see him as a soldier, he was more of my friend. My mom was the only one speaking Russian, so I only spoke to him through signs and body language. He managed to teach me a few words, we played cards, which I enjoyed a lot.

He always kept by his side pocket a little black notebook and wrote everyday in it. It had some weird golden logo on it and some pictures of his family, it looks so expensive with leather covers, I always wanted to understand what he was scribbling in there, I never got around to read those Russian letters properly.

With Ivan’s voice in head and his signing still in the background we walked the cattle by the river and headed to the fields. Summer was almost there, you could feel the Earth bussing, crawling and creeping, all of these creatures were coming to life, from the tinniest insects to the random wolves, you could spot by the end of the forests. I never felt so alive like in that moment, I could feel the sun embracing my skin, the wind caressing my hair, the smell of fresh rain made everything spin around. I was happy, even though the war was there alive and awake like a dragon that howls in the ground. We found a good place to sit down while the cattle were feeding, my father had some tobacco which he smoked only once a month, and usually smuggled it in his vest, so no one would catch him. I couldn’t wait to grow up to join him, he looked so happy and content, at peace. By lunch time the sun was scorching the ground, my lips were so dry, my dad passed me a bottle of peppermint tea, he always carried around a glass bottle of very sugary peppermint tea, my mom always prepared it in the evening and left it on the porch. As we were nearing home, my mom waited puzzled in front of the house, I could see it in her eyes, that something terrible happened. I started running and by the time we got to her, she said that Ivan was gone, my only happy nice friend around during that horrible hopeless war, was gone. His little black note book was still by his bed, which was weird, as he always had it by his side pocket. What could have happened to Ivan? I never understood, how someone could simply disappear like that within a few hours. He was a kind person, never laid a finger on my family, even though most people in the village had horrible stories about the occupation, soldier and the war. My family chose to see the good side, food was never enough for so many souls, but they chose to be happy, enjoy life to bits and pieces, enjoy living day by day, not thinking if tomorrow will ever come, and Ivan was there through this mess with his singing.

Years passed by and we never found out what happened to Ivan, even though I never got over it, I promised myself that once I grew up I would take Ivan’s little black notebook to his family. Someone missed him for sure, someone out there in Moscow was missing their son, it really made an impression on me at that age, as he was the first person, that disappear so sudden from my life.

At 29 I was done with my studies in Czernowitz and decided to travel to Moscow to look for his family. My Russian had improved quite a bit, I still had Ivan black notebook around and the pictures of his family, so I took a train to Moscow. It took me two weeks to get there, I thought I will never arrive, all these Russian cities passing over, but I finally got to Moscow. It was spectacular, you could see it from far, I had never seen such a big city, the churches, the building, everything was so grand, the people had so much character. How could I find Ivan’s family in a sea of so many people, this city was endless I remembered in Czernowitz when you applied for a foreign residency, you had to go to the council, so I thought for sure I could find his family records there. In my broken Russian I managed to ask where I could find information about soldiers from the first world war. They looked at me puzzled and told to go to the state archives, because I could find there a list of soldiers that died in the war.

I knew that his last name was Pietrovici, or something similar to that, so I asked the old lady at the archive to read me the names, as my reading in Russian was horrible and would have taken me hours to go through thousands of names. He wasn’t between the dead soldiers, which made me happy even though I knew deep down, that he wasn’t alive, so we went through the living soldiers and there was his name, but that person was 45 years old at the time, so it couldn’t have been him. Ivan was still young no more than 23 years. All the lists were done, could I have travelled for two weeks, not to find anything, could this just had been an awful mistake, I based this rescue mission on the memories of a 6 years old me. Maybe Ivan was from a different city, maybe he lied, maybe he didn’t had family alive? My mind was racing. The old lady looked through a different register and found an Ivan Pietroviski in the missing persons list. He was indeed missing, there was a description about him: 21 years old loved brother and son, disappeared in Bukowina, Mom is still waiting for him to come home St. Petersburg Road, 357, Moscow. The old lady was puzzled, this Ivan you are looking for is the son of the wealthiest family in Moscow, that address is not a house, a home, is a proper palace, his mom died soon after her son’s disappearance, only his sister was alive, still lived at the palace. I couldn’t believe it, was it possible to be true? It was evening already, so first thing in the morning I was planning to go to the address and meet his sister.

Early in the morning I woke up and shaved my beard, sung my favourite song while drinking my coffee and enjoying sweet old tobacco, it was a celebration, that day finally come. I got dressed quickly and took the tram to St. Petersburg Street. From far away you could see the biggest palace, all adorned with golden leaves with different sculptures of dragons and creatures, a big garden with a water fountain in the front, it was mesmerizing. A big black gate with a cress on it, was guarding the palace and an old person was at the gate. I explained to him that I knew Ivan and wanted to speak with his sister. He nodded in disbelief, and complained that everyone says they know Ivan and come and ask for money, but he left me through and showed me to grand room in the palace. A very elegant lady, very well dressed and with beautiful jewelery came to see me. I took Ivan’s black notebook out of my pocket as she entered the room, and she started running to me while crying and yelling Ivan’s name. she took the notebook and said ”you are finally home”. While she was reading his notes, I told her about how I met him during the occupation, how he was so nice to us, so kind and how he always treated me as his friend.

I stayed for lunch, she was quiet, she just listened to my stories about Ivan, and my long road to Moscow. She was so kind like his brother, asked if the food was good if I needed anything, she thanked me for everything and invited me to stay at the palace for a few days, I accepted happily because I finally got to know Ivan’s world, family and life. Our time passed by very quickly, the stories about Ivan naughtiness were long and funny, garden’s smell of roses and water dripping were like a song for my soul. On the last evening, after a lavish dinner, Ivan’s sister handed me a bunch of papers and explained that those were the deeds of the palace and now it all belonged to me, it was Ivan home, she waited for him to come back home, so he came back. I protested in disbelief, as that was not my intention of getting money of his memory and also I had family I needed to go back to, but she said took “no” for an answer, just took a bunch of suitcases and left. What was happening? All of the sudden Ivan changed my life again, I couldn’t grasp this new reality, everything seemed unreal. I decided to contemplate for a couple of months and write my mum a letter to let her know what was happening.

Summer was almost done, it was 1938, I was young, happy, adventurous, and apparently rich, in the prime of my life. What could life bring now?

THE END