Spring 2011:
The first thing Ekaterina noticed about Mexico was warmth. It was not the scorching heat which Ekaterina had expected when she left the protective territory of her monastery at the Russian village of Dikson. The silken sunlight melted into her skin giving her snowy skin a golden glow. The mellow breeze was a lullaby to her frostbite-prone skin. Closing her eyes, she held out her hand hoping to gather each sun ray in her palm that would be enough to warm her soul in this lifetime. Then she felt guilty for letting desire obtrude into her mind, even if it was for a second.
Ekaterina kept her eyes closed to ask forgiveness from Mother Mary. The faint strumming of guitar added to the serenity of the surrounding. A shiver ran down her spine when she first heard that voice. Her eyes opened like a camera shutter. He was staring at her. She looked into his eyes. Ogon'! It was the first word whispered in the recesses of her mind. She didn't know whether it was the amber of his eyes or the intensity of his gaze that caused her body to drench in sweat. She could feel the gush of blood accelerating at the speed of light through her body. Her ribcage was trying its best to hold her heart but it was a matter of milliseconds that her heart would explode into pieces. In spite of sweat mixing with tears in her eyelashes, she was trembling. Where were her companions? Why weren't they coming to rescue her? She tried to look around to get help but it was as if her gaze was frozen by the -40 degree Celsius of Dikson and she could only look into those orbs of fire. Finally his voice faded and she let out the breath which she held for so long. But he was still looking at her. With great effort, she could break the trance of that unsettling eye contact. She tried to look away from the town square where the surprise street performance took place. But she could still see him from the periphery of her eyes. He must be above 5'9" but he was not quite 6'. Warm wind had messed up with his thick black hair which covered his forehead like dark waves. His olive green shirt fluttered against his lean body. Standing on a raised platform at the town square, he was still holding the red guitar.
"Who is he?" she jolted at Svetlana's voice. It surprised Ekatrina how her best friend's voice can seem so foreign after that strange performance.
"Devil's angel," she muttered and looked at him with contempt. Svetlana closed her ears and crossed her heart. Being a nun in the holy order of Mother Mary forbade the mention of anything related to devil. Ekaterina bit her tongue and crossed her heart. She had come on a pilgrimage to Basilica de Guadalupe with a group of fourteen nuns from the monastery including her and Svetlana. Previously only twelve nuns were chosen for the pilgrimage but Ekaterina had a vision of the Blessed Lady instructing her to visit the hill of Tepeyac, where Our Lady visited a Mexican peasant, Juan Diego five centuries ago. It took a great effort to persuade Mother Superior to let her go to Basilica de Guadalupe. Finally Mother Superior agreed, but only at the condition that Svetlana would accompany her to the pilgrimage because excluding Svetlana, there were total thirteen pilgrims.
Kai was shocked by the change in her expression. Suddenly his guitar which he could hold without any effort grew heavy in his hands. It was his first public performance. He had fallen in love with music since he heard the gypsies singing fifteen years ago. He was three then. It was the only divine moment he had experienced in life until he had seen that girl in white tunic and veil. Her eyes were closed in prayer. It was as if his anthrophobia was evaporated. He didn't realize when his fingers started swaying on the guitar strings and words started escaping from his lips to the air. Her eyes popped open. They were ice blue- pure as the first snowflake. He could not stop himself from staring at her. It was like experiencing first snow. He didn't realize when he had finished his song and the sound of clapping escaped his ears. Then she looked at him with hate- not dislike but pure hate as if he was devil. Unknowingly, his fingers trailed his face. Was the colour of his skin the reason behind the look in her eyes? He didn't have courage to shift his gaze from the ground. His body was limp. All these years, being an extreme agoraphobic, he had never experienced such helplessness. He was shy and timid but he was never ashamed of himself, not even when his professor parents disowned him for pursuing a musical career or when his classmates made fun of him working as a janitor after school hours to earn his daily bread so that he can practice music without any interruption. It took too much strength to walk. His legs gave up and he crumbled to the ground. His tears washed the sunny remnants of the magical day.
