On the Wings of Hope: Prose (Chosen)

Coming

"Comrade Captain, the suspect on the claim of blasphemy by the clergy was successfully detained by our task force in the Church of Christ the Saviour and half an hour ago was taken to the department for identification and interrogation purposes. Do you want me to send him in?"

A young red-haired junior police sergeant, always squinting like a semi-blind march cat, promptly made his brief report as soon as he opened the door to his boss's office. Such a sly fellow, wanting a promotion. Well, we'll see, we'll see.

"Get him inside, Kalistratov," police captain Christenko waved his hand authoritatively, putting the papers aside. "We will conduct a preliminary interrogation here so that we don't have to waste too much time on him."

"Oh, how did these priests torture us with their demands for protection of the feelings of believers!" a thought flashed inside the captain's mind. "They constantly unload all such cases to our departments if possible. You, they say, conduct all necessary investigations, determine the degree of guilt of these disbelievers, while we will continue providing our services, helping your sinful souls in need. But don't ever dare to let the culprits go free just like that! And where else do we have to put them? Every second man out there is a de-facto atheist, and every third of so-called believers is a hypocrite of epic proportions."

"Drag him inside!" Kalistratov shouted, looking out into the corridor, and the two guards obediently led the handcuffed man into the room and placed him on a chair in front of the captain, keeping standing on both sides nearby.

Tenacious, accustomed to evaluating people with one cursory glance, captain Khristenko's gaze reluctantly slid over the suspect, stopping at his eyes. Slavic appearance, thirty-five – forty years old, leatherette outerwear, jeans, calluses on the hands, blond hair. There is absolutely nothing unusual in his appearance, a classic ordinary hard worker, most likely a migrant, of which there are hundreds of thousands in Moscow, especially after the opening of the borders with Ukraine. But the eyes... they were too lively, abnormally kind.

"Did they explain to you the reason for your detention and the procedure for conducting the interrogation?" captain Christenko narrowed his eyes, aiming his gaze like a beam at the suspect's face in an attempt to read his thoughts from facial expressions.

"Yes, in general," the detainee replied kindly and calmly. "I'm ready to talk to you."

"This is a mild interrogation, not a conversation. You'd better thank us for not keeping you in an interrogation room behind armored glass, like a particularly dangerous person. The conditions out there are not so rosy, believe me!"

The prisoner only smiled and just nodded in response.

"I thank you for your kindness."

"So..." The captain rummaged through the pile of papers lying on his table for a moment, searching for a folder, a pen, and a dictaphone. "By the protocol..."

"What would you like to know? I have caused no harm to any of you or to those who have addressed my heavenly father in the temple."

"Good and evil have all become very relative terms, especially in our time. Yet the clause for blasphemy that may come into reality is a very concrete and tangible thing, believe my experience. So..." the captain glanced at the lines of text in the newly opened case. "Witnesses from among the parishioners claim that you behaved completely inappropriately in the church, never according to canons and traditions, reading very loudly and sonorously the "Lord's Prayer" as well as asked others, I quote, "to show yourself by true deeds that are pleasing to my heavenly father, and not by words and chants imposed on you." Where did you even find such words? What, is there is a new trend arising in social networks?"