Town of the doomed souls

Chapter 3

"Damned souls..." the lines of the old message flashed bright in his mind again. Andrew involuntarily shook his head. Nonsense. Why did he only give in to the stupid impulse to engage himself in this unnecessary investigation. As if he had nothing else to ocupy himself without it!

'So what this legend is about?' sighed Andrew.

'You'd better ask father Paul. He can explain it better.'

The father Paul's cell was at the very end of a long corridor in the farthest redbrick building. Deep arched window without any curtains was the only source of light in a white-walled room with a set of only the most necessary furniture: a table, a chair, a bed and a washbasin. Father Paul invited his guest inside after a brief greeting.

'The fellow, who accompanied me, said something about a legend of this town. He advised me to ask you about it.'

'Are you studying the history?' priest smiled in his beard.

'You can say so, 'nodded Andrew. 

Perhaps a small talk wouldn't, before stating the true purpose of his visit. The reaction of the old man to it was unpredictable. Andrew realized that he had no right to use his authority - he investigated no case. It was rather a personal reason. Perhaps, he thought a little too late, he should have come plainclothes.

'Well this is a very old story that took place long before this town foundation. But despite this, almost everyone here can tell you about it.'

'Have the damned souls something to do with this legend?' asked Andrew.

'According to the legend, it is due to these two souls that were cursed after their death this town was founded.'

It seemed that the old man wasn't an eager narrator.

'So are you afraid that the curse can affect its inhabitants because of these... souls?' suggested Andrew, trying to conceal his impatience.

'I'm afraid they will not be able to find peace in their eternal torments.'

'You make it sound like they do still exist.'

'A soul is immortal, son. It is the vessel containing it that changes, the world around, the time changes, only a soul remains.'

'Oh, yes - the resurrection...' muttered Andrew. So much for the hope to do without a spiritual guidance. To hell with the legend, he hasn't come for that...

'Tell me, Father Paul, do you often receive icons as a gift?'

The priest was silent, and Andrew doubted whether he heard the question at all. 'Were there cases of someone to present the temple or you personally with the icon?'

'Yes there were cases,' finally agreed the priest, as in slumber.

'I'm interested in the particular icon that was brought here by a girl in 1991. It was the icon...'

'Of Iveron Mother of God,' took up the Priest calmly.

'So you remember,' encouraged him Andrew eagerly, but the old man was floating in his own land of dreams without any haste to come back down to the sinful earth or more precisely to the Holy land of the Orthodox Temple in the town of the damned souls.

'Father Paul, I'd like to have a look at the icon, if it's possible. Is it still here in the temple?'

'The icon was given to me on condition that it remains here. I've never parted with it.'

'So you have it!'

It seemed an eternity passed before the old man nodded at last and turned to the bed, at the head of which on a narrow corner shelf behind the lampad there stood three icons.