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16 WWW.UNWLA.ORG “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ТРАВЕНЬ 2015 Lyubov Yanovska From Earth to Orion An Easter Story (1911) “Passport! Visa!” The pale ray of light grew still paler—it had not expected this at all. It had fled from the earth to distant Orion to enjoy some freedom, but here, too, it heard the same words: “Passport! Vi- sa!” The cunning secret observer was not ac- customed to giving up without a fight. “I'm a messenger from Earth,” it said haughtily to the guard. On Orion, the inhabitants do not yet know how to lie, and so the guard be- lieved the ray of light; he spun a small wheel, and the news immediately resounded through the constellation: “A messenger from Earth has ar- rived.” And, in a moment, thousands of tall, slen- der, bright-eyed beings in pink shirts surrounded the liar, and thousands of slim white hands ex- tended bouquets of lilies to the dear guest. Beautiful Queen Hede stood on a rose- bush and passed the foreigner a chalice of mead. Oh! The mead was more nutritious than the sighs of those who are in love, and, after drinking it, the ray of light was instantly embold- ened. “I'm a messenger from Earth,” it said. “I'm a messenger from Earth, and I've come to invite all of you for a visit. Come to visit us. Earth is celebrating a holiday.” “It's our springtime, and it's like paradise. The cold snow is gone, and the ground is steam- ing. The ice on the rivers has melted, and fish are splashing about in the water. All the yards are filled with the cacophonous cries of geese, ducks, and turkeys. The calves and lambs are gambol- ling. Songs reverberate in the air. Everything is caught up in the throes of love, in a great, power- ful thirst for life.” The Orionites did not know any of the creatures whose virtues the ray of light was extol- ling, but its concluding words touched a respon- sive chord in their hearts. “Oh, it's wonderful there!” “And what do people do?” asked the beau- tiful queen, enraptured by the stirring words. “They love each other,” the ray of light re- sponded impudently, with a sly wink. “They love each other? And that is all?” the beautiful queen asked slowly, in a saddened tone. “Oh, no! That's not all... Of course, that's not all,” the wonderful psychologist caught on immediate- ly. “That wouldn't be possible. There's more to life than being in love. They love each other only some of the time, on holidays...” “And on ordinary days?” the queen in- quired. “And on ordinary days...” the braggart stopped short for a moment. But then, recalling a certain conversation on which he had eaves- dropped, he continued: “They fight for the truth.” “They fight for the truth?” the queen re- peated, her blue eyes widening and gleaming like translucent jewels. “But is it possible for truth to have enemies?” “Of course! Do you suppose, oh beautiful queen, that the most exquisite terrestrial pearl comes easily to people? Oh, no! It comes only with heavy sacrifices, painful struggles. We fight... We fight constantly... Christ himself came to us and gave us his commandments of truth and love; He gave us His holy banner and requested that truth prevail. But since that time, His followers have fought incessantly. His banner is pierced with bullets, covered with dust, and soaked with tears.” “Send a correspondent!” the agitated beautiful queen cried out. And, in a flash, the beautiful Abeve—the pride and glory of Orion-obediently picked up his briefcase. A moment later, his first report flew back: “I'm on Earth, staying at a hotel. It's neither cold, nor warm here. The planet is rich in animal life. In the square, about six hundred feet from my window, there are one hundred and twenty-two carts, with all sorts of fowl and animals. There are some fine specimens here, but they all belong to a vicious, dangerous breed and, for this reason, they are tied up securely, or kept in cages. Peo- ple take them away one at a time and cart them home, where they tame them.” “Anatomy is greatly respected on Earth. There is a vast amount of material here for ana- tomical dissections — mostly the heads of huge animals, their feet, livers, and intestines. Sur- geons, clad in white aprons, willingly give them away — usually to women. The bloody material is thrown into baskets, taken home, and dis- sected there.”
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