«Listen, I have a husband and a young child. They will be lost in this world without me if I leave. Please, let me go,»– I asked, feeling sorry for myself.
He replied, «No, only in a week. Then you can come back.»
Surprisingly, he was right. Three days later, the company that I had hired to help me get out of Malye Gavniuki village called and said that, due to technical issues, they would only be able to arrange transportation for me in six days.
I tried to reach my husband, but it was difficult. When I finally got through, I told him about the delay. After making sure everything was okay with him and our son, I ended the call.
So I stayed with the sorcerer for six days. My life with him was quite tolerable. The only problem was flooding the bathhouse and washing with household soap. I was afraid of going bald, but then I thought of asking the owner for chamomile and nettle. By making a decoction and rinsing my hair with it, I saved it.
«How do you even live here alone?» I asked the old man. «Aren’t you bored and lonely?» I continued. «You don’t have TV, a mobile or landline, and of course, the Internet.»
He answered me ominously, «I don’t need a phone. There’s no one to call and no one who calls me. Everyone who talked to me and loved me is in their grave, waiting for me to return».
We spent six days talking. I cleaned and cooked. The peasant came twice with food for the old man and me on a gazelle. It was noteworthy that the sorcerer never paid. I asked about it. The owner of the house answered: «He owes me a lot». I saved his son from death. I performed a miracle. He returned from war alive without a scratch.
The wizard did not have access to the internet or television. However, he did have a large bookcase, dating back to the Soviet era. Among the books, there were also works on the subject of a man making a pact with the devil. Within a week, I had read «The Tribulation of Satan».
The owner of the house had been away for an extended period, leaving for three or four hours at a time. Towards the end of my stay, the old man’s condition deteriorated, and he eventually fell ill. By the sixth day, he had fallen ill and could not rise from his bed. The wizard was fading like a candle, his vital energy draining away. He forbade me under strict orders not to even mention doctors or hospitals. I agreed only to administer the painkillers I had brought with me.
I beheld his demise. I felt no pity for him, nor did I feel remorse. Living among the people and in the realm of night has imbued me with a sense of cruelty and cynicism. Yet I also respect the right to one’s own choices. I had no doubt that, had the sorcerer desired, he could have healed himself. But he chose to depart. Death does not exist for children alone. It is mortals who fear it, fearing the unknown. Death is but a transitory phase, akin to the shedding of a snake’s old skin.
On the sixth day, the elderly man abruptly requested that I sing for him. I was taken aback. Setting down my book, I inquired:
–»For you?»
Upon receiving a nod in affirmation, I acquiesced.
– Pay the Witcher in silver coins, in silver coins, whoo, pay the Witcher, it shall all be counted, I sang with a discordant voice.
And then the old man was struck by the candour. It was akin to a confession. The wizard divulged everything about himself in a concise manner, revealing the very essence of his practice. He engaged in witchcraft, aimed at causing harm and casting curses. He received various commissions. However, most of those who sought his services requested retribution. They sought to exact punishment on their wrongdoers.