They “figured it out” the Russian way. Among the three of them. So that, as it should be, “330 for each!”
Two bottles of vodka, frost-whitened by the cold, plus some simple snacks—”just like everyone else.” “Borodinsky” bread with very thinly sliced lard, cold enough to be rock-hard. Lightly salted cucumbers with a sprinkle of dill. Salted milk cap mushrooms with vegetable oil and green onions. Small boiled potatoes scattered about. Krakow sausage cut into rounds… Green onions. Herring… In short, everything a man needs and nothing extra.
And so they sat there. On the edge of a fluffy, snow-white cloud, dangling their feet—clad in fairy-tale-like, ancient sandals—and spitting on all of humanity swarming somewhere below…
We had our first shot. Since the vodka was excellent, we didn’t have any snacks—we just took a little sniff and… went straight for the second one—so we wouldn’t lose the buzz from the first!
They were already savoring the second one, sniffing noisily and munching just as heartily. Some had a crispy mushroom or a little pickle; others had herring with onions and potatoes. And all of this accompanied by “Borodinsky” bread, which smelled simply fabulous… For those who wanted it, there was lard… Firm, snow-white, with a thin streak of meat… Ah, how wonderful! This is it—true heavenly bliss!
When the euphoria had subsided just a little and the very first buzz washed over him like a warm wave, Selaphiel sniffled:
— War again. When will all this ever end! People are suffering…
“People always suffer. That’s just their lot in life!” Gabriel remarked philosophically as he poured his third drink.
“Fighting is in their blood. What can you do?” Mikhail sighed, smiling sadly at his sausage sandwich.
— HE could just forbid them! Make them fall in love with each other and never go to war!
— He had long ago decided that people had GROWN UP, had received all the guidance they needed, no longer needed guides, and should determine their own fate in their earthly lives.
— Otherwise, they aren’t people, but puppets, living in constant fear of upsetting HIM.
— That’s a fact. They should decide their own fate!
— If only it were just THEIR OWN! Those in power, for the sake of their own ambitions, are ruining other people’s lives! Not their own!
— And that’s why they end up getting such a beating that all that’s left of their rotten selves is a single “heart-wrenching scream.” In the most literal sense of the word…
— It’s their government. Their relationship. So it’s of their own free will and their own fault! No one from above is forcing anything on them. They’re doing it themselves. All on their own! That is HIS will! Let’s support HIM!
How could we not toast to HIM!? We had a drink. We had a bite to eat. Delicious! Especially to HIM!
“Yes. It’s THEIR life. And it’s so short…” Having reached a philosophical state of mind, Gabriel declared dramatically.
“But then, he will judge…” Selaphiel sighed sadly.
“To their business!” And in all fairness… — Mikhail poured the last of the first bottle into his glass and dramatically flung the empty bottle down onto the heads of the misguided masses.
“Isn’t that fair!?” Gabriel asked, popping the cork on the second bottle.
— That’s true. But they’re literally going out of their way to add to Lucifer’s menagerie. They’re not afraid of anything! “They’ve completely lost all fear.”
— Because they don’t know what’s in store for them! And if they did…
— They know it all! They just don’t believe it. Just like little kids… They misbehave and wait to be put in the corner… Someday… Later… Or maybe it won’t even come to that…? Maybe there isn’t even a “corner” to begin with…
— God forbid we end up in that “corner”! He is willing to forgive many things. But for those who are not forgiven, there is no second chance. And yet they still MESS AROUND! They’re ruining their own souls…
— Because, in reality, they don’t believe it. They think there’s nothing THERE. And, consequently, they won’t face any consequences for their sins. But they will… Their hopes are in vain.
— That’s a fact.
— Oh, you fools…
— That’s for sure.
— Another one?
— That’s a fact.
— Well, for HIS sake!
We had a drink to HIS health. We had a bite to eat.
“The Germans have crushed France. A country like that…” Selaphiel sighed sadly.
“They pulled that off nicely!” Mikhail remarked calmly. “Well done!” And that slut France won’t suffer any harm. For those frogs, losing their France means nothing more than losing some bet for pocket change. Sad, costly, but not fatal.
“Who’s next?” Gabriel asked, pouring another 50 grams (give or take).
“Greece and Yugoslavia. Then—Russia. But that’s where things are going to go really, really wrong.” Mikhail concluded respectfully and drawlingly.
— Did HE tell you that himself?
— No way!
“It’s simple. In Russia, everyone who wants to ‘conquer the world’ ends up ‘failing.’ Russia will win, and peace will follow. Right?” Gavriil surmised, having clearly reached a state of “enlightenment.”
“Aye, sir.” Mikhail burped respectfully. And, as if sharing a top-secret secret, he continued, leaning in close to his drinking buddies:
— I know because HIM (!) and I were discussing “military matters” once, and HE “gave some examples.” He didn’t go into specifics, but I got the point anyway!
“What did you understand?” Gavriil asked, a little taken aback, having lost his train of thought.
“I got the gist of it.” Mikhail frowned, beginning to suspect that not everyone in this group was “one of us.”
“All right, stop showing off. Tell me!” Selaphiel asked with great interest.
“Do I have to tell you idiots about every battle?” Mikhail asked, with a touch of arrogance. But no one wanted to argue with him.
“A lot of people are bound to die.” Selaphiel sniffed mournfully, downing another shot without waiting for anyone or having a bite to eat—as if it were a memorial toast.
“Yes. There’s so much passion. There’s never been THIS much before!” Mikhail confirmed his worst fears with a bloodthirsty tone.
“Objectively?” Gabriel asked, letting out a little gasp and looking thoughtful.
“Well, how could it be otherwise, if Russia is ‘traditionally’ unprepared for war!” Mikhail chuckled.
“But will he still defeat those scoundrels?” Selaphiel asked, his voice full of hope.
“That’s a fact,” Gabriel asserted authoritatively, as if he himself had been there in person.
— So WHY go to such lengths?! HE could have just canceled the whole thing…
— He won’t cancel anything. It’s their life. He’ll deal with each of them individually later…
— So HOW can we ensure that Russia wins as quickly as possible and with fewer casualties?
— Why do we need this?
“Are you an angel or a demon? I don’t get it!” Selaphiel asked defiantly. “They’re GOD’S CHILDREN! Foolish and obnoxious, but HIS children. HE loves them—and who can go against HIM?”
— Unless HE saves them. Is that really our place? Do you want to go against HIS will?
— No, of course not! I think HIS will won’t be affected at all if the war ends sooner and fewer people die.
— Don’t confuse me! If you do even the slightest thing, that’s already interference. And that means it’s against HIS will.
— You can’t figure this out without vodka.
— That’s true! But there’s not much vodka left…
We had another drink each and realized, to our surprise, that the second bottle was already almost empty. Philosophy is such a difficult subject—made even more so by dialectics… and vodka. Especially when the vodka is running out!
“Just because HE didn’t order it doesn’t mean HE forbade it.” Gabriel said this in a conspiratorial whisper (or so he thought!), crunching on a bite of food. “Dialectics!”
— Demagoguery. Want to team up with Lucifer? He got burned by demagoguery, too… And he was also shouting something about dialectics.
— So we won’t DO anything after all. But you said yourself that Russia “traditionally” wasn’t ready. But we can just warn them. So they’ll be ready! Let them do everything that’s needed THEMSELVES, just as HE wants.
— And will the Germans just turn a blind eye to “everything that’s needed”?
— Don’t worry about that. The Germans have already been punished a hundred times for their snobbery. They’ve become so convinced of their own military genius that they couldn’t care less about their opponents’ plans and preparations. They’re only interested in their own plans. They’re convinced that the swift execution of their plans will simply render any enemy plans obsolete. That’s how it’s been, up until now, everywhere and all the time. And that’s how it will continue… Until they stumble over Russia and break their own necks.
“Yes, they did warn Stalin. People. All kinds of people. But no one really believed them,” Mikhail remarked gruffly, tossing away the second empty bottle.
— So those weren’t the right people to warn us. Who’s going to believe sources like “an old lady said”? After all, to believe means to start taking action! But if you don’t believe it—or if you believe it just a little bit—you can do just a little bit… just in case… And nothing more.
— That’s why we need to issue a warning that will make them believe it with all their hearts and start acting as if war is coming tomorrow! Will they believe our warning?
— I’d like to see anyone who doesn’t believe it!
— That is, if you show up like that—descending from the heavens, dressed all in white and gold, with angel wings and your sword…
— Come on, why go that far… HE definitely wouldn’t approve of such a circus. We can do this all very neatly… The main thing is to get the right person to have that “lightbulb moment”—to switch from “I believe it—I don’t believe it” to “I believe it.” Can we do that?
— We can do anything. It’s a shame we have to deal with such trivial matters…
With these words, Mikhail stretched out blissfully on a cloud, gazing dreamily into the bottomless expanse of the sky, beyond which the crystal sphere of the divine abodes—invisible and intangible to the mortal beings of this world—shimmered distinctly. Too bad HE forbade drinking in the heavenly palaces…
“Don’t worry, at the rate Hell is filling up with sinners these days, Lucifer won’t take too long to come back for an encore,” Gabriel promised. “Let’s have some fun…”
“Exactly!” Mikhail smiled predatoryly, full of anticipation. “We’ll give Denica a good beating again… And then, buddy, we’ll get drunk on vodka together, call some slutty girls over… Basically, same old, same old.”
— As usual, if HE keeps even a single eye on our fun, just to make sure Lucifer doesn’t “accidentally” win….
“Do you doubt me?” Mikhail sat up abruptly, sensing a “reason to start a fight.” Which wasn’t such a bad thing for a fun “continuation of the party.”
“What if HE ends up being against the warning?” Selaphiel asked cautiously, ignoring Michael’s sudden state of alertness that had come out of nowhere.
— Against what? We’re not getting involved. We’ll just confirm what they already suspect—that their guesses are correct. There’s no great sin in specifying the timing of what’s inevitable. If anything goes wrong, we’ll say a prayer! He’s kind. It’s not the first time.
— When thunder and lightning “signal” an approaching storm—does HE get angry?
— No.
— And anyway—it’s HIM! If our warning went against HIS will, we wouldn’t even be discussing it!
— That’s a fact!
— Well, let’s raise a toast to HIS wisdom!
— There aren’t any more.
— His wisdom? Oh, fuck, what am I saying… Forgive me, Lord…
— Don’t blaspheme! We’re out of vodka. Too bad.
— Maybe we could send some little angel to get the third one?
— Yeah, and then you’ll start complaining about clichés: “Send a fool to get a bottle, and he’ll bring back just one”… No. Let’s not sink to “everyday drunkenness”… without a good reason. Rules are rules! We still have a plan to carry out! A good cause.
On the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord (August 19), 1940, a very beautiful and sweeping inscription in red pencil miraculously appeared in I. V. Stalin’s diary: “The war will begin on June 22, 1941.”
Stalin snorted, tore out the page, crumpled it in his fist, and was surprised to find that the same inscription appeared on the next page as well. Unfolding the previous sheet to compare the writing, Stalin was puzzled to see that there was no writing on the torn-out sheet at all. “What kind of tricks are these!? It’s as if Messing had been here.”
After repeating the action three times, he paused thoughtfully, and at that moment, something clearly impatient in his mind “flipped a switch” with a crack and subtly warned him in a stern voice, “Don’t be an idiot!”.
“Miracles… Could it be that the forces of heaven are on our side?!” Stalin marveled at the wave of indescribable sensations that swept over his consciousness, engulfing his head and even higher.
“Fact.” The thought flashed through his mind—briefly, but with crystal clarity.
“Just don’t screw this up…” a completely different voice advised sternly.
“And this… Take care of the people! Please,” a third person asked gently.
“Have I lost my mind?” Stalin asked gloomily.
— Not necessarily.
— Learn to fight while you still have time. And don’t forget the date!
— And take care of people, people!
— OK! THAT’S IT! LET’S GO!
The last one boomed with such overwhelming force that, in the silence that followed, the ticking of the desk clock sounded like the grinding of a dredge.
Stunned by this “twist of fate,” Stalin slumped into a chair in a state of blissful stupor and, after taking a few deep, convulsive breaths, pressed the button to summon his secretary.
When Poskrebyshev, with his round head as bald as a billiard ball, appeared before the “master,” Stalin muttered plaintively:
— Please convene a meeting for me first thing tomorrow morning… And invite the Chief of the General Staff, too… There’s an idea… that we need to discuss.
Archangel Michael is humanity’s first and foremost defender against “eternal evil.” Christians also turn to him in their prayers whenever they fear an attack from any deadly enemy whatsoever.
People turn to the wise and judicious Archangel Gabriel in prayer when they need to make an exceptionally difficult and vitally important decision.
Archangel Selaphiel is the chief intercessor for Christians before God Himself. If you’ve sinned so badly that you don’t think God will forgive you—pray to Selaphiel—maybe he’ll intercede on your behalf! It’s better than nothing—at least it’s a chance at salvation.
