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Once upon a time

This is the story of my grandmother Alice, a gentle soul in recent years, it revived the literary greatness of his youth in the country through storytelling adopted grandchildren. The story that was told at the time when adults were children once.

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"Once long ago there were ghosts," said my grandmother Alice in the jargon of his speech, as he told his story to his grandchildren usual. No, the stories were not meant to be scary, but the traditions of his birthplace. It was quite unusual stories to be told to high before closing the eyes.

That was the way to my grandmother. The children of our age were treated to tales of the Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Hans Christian Anderson, but these stories were not for us. Our grandmother told us stories he heard in his early years in Russia and stories that were written by Pushkin, Gogol, Tolstoy, and so on. These stories stayed with her after his flight to the western land after the fall of Tsar Nicholas II in the revolution of the proletariat.

My grandmother was a Alica unusual woman in their ways. The stout woman, gray-haired and wrinkled, had a very strange story and background. She had a passion for the oppressed and the world's workers, which began in his early years under the boot of the czars and their hordes of Cossacks. A passion that went into her new life at the Goldener 'Medina, "the U.S.. He had married a widower, had four children, but tragedy followed them on their way and my mother was the last of their children. That's a story it would take quite long reams of paper to register.

The way in which the children came to be cared for by my grandmother Alice is another story. I could only remember very little from past events. It was probably a balm for the misery that came into my life when I was a child.

It was a week after the funeral, where I had the trembling hand of my little sister, as Rabbi sang the prayer for the dead. "Poor Norman, Norman bit brave," as family and friends spoke kindly to me for the loss of my parents in a terrible train accident. The words were foreign to my mind, I was just a freckle-faced boy eight years, a little rudimentary demon was not found in books, but the ball and the bat. My little sister Ruth, a cute little girl in its sixth year, just tears when spoken, and called his mom and dad.

Alica was not until the grandmother who gives us shelter necessary for one reason or another, other relatives found a way to avoid responsibility. Our grandmother had a comfortable pension and income to meet them in their senior years, and enough to care of us. I had a small decline in housing decline an equal share of the metropolis. It was a story dwelling gable of five rooms with a pieces of furniture and accessories, and filled with garbage from memory. However, my dear grandmother Alica found room for her two grandchildren, who actually clears a room and threw in the trash and bought bunk beds for children in need, offices and fine points.

In the afternoon we were covered comfortably in blankets as they waited for the bedtime story every night from the grandmother, who promised to be a ghostly one. Despite the heat shocked advance.

Grandma Alice sat in the comfort of the hard chair. A book written tradition in the Cyrillic alphabet was held in his hand left index finger of arthritis of the right hand moved over the prayers. Through thick lenses of his glasses looked through the page.

"Ahh, there we are! Now, let's begin. Once upon a time many, many years ago was in the land of the Russian Empire. Tsar Nicholas II, the last of the emperors who ruled the country with a fair hand, but difficult. "

His words in English with an accent mixed with bits of Slavic and led us to the imperial capital, St. Petersburg. Gran said clearly ornate palaces and grand buildings built by Peter the Great who gathered around the squares of the city, near the River Neva, right in the bank, upstream, was the legendary Winter Palace, home of the czars. He imagined the Fortress of Peter and Paul Zayachy Island with the imposition of St. Peter and St. Paul Cathedral, the burial place of the czars.

We imagine the white nights of summer in the Summer Gardens, where Romantic ballets that were performed with skill by Vaslav Nijinsky and Anna Palovaara in tone symphonic Peter Tchaikovsky, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and others great Russian composers. Grandmother Alica we waltzed to the large balls out in the Winter Palace were leading men in uniform and decorated with bejeweled ladies in crinolines Decorative danced through the early hours of the night

"However," complained the grandmother in the string of his tongue, "were times bitter and hard for ordinary people. Czar Nicholas and his entourage were blind to the debacle of the war and misery that followed. "

She spoke of the problems in St. Petersburg, following the debacle of the defeat of German troops in the Great War. Demonstration soldiers roamed the city bed penniless and in rags, bread shortage caused long lines of bread rebel, and the peaceful march ended in bloodshed. Now, more elaborate problems that charlatan Rasputin ruling the roost in the palace. The Revolution was in the air.

The day after the Great War was the moment of mystery in the shadow of the defeat of the forces Imperial. A story was told at that time in the vicinity of the February revolution about a strange event on a road leading west to St. Petersburg. It spoke of a ghostly figure was seen standing in the road trying to stop the unusual step droshkies, who traveled through the night. "I think was written by Gogol and Turgenev was,''my grandmother surprised.

My grandmother paused for a moment and looked into his eyes anxiously awaiting a question of 'the Russian word droshkies. Audience kindly offered no explanation in the roughness of his speech, "Now, my dear children, is a droshky open horse drawn coach, some have wheels, other brokers iron. It was a reliable transport in those days of cold and ice, "related to my grandmother as she relaxed in his chair.

We snuggled on the covers of the bed and waited for the continuity of his words. I have heard the groaning of the chair as he leaned slightly forward and continued in his narrative.

"I was near the time when a young gentleman fascinating certain driving his car on the road ice that led to St. Petersburg. The young chappy was an officer in the army of Czar Nicholas II, an official good-looking body snoring fit well with the uniform of Colonel the emperor's guard. When he sat back in the droshky, touched his mustache neatly trimmed black nervous, his features were rugged wrong with thoughts of his mission the Little Father. "

"Suddenly, the car braked hard and the officer was released almost to the ground. He heard the neighing of the horses of the coach as reared and jumped suddenly pulling the reins by the driver. The officer called the driver, "What the hell, why are we stopping?"

"There is a uniformed figure in the middle of the street," replied the driver,''which beckons me to stop. "

"What the devil Blat," cursed the colonel opened the car door and stepped down the road. His eyes searched the darkness before him and saw the figure of a soldier, but was strangely uniform. The cap on the head of tarnished brass buttons of their uniforms boots decorated, but poorly shod feet, looked like the ambitious empress service of a bygone era. Officer's mind was confused and could not understand the emergence an officer in the uniform of the Imperial Guard of Empress Catherine the Great, a ruler dead and buried past centuries. "

We were fascinated his words though put some fear in our innocent minds. She cleared her throat as she continued, "that was not a real man, but a ghost the time of the Empress Catherine was seen by the colonel? "

Without pause grandmother Alica drift in thought, "Ohh, that the empress was a woman evil woman in his ways. In his time the peasants throughout the empire expect from a leader to guide them in their rebellion against the cruel laws. That revolution was short-lived, as armed gangs could not cope with the regular troops, but I'm not confused already with his story. Just accept my words that the ghost was part of his time.

"The horses were up and snorting and stamping around, but a tug on the reins the driver silenced. Seeing all was calm, the colonel went to the front of the carriage and shouted to the figure. The officer returned the call ghost of the Colonel's voice and shouted in a voice whispering, "The servants rebelled. Go back, go back '"

Alica ahems grandmother growled a little as she cleared throat. "Now, do you? Ahh, yes. Well, the colonel was surprised by the ghost of the official statements and shouted for the explanation of it. But the answer was just the constant cry that the slaves revolted. "

"This infuriated the officers of the Tsar and as it moved slowly but quietly to the dark figure, he saw a white-bearded figure in the shabbiness of his uniform. His hands were bright spirit in the movement of signaling passing vehicles and their wild eyes opened and his mouth puckered, the words whispered hoarsely story of the rebellion of the slaves continued. "

Grandma Alice spoke softly, as his words emphasized the disturbing frightening experience. "The Colonel approached the officer ghost but as he approached found only an empty space in sight. He cursed and gave us the sighting of the onset of fatigue of the eyes and the lateness of the hour. However, the thought, the driver had also seen the dark spirit. "

"Yes it was a ghostly figure. Of course it was not in the mind of Colonel when returned to his coach, but only the completion of its mission. His only comment to his coachman was to drive to humble himself wrapped in the warmth of their fur. He heard the whip on the backs of horses and call the driver who drove the animals to take a jogging pace. "

"He slipped droshky along the ice road, as the two horses moved along, and his iron-clad feet gripped the road with every stroke of their helmets, from time to slip on a sheet of ice. But the driver is always alert in their ability to avoid falling for the animals. The sound of hooves clopping, the jingle of harness chains, and the soft clucking of sleepy driver to his horses over time. "

"Colonel eyelids closed in weariness and the short time I was lying in the luxury coach in deep sleep. But the rest was denied a long time as the braking of the coach and the neighing of horses nervous again shaken the officer. Angrily cursed the driver and demanded a response to the sudden stop. "

"The response was not the driver, who was terrified. Colonel looked around and saw men dressed more or less and women with arms in their hands around the droshky. He looked past the crowd and saw the red flags flying … "

Alica grandmother closed the book and sighed. Then she looked at me and wished me good night, but my eyes were closed down some sleep before that she spoke her words ….

About the Author

the author is a former correspondent for the Continental News Service (USA), now retired..

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