Chapter 58 Chapter fifty-seven

Stoichev told us that he had a letter from Brother Kirill, and Helen and I looked at each other in amazement, "What do you mean?" She finally spoke. Stoichev tapped his fingers excitedly on Turgut's replica. "In 1924 my friend Atanas Angelov gave me a manuscript which I'm sure describes another part of this trip. I don't know if there are other sources of these trips ,etc--" He got up and walked into one of the smaller rooms, gesturing for us to follow.He scanned a few bookshelves, then reached for a box, from which he removed a cardboard folder bound with frayed string, returned to the desk, opened the folder, and pulled out a copy of the materials.He stood there, looked at it for a full minute, and seemed to be stunned, "You can see that this is the original manuscript, signed—"

We stooped, and there I saw a beautiful name written in Cyrillic that I recognized even—Ciril—and the date was sixty-nine eighty-five. Goosebumps suddenly appeared on my arms and neck.I looked at Helen and she bit her lip.Brother Kirill's faded name was so real. Although Stoichev is used to such ancient manuscripts, he is still as in awe as I am. "I'll try to read it to you." He cleared his throat and translated the letter that has been translated many times Translate the general content to us.His translation is sketchy, but in place. "His Excellency Bishop Eupalatius,

I hold my pen in hand to fulfill the task which your wisdom has entrusted me with, and to report to you the details of its progress so far.Tonight we spend the night at St Vladimir's Monastery near Verbios, you are two days away.Fellow brethren of the monastery welcome us in your name.According to your instructions, I will meet the bishop alone and report our mission to him.The meeting was very confidential, and there were no novice or servants. He ordered our carriage to be locked in the stables in the courtyard, and two of his monks and two of our people were selected as guards.I wish we could often have such understanding and protection, at least until we enter the land of the heathen.According to your instructions, I handed over a book to His Excellency Bishop, and conveyed your instructions.I saw that he did not even open the book before my eyes, and immediately hid it.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, most humble of you, Kirill My Lord April 6985" When Stoichev read the letter, I think Helen and I almost held our breath.At this time, there was a sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs below. "They're back," Stoichev said quietly.He put the letter away, and I put our letter with his for safety. "Mr. Ranov—is he sent to be your guide?" "Yes," I said hastily, "he seems too interested in what we're doing here. We have a lot more to tell you about our research, but it can't be made public, and—" I paused .

"Dangerous?" Stoichev asked. "How did you guess that?" I couldn't hide my surprise. "Ah," he shook his head, "I have something to tell you, too. I never expected to see another letter like this. The less you say to Mr. Lanoff, the better." "You don't have to worry." Helen shook her head.They looked at each other for a while, smiling. "Stop it," Stoichev said softly, "I'll find a convenient time, and we'll talk then." Elena and Ranov entered with clanking plates.I just realized that this morning's visit left me starved.

"Please, distinguished guest, you are very welcome." Stoichev waved his hand on the table. "I hope your academic research can enhance your understanding of our party and people," Ranov said, nodding slightly to me. That almost turned me off.I nodded, though, and drank my brandy. "Anyone who is interested in the medieval history of our country, I would be glad to have the opportunity to talk to him," Stoichev told me. Maybe something interesting. Tomorrow is the day of Cirill and Mesotti, who invented the Slavic alphabet. You call it Cyrillic and Medotius in English—you call that the Cyrillic alphabet, don't you? We call Chiril Chirilissa, the monk who invented the Cyrillic alphabet."

For a moment I was confused, thinking only of our Brother Kirill.But Stoichev said it again, and I understood what he was thinking. "I'm writing this afternoon and I'm going to be busy," he said, "but if you'd like to come tomorrow, some of my former students will be here for the holidays, and I'll tell you more about Kirill." "You are very kind," Helen said. "We don't want to take up too much of your time, but we are honored to be able to spend the holidays with you. Ranov, can I arrange this?" "Of course," he said, "if you wish to complete your studies in this way, I will be happy to help."

"Very well," said Stoichev, "we'll meet here at about half past one, and you'll meet some scholars whose work you'll find interesting." After this simple meal, Elena led us again through the green yard and garden to the gate, "See you tomorrow," she said to us with a smile, and said something to Ranov in Bulgarian. A wisecrack made Ranov pull back his hair before putting on his hat. "She's a really sweet girl," he said triumphantly as we walked toward the car. Helen rolled her eyes at me from behind him. It's not even night yet, and we have to spend some time with him.

After a lengthy meal in the hotel's gloomy dining room, Ranov said goodbye. Once we were sure that Ranov had left, we went back downstairs, strolled to a nearby cafe on a side street, and sat under a tree. "We are also being watched here," Helen said calmly when we sat down at an iron table, "but at least there are no bugs here." "What do you think of Stoichev's possession of that letter?" "It might be good luck for us," she mused. "At first I thought it was just a historical mystery—a remarkable one, but what could it help us? But Stowe Ichev thinks our letter is dangerous, and I think there is great hope. He knows something important."

“I thought so too,” I admitted, “but I also felt that he might just be referring to this as sensitive political material, like a lot of his work — because it touches on church history.” "I know," Helen sighed, "maybe it's just that." "It was enough for him to be careful not to talk about it in Ranov's presence." "Yeah, we'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what he means." Her hands intertwined with mine, "Every day of waiting hurts, doesn't it?" I nodded slowly, "If you know Rosie," I said, then snapped shut again.

She stared at me. "Through you, I'm really getting to know him." At this moment, a waitress in a white shirt came up to us and asked something. Helen turned to me, "What would you like to drink?" The waitress looked curiously at the two guys who spoke foreign languages. "Do you know how to order?" I teased Helen. "chai," she said, pointing to herself and me, "tea, Molya." "You're a quick learner," I said when the waitress came in. She shrugged. "I've learned a bit of Russian, and Bulgarian is very close to Russian." The waitress came with our tea. Helen looked sad, "It's quite relaxing to leave Ranov, and I can't bear the thought of seeing him again tomorrow. He keeps staring at us, and I don't know how we can really start looking." "I'd feel better if I knew if he really had any doubts about what we were looking for," I admitted. Suffering from amnesia, can't remember who it is." I glanced at Helen's pretty serious face.At that moment, my mind was groping, hovering on the edge of a certain mystery. This was not a question of whether Ranov had a twin brother, but it seemed to be related to Helen's face, the movement of me toasting and drinking tea, Something to do with my choice of that odd word.My thoughts have wandered like this before, but this time it was like a levee burst, and my thoughts rushed out. "Amnesia," I said, "Helen—Helen, amnesia." "What?" Helen frowned puzzled at my excitement. "Rosie's letter!" I almost shouted. I opened the briefcase with too much force, and the tea on the table splashed out, "His letter, he's going to Greece!" It took me a few minutes to find the damn thing in the papers, find that passage, and read it aloud to Helen. Helen slowly opened her eyes, and finally, her eyes darkened with shock, "Do you remember the letter saying how he went back to Greece—back to Crete after his map was taken away in Istanbul? Said How did he start to have bad luck, is everything wrong?" I shook the letter in front of her, "Listen to this: "The old folks in Cretan taverns would rather tell me the story of their two hundred and ten vampires than tell me where to find a piece like that. pottery shards, nor what ancient shipwrecks their ancestors drilled into to plunder.One evening I asked a stranger to buy me a dozen of a local specialty with a strange name called forgetfulness.I ended up being sick all day the next day. " "Oh my God," said Helen softly. "I asked a stranger to buy me a drink called forgetfulness," I read, trying to keep my voice down. "Who the hell do you think that stranger was? That's why Rosie forgot—" "He forgot—" the words seemed to paralyze Helen, "he forgot Romania—" "—forgot at all that he'd been there. He wrote to Hedges that he intended to return to Greece from Romania, get some money, and go on an archaeological dig—" "He forgot my mother," Helen finished, her voice barely audible. "Your mother," I echoed, suddenly seeing Helen's mother leaning on the door watching us go, "he wasn't going back at all. He suddenly forgot everything. That's—that's why he told me he Not always remembering exactly what I studied." Helen's face was pale, her teeth were clenched, her eyes were agitated, and tears welled up in her eyes, "I hate him." She said in a low voice. I knew she wasn't referring to her father.