Love Letters from the Black Sea

By Liana Margiva

Did you ever want to swim with the fish? Of course you haven't, because you're free. Your life is so much different from mine. You see a sea of water, an ocean of freedom, a boundless expanse. You have no concept of life in a cage, where one can't see all this. But when you crave freedom, you dream, of submerging into the sea and swimming with t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen Culture Solutions
• Release date: Jun 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638129196

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Love Letters from the Black Sea

Copyright © 2023 by Liana Margiva

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63812-918-9

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-63812-920-2

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63812-919-6

All rights reserved. No part in this book may be produced and transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher. It hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Published by Pen Culture Solutions 05/18/2023

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Liana Margiva

Love Letters

from the Black Sea

A true story from the author’s life

All names used in this book are real.

All correspondence with the terrorist and

the crook is original.

Liana Margiva

Love Letters from the Black Sea

STORIES and POEMS

Liana Margiva, from Russia, graduated from Russian Institute of Writers in Moscow.

She has published four books of short stories and poems and translated Poor Folk by F. Dostoevsky, A. Chekhov, Henry Barbusse, Prosper Merimee

Copyright © Liana Margiva

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be produced in any form without permission in writing from the author.

Liana Margiva

From a very early age, Amelia was an avid reader. In books she found what she lacked in her life—love. Having gobbled up a tremendous number of books, Amelia started to write stories herself. She was only thirteen when one of her stories was published in a local newspaper. The payment she received for her publication was minuscule, but it was enough to pay for a fancy dress, which Amelia wore with great pride. The new raspberry-red dress instantly became the highlight of Amelia’s modest wardrobe. You see, although she lived in a large, ornate mansion, Amelia’s outfits left a lot to be desired because all she had to wear were her stepmother’s old clothes. Once, after another argument, the stepmother took away all of Amelia’s clothes. Amelia had nothing to wear to school, so she asked a girlfriend to loan her some clothes. The girlfriend loaned Amelia a blouse and a skirt for a week. Her father was a policeman, but he never liked to wear the uniform, so the uniform fabric he was issued at work kept piling up in the closets for years. One day Amelia dared to ask her father for some of that fabric, and he gave it to her without a second thought. Amelia took the fabric to a relative, who made it into a skirt, a jacket and a long-sleeve dress. Thus, for the last three years of school, Amelia sported a dark blue outfit that remotely resembled an official police uniform. The new raspberry-red dress purchased with the payment from her story filled Amelia’s soul with immense joy and hope that someday she would be able to make a living with her stories. The year later Amelia turned fourteen, a famous author, after reading one of Amelia’s stories, wrote a glowing review, which ended with the following words: ‘She can both think and write.’ Amelia cherished those words for the rest of her life as her most treasured possession. Even years later when she grew up and matured, the words were still fresh in Amelia’s memory.

Having read many romantic novels, Amelia dreamed of gaining a lasting footprint in the literary realm, so that the people would read her books the way she enjoyed reading the works of authors who had lived hundreds of years ago.

Amelia never found the love she had been dreaming about since her schooldays. Although many men fancied her, the ones she chose never loved her back. Several men had proposed to her, but Amelia never wanted to get married just for the sake of getting married; she had to really love a man before she could kiss or embrace him. Amelia’s old-fashioned romantic criteria were shaped by the books that measured love using a hundred-year-old yardstick, having very little to do with modern paperback standards that promulgated a mundane physiological approach. After reconciling with the thought that her dream love was not in the stars, Amelia proceeded to write poems and stories filled with the angst and bitterness of unrequited love.

Romantically unfulfilled, Amelia remained firmly committed to the greatest dream of her life, to make an imprint in the world of literature. She gathered all her stories and poems and sent them to two American publishers, hoping for at least an opinion on her work from a reputable literary authority. With a heart full of anxiety, Amelia waited for the verdict.

When both agencies contacted Amelia with propositions to publish her book, she was both shocked and overjoyed. October 2, the day she signed the contract with one of the publishers, remained the greatest holiday in Amelia’s personal calendar. Only one thing was left to be done—find the money to promote her book. However, preoccupied with preparing the book for submission, Amelia had stopped working for several months, and her finances were in disarray.

One morning Amelia was taking a walk when she heard the distressed voice of an old woman coming from a narrow porch of a small two-story house. Concerned, Amelia approached the house.

‘What happened? Do you need help? Let me know what I can do,’ Amelia said.

‘Oh, I dropped my coffee mug. I just wanted to place it on the chair, and I dropped it!’ the lady said, a skinny, slightly hunched woman of about ninety year of age with thin red hair.

‘Don’t you worry, ma’am, I’ll pick it up for you. Here it is,’ Amelia picked up the mug and placed it on an empty white chair beside the old woman. At that moment a plump, bespectacled woman in her seventies came out onto the porch.

‘What happened, Mother, are you alright?’ the bespectacled woman inquired, concern in her voice.

‘Oh, it’s alright, dear, this nice girl has helped me already,’ the old lady said, pointing to Amelia.

‘You need help, Mother, someone to be at your side,’ the younger woman declared. ‘I can’t be with you all day long. I have my own family to take care of, you know, especially now that my husband is often sick.’

‘You’re right, but you know how difficult it is to find the right person,’ the old woman uttered dismally.

‘Are you looking for a home assistant?’ Amelia asked.

‘Yes, we’ve been looking for a long time,’ the younger woman said. ‘It’s just that my mother doesn’t like anyone.’

‘May I ask what you are paying?’

‘Eight hundred a week.’

‘I’m willing to take the job, if that’s alright with you,’ Amelia said, trying not to look too happy.

‘I liked her from the moment she rushed to help me with the mug,’ the old woman said, smiling.

‘Gee, Mom, looks like you got yourself a helper, and I can have my family back!’ the daughter said, chuckling.

‘Yes, let’s try her out. She seems to be a kind girl, the way she was willing to help a total stranger.’

‘What’s your name?’ the daughter asked.

‘Amelia.’

‘I’m Jennifer, and my mother’s name is Ada,’ the daughter said by way of introduction. ‘When can you start?’

‘Today if you need me to,’ Amelia said happily.

‘Awesome, dear. Pack your things and then come back,’ Jennifer said. ‘I have to get going.’

Amelia smiled. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’

Two hours later Amelia returned to Ada’s house. She was given a small room on the top floor with narrow windows overlooking the street. Amelia’s duties included assisting Ada with her daily activities, cooking and serving three meals a day, and keeping the house clean. The work wasn’t particularly burdensome, partly because Ada was a quiet, mellow lady who was easy to get along with. Amelia was overjoyed to have found a job so quickly and effortlessly. She desperately needed money to promote her book, which was due to come out in the summer.

‘Amelia, help me with my coat,’ Ada said after Amelia unpacked her suitcase. ‘It’s there in the corner closet. It’s warm, and I’d like to get out. It’s sinful to stick around the house in this kind of weather.’

Amelia found a warm black coat in the closet and helped Ada into it. She put on her jacket and slid the glass door open. Holding onto her walker, Ada approached the door and then stood there, waiting. Amalia brought the walker onto the porch and helped Ada negotiate the threshold. The old woman then took several steps toward the stairs and held on to the bannister. Amelia took the walker down and put it at the bottom of the stairs, then came back up and helped Ada negotiate the four steps to the ground level, where Ada picked up the walker and began to walk slowly.

Towering over the corners of the neighbor’s front yard were two tall trees bare of leaves. In between them were smaller trees of varying heights, gloomily ogling the life around them. The entire lawn was covered with broken pieces of asphalt. On the other side of the house was a busy street with non-stop traffic.

‘Let me hold your hand,’ Amelia suggested, noticing that Ada was not looking at the ground in front of her.

‘Some neighbors!’ Ada complained. ‘Look how much junk they store in their yard. One time I didn’t mow my lawn because my landscaping guy went away for a week, and the town slapped me with a fine! But they give these guys a pass. And why do they keep those chairs in the front yard? I’ve never seen anyone using them. I think I’ll file a complaint or call City Hall.’

‘Please look in front of you,’ Amelia urged, choosing not to respond to the old woman’s rant. Ada pretended not to hear Amelia as she stood peering at the bushes separating the two houses.

‘Are you looking for something?’ Amelia inquired.

‘No, I just want to figure out where the property line is. See these bushes? I think they’re on the neighbor’s property, but the branches overhang into mine. I need to tell them to trim those.’

Amelia kept mum while Ada continued to rant and rave as they went around the house five times.

‘Dinner is at five,’ Ada reminded Amelia as they came back to the house. ‘Jennifer brought some soup. It’s in a container in the fridge, so you can just heat it in the microwave. I’ll also have a piece of buttered bread—just one’ I don’t eat much.’

Once inside, Ada ambled toward the bathroom. Just then, Amelia’s phone rang. It was her sister from another state who was calling to say that a good friend of hers, a thirty-five-year-old woman, had died of cancer, leaving two small children behind. Amelia was devastated to hear the news. She went into the living room and sat on a soft chair not far from Ada, who was fumbling with the TV remote.

‘My sister’s friend died of cancer,’ Amelia said dismally. ‘She was just thirty-five and had two small children.’

Ada stared at Amelia for some time and then held up the remote. ‘This won’t help me. The TV won’t turn on.’ Ada’s response stunned Amelia and made her feel even worse. The old woman proceeded to push the buttons on the remote until the TV finally turned on, and she sighed with relief.

‘I forgot to tell you, we’re going to a church tomorrow. It’s not far from the house. You’ll take me in a wheelchair. We’ll be going there every Sunday. I’ve been going there my entire life.’

‘Of course,’ Amelia said with a sigh.

The following morning before the sun had risen, Amelia was sitting by the sliding glass door, looking out into the yard. The birds were still asleep, and even the wind had not yet come out of its slumber. The only sound that dared break the serenity of the predawn hour was the traffic noise from the street. Amelia sipped her coffee in silence until the breaking dawn lit up the sky and woke the birds, which broke the tranquility with their tweeting and chirping, telling one another about their dreams.

At 7:00, Ada woke up and headed for the bathroom. Amelia made Ada’s bed, prepared coffee and oatmeal, then peeked into the bathroom.

‘Good morning, Ada. Did you sleep well?’

‘Ah, I had only a few hours of shut-eye, but what can I do?’ Ada muttered.

‘Do you need help?’

‘Of course. Bring me black shoes and black pantyhose from my closet. Also, get me a black skirt and a long-sleeve white blouse, and help me get dressed.’

Amelia went into the old woman’s bedroom and quickly located the items Ada had requested. She helped Ada into the pantyhose, put the black shoes on her feet, and buttoned up her blouse.

‘Now let’s brush my hair, and I’ll be all set for breakfast,’ Ada said. Amelia brushed Ada’s short, thin hair and then followed the old woman into the kitchen.

After breakfast, Ada settled in her armchair in front of the TV and flipped through the channels until she found a church service. Then she took a rosary out of a small fabric pouch, made the sign of the cross, and proceeded to mutter prayers. At half past eight, Amelia brought a wheelchair into the yard, helped Ada down the stairs, and then wheeled the old woman down the street toward her church.

‘The church is only a ten-minute walk from the house. Just make a left turn and go straight,’ Ada said, raising the collar of her black coat.

When they reached the church, Amelia noticed several walkers outside the door. She removed Ada’s overcoat, helped her up from the wheelchair, then grabbed a vacant walker and put it in front of the old woman. She parked Ada’s wheelchair by the door and then followed Ada into the church building.

In the dimly lit hall, people of different ages were sitting in the pews. Ada approached the altar, made the sign of the cross, then turned around and sat in the first row. Amelia sat next to her.

A few minutes later, the priest, a bony, gray-haired man, approached the pulpit. The congregation got on their feet, and the priest uttered a short prayer. ‘Amen’ rolled across the pews as people took their seats. The service lasted about an hour. After the service, Ada and Amelia returned home.

‘Let’s take a walk. Seems like all I do these days is sit,’ Ada suggested. Amelia brought around the walker, put it in front of the old woman, and they began to circle the house, Amelia holding Ada’s arm.

Although Amelia was glad to have found the job, deep inside her soul she was melancholy. I need to get through this segment of life, Amelia thought as she walked alongside Ada, the eight months until the book comes out. By then I should have enough money to promote it. Once royalties begin to roll in, my life’s bound to change.

Six loops later the women returned to the house. Amelia removed Ada’s coat, hung it in the closet, and then went to the kitchen to make lunch. Ada turned on the TV in the living room, and Amelia could hear the excited voices of players on a game show answering the host’s questions.

The following morning, Amelia was reading the news on her phone while sitting comfortably by the glass door. She came across an article in which two British poets discussed the benefits of Instagram and other social networks that many neophyte poets used for promotional purposes, posting excerpts of their work online. Apparently, that practice was of great assistance for fledgling authors, bringing them recognition and boosting book sales. Amelia had but a vague idea about Instagram and other social media. She knew people used online platforms to post photographs and exchange comments, and she was very excited to learn more about the promotional possibilities of the Internet.

Knowing little about computers and social media, Amelia called her sister and asked her to open several social media accounts for her, and soon Amelia had her own pages on Instagram and several other social networks.

From that day on, every morning Amelia posted excerpts from her poems and stories online. Responses poured in, some speaking very highly of Amelia’s work and some refusing to believe that it was, indeed, her work. Amelia felt inspired being in the midst of activity. It was like she was getting a brand new lease on life. She couldn’t wait for her book to finally hit the stores.

In her down time, early in the morning while Ada was asleep or after dinner when she was glued to the TV watching her favorite shows where participants guessed missing words or letters, Amelia sat in the kitchen in her favorite spot next to the glass door, reading or listening to music on her iPod. One day Amelia heard an oriental tune that seemed to penetrate deep inside her soul. Toward the end of that ten-minute clip two performers took turns singing in an unfamiliar language. Both the music and the singers’ voices were filled with such sadness that Amelia couldn’t hold her tears. She had no idea what the song was about, but she couldn’t help but cry, playing the song again and again. Conceivably, her heart was grieving for itself, having known little joy or, rather, the only joy of hope for her book’s success. Perhaps, that hope was not enough to alleviate the pain of loneliness, but Amelia had long learned to live with that burden, though never admitting it to herself.

February 15 started as an ordinary day, no different from the cavalcade of similar days preceding it except on that day Jennifer took Ada to her house to celebrate her great-grandson’s birthday. Alone in the house, Amelia sat in her favorite spot by the glass door reading poetry on Instagram. Suddenly, a message popped up on the screen with a small photograph of a handsome gray-haired man in a red sweater. Amelia was startled, perplexed by the sudden event—she didn’t know people could communicate on Instagram by instant messaging.

‘Good evening, Amelia,’ the message read. ‘I hope I am not interrupting anything. My apologies for barging in especially at this late hour. I couldn’t fall asleep so I hung out on Instagram, saw your photograph, and felt an urge to message you.’ Amelia was stunned and confused. Perhaps, she reasoned, the man had read her poems, liked them and decided to share his thoughts with the author. However, the man didn’t respond to Amelia’s query about his opinion of her work, saying only that he would definitely read everything she had posted. The reason he messaged her was that he really liked Amelia’s photo. The man introduced himself as Blunt, a British engineer employed by the Shell corporation. He was working on a project in the Black Sea, in Ukrainian waters, supervising a crew of sixty. In June his contract would expire, and he would head back to London. When Blunt learned that Amelia was from Moscow, he immediately suggested visiting her there. Amelia responded that she was currently living in the USA, to which Blunt confided that his mother was American, while his dad was British. He further revealed that he was a widower and had an eight-year-old son who was studying in a boarding school in London. When Amelia asked if the boarding school was good, Blunt responded, ‘Of course. My son wouldn’t be there otherwise.’ He also added he was a regular donor to orphanages. Amelia was instantly impressed, for she herself was an orphan, and her brother grew up at an orphanage. Unlike her many contemporaries, Amelia was not in the habit of regularly communicating over the Internet, but for Blunt she made an exception. She was enthralled by his courteousness and intelligence.

Each message form Blunt featured an icon of him in a red sweater. His cheerful face and charming smile stimulated Amelia into ever frequent exchanges. Talking to the stranger made Amelia feel strangely elated and even blissful. She felt as if she had known him for years. Blunt’s handsome, amiable face awakened the feelings that had been hibernating in Amelia’s heart for almost fourteen years. She was stunned by the sudden turn of events, having been so confident that she would never again be seduced by the feeling that had caused her nothing but heartache. Suddenly, her heart had woken up and flung its doors wide open to welcome a handsome gray-haired stranger with a kindly face and a tender smile, the kind of smile that Amelia had never seen except on the pure, innocent faces of children.

Amelia lost all track of time talking to Blunt and was unpleasantly jolted back into reality when Ada returned home. Amelia went outside to help