Fanyasha wanted to get upset about her parents leaving, but grandmother pulled a beautiful soft book from under the hem of her wide dark green dress, swept the palm of her left hand over the cover, and placed it in front of her.
The book levitated, twitched as if it was woken up at the wrong time, and opened itself with a groan. Of course he remembered it! It was his favorite book “Good Old Tales for Little Angels.”
The room became filled with the gentle subtle fragrance of cedar and lavender, the soft light of sunset, sounds of the babbling brook and bird trills. Fanyasha did not know what these sounds were, but she enjoyed them very much. She turned on her side, facing grandmother, and fell asleep. Grandmother started reading to her softly.
“Grandma, look, look!” anxiously whispered Bosya pointing to the back of his sleeping sister. “Look at her wings! They are growing in front of our eyes!”
“Well, of course they are growing, said grandmother smiling kindly. “Love always makes wings grow! All of the newborn angels grow their wings while they sleep, and when we give them love, their wings grow even faster.”
Bosya was so impressed that he even stopped rushing and started making a bed for his sister more diligently, glancing from time to time at how her wings were stretching, straightening and filling with silver light.
Chapter 3:
Why Angels Need People
Imagine the most beautiful day, the most pleasant weather, the best mood, the most beautiful house, the coziest room and the greatest happiness which fills you because you are doing exactly what you want to be doing – this, perhaps, is an approximate description of how an angel lives the first years after birth!
There are no worries, no cares, no troubles – nothing can disturb the feeling of absolute bliss, peace and pleasure of each and every moment of a carefree life. As surprising as it sounds, everything is like that, and not otherwise. That is how this world works. Such are the rules of an angel’s preschool upbringing. Everything that a little angel sees, everything that it touches, should always be filled with light, beauty and love. This, furthermore, is how small children are supposed to live too.
Among the soft clouds, in her wonderful warm room filled with either purple, pink or golden light, Fanyasha felt happy and protected.
Her mother and father would fly in to spoil her with nice gifts and kisses; Bosya helped decorate the new room. Now Fanyasha could brag not only about a comfortable snow-white crib, but also about two wonderful armchairs made of peach-colored clouds, a small pink table and a pretty lilac dresser. She had learned to make the pillows herself. She enthusiastically fluffed small curly clouds and then formed them into a variety of shapes, and had a lot of fun doing it.
This way, Fanyasha’s room was filled with numerous large and small pillows of odd shapes. What amused her most was how spooked her grandmother became: every time she found a small angular pillow in her hem, she jumped up screaming and tossed the unwelcome guest away.
“Now stop being naughty!” her grandmother wagged her finger, frowning, and at that moment her lips stretched into a smile that made her big brown eyes radiate unconditional and endless love for her granddaughter.
It was nice being with grandmother – she knew thousands of wonderful fairy tales and songs, taught Fanyasha how to dance and draw wonderful pictures using splashes of light. There were days when the air filled with drops of moisture, and the grandmother taught Fanyasha the craft of rainbow weaving.
It turned out that with the right combination of air and sunlight, one could create a wondrous beauty out of seven colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. One glance at the rainbow, and the heart filled with goodness and joy.
Sometimes grandmother Nokomis surprised her granddaughter with the West wind game. She flew to the upper part of the room, sat by the window facing the wind, brought her long and gracious hands to her lips, blew the air slightly and, gracefully moving her fingers as if playing on invisible stings, created a beautiful play of sounds – it seemed that everything around became music, mysterious and magical.
In these moments, Fanyasha felt a certain power inside herself and even became aware of the wings growing on her back. She closed her eyes and imagined herself flying, strong and beautiful, and her long iridescent dress fluttering in the wind. But alas, she could not fly just yet.
“Everything in its time,” repeated grandmother every time Fanyasha showered her with questions about when she would at last be able to fly out of the room and discover the beauty of this world.
“Mom, I am already two years old, but I still don’t know how to fly!” complained Fanyasha one morning when her mother parted her delicate curly hair and started braiding it.
At the age of two, Fanyasha could talk, sing, dance, and even spell words from children’s books for angels very well. She could count to twenty, make a rainbow, draw well with splashes of light, mold objects out of clouds, and wholeheartedly enjoy herself in her room, but all of this wasn’t enough.
Her inherent inquisitiveness and her desire to constantly discover something new were eating her up, and demanded that she fly beyond the borders of the room, the door to which was positioned too high for this small flightless girl.
“My dear daughter, you will certainly fly when your wings grow and become strong!” replied her mother tenderly, and started making the second braid.
“But mom, when? When will they grow? I don’t want to wait! I want to fly right now! I want to leave the room and look at the house,” screamed Fanyasha and clenched her fists.
Mother did not understand why her daughter had this intense desire to learn about what was happening outside her room. It seemed that, together with father, they did everything right, having created for their daughter a world that was ideal, protected, full of joy and love, and that contained everything she might want.
“We love you very much, and your wings are growing fast. We just need to wait a little longer, my darling,” with these words she hugged Fanyasha, stroked her back, and the girl noticeably calmed down.
“Mom,” she said in a soft voice and looked up at her mother pitifully, “you probably love me only a little… Can you love me more, even a little bit?”
“Of course, sweetheart, of course I can,” replied mother, and pressed her daughter closer to her, and smiled.
Sometimes it is better to agree with the children, even if their request seems impossible or childish. But then, who knows what is indeed possible and what is truly significant in this world.
Perhaps thanks to her mother’s consent to love Fanyasha more, or perhaps as the long-awaited “everything in its time” finally came, Fanyasha felt that she could move from one side of her room to the other without touching the floor in just a couple of days.
This happened so unexpectedly and at the same time so naturally that at first Fanyasha thought that she was imagining it. She tried again and again, and when she was convinced that she could indeed fly, she twirled and shrieked with joy!
“Hey,” Bosya’s head appeared in the doorway with a frightened expression, “what’s going on? Need any help?” he said while examining the room for the purpose of discovering something unusual.
“I am flyyying! Flyyying! Look!” Fanyasha screamed with delight. Gracefully spreading her arms to her sides, she pushed off one wall, flew to the other, rose higher and higher. Here is the window, so close, and the cherished door, and…
“Aaaa!” she screamed, and plummeted downward.
Bosya immediately dashed to his sister and managed to
grab her by leg right before she reached