I used to work at the old folks home down on Mardona Street. You remember the place right? It was next to the hardware store before Bob went out of business. Anyway, thats tangential to the story. I used to volunteer there on weekends while I was in uni, every week from my sophomore to my senior year. It was good for me, both for my social skills and for my psyche. Helping people kept me sane during midterms and finals, gave me purpose when I felt lost in the sea of coursework, and even made me a few friends before I left. My dearest friend to come out of the experience, was the old mathematician Nikolai.
As far as I know Nikolai was born sometime in the early 20th century on a farm in Russia. His birth date was never recorded but he always celebrated it on January 20th. His favorite way to celebrate? A bottle of wine and a fancy coffee cake from the bakery down the road. I had the privilege of celebrating his birthday with him a few times during those years I volunteered. A couple sips of wine into his private party and he'd start to reminisce about his younger days.
When he was still a child he often would visit the village's priest, Father Serimov. An old man with a long white beard – always dressed in the signature black robes of an Orthodox priest. Serimov was well liked in the village and would often pass out sweets to the children who would come to the church and help him with chores. Nikolai was a big fan of fetching the candles for the parish. Red wax, golden flames, wisps of smoke – the way the candles could hold a flame until they melted away caught his imagination as a child. He told me that this curiosity that was sparked by the mystery of the candles would lead him to asking more and more questions.
Why does the sun set? Where do flies come from? How many stars are there? Questions that no one in his rural village could answer. Father Serimov was the only one who could attempt to fill the voids in his mind. Nikolai's appreciation for Serimov grew beyond the gifts of sweets, it was gifts of knowledge that kept him visiting. One day, during one of these visits, Serimov would tell him to pursue a course of study at the university in St. Petersburg. Serimov knew a professor there and, after some correspondence, managed to get Nikolai admitted to his program.
Years would pass and Nikolai would become an expert in his field, even publishing a few papers during Soviet times. But he never forgot the priest who had made it possible for his curiosity to become a career. A year or two after his graduation he went back home to his village and discovered that Father Serimov had passed away. The new priest gave him a note that Serimov had left behind shortly before his passing. Nikolai never told me what was in the note, but he summarized it as being the final treat from his finest teacher.
After I graduated from my studies I moved to a city on the west coast. I left my life behind in my home town and pursued a job in a research lab studying organic polymer synthesis. A year or two later I would come back to my hometown with my future wife so she could meet my parents. It was a cold January then – frost even covered the old river. I stopped by the bakery to visit a friend there and catch up on what was new in my small town. It was here, among the warm smells of fresh bread and cookies, that I learned of Nikolai's passing. That year he never ordered his special cake. I was heartbroken.
It turns out, however, that Nikolai had left a letter for me with the head nurse of the nursing home. When I visited her she passed it to me and told me that he gave it to her shortly before he died. A crumpled receipt in a wrinkled manila envelope. I won't tell you what the letter said, but old Nikolai left me with one last story. One last treat. One last memory of the old man.
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