Apparently the first story I have been writing (How to Rob Banks), part one of which is already out, was not "creative". It didn't follow the RESTRICTIONS put in place by a power higher than me. Rant over. If anyone actually reads this (which I strongly doubt), then I promise I'll have part two out... Sometime in the future. Sound good?Down the hill, to the left, go into first gear, no brakes needed. Mikhail
Artamonov drove east down the dirt road that led to Sevastopol's Bar in his Jeep. The bar was run by Adrian Sevastopol, son of
Kolos Sevastopol, who had in turn inherited it from his father. In recent years, taxes had somehow gone up, and the family had been forced to move in above the bar. In a little community like the one where they lived, that was a huge change.
There was once a town centered around Sevastopol's Bar, but a few years ago there was a massive change, and afterwards more than half of the population disappeared. Mikhail asked a few people about the strange drop in population, but all of the residents refused to tell him, responding that they "were not around then", or that they "did not want to talk about it". He found this very odd, but decided to let it rest for the time being. Maybe when he got to know the people better, they would let him into their private circle and tell him why there was such a mass exodus.
The world was parched around him as he drove to the bar; the trees were dry, there was no grass, and the ground looked scorched and burnt. It had obviously not rained in weeks. Mikhail decided to open his window to try to enjoy the warm, dry breeze. His shallow blue eyes squinted in the light and his tuft of blond hair blew back in the wind. Mikhail had long been the most important of all archaeologists in the country; during the Union, he had made a name for himself by digging up artifacts from the times of the Русь kingdoms of the years 900 - 1000 AD. He was very skilled at looking at a spot and deciding whether it was worth searching for artifacts in, or not.
That was why, when the young archaeologist decided to go to this tiny community, his colleagues had been very surprised. They had thought that maybe he had lost his touch. No. Mikhail knew that he was on to something. He had to be. Building a small home in this extremely remote place was about all his strained budget could take. That, coupled with the costs of actually running a dig, forced him to take out some loans that the government, for whom he worked, paid. They had hinted that, if he didn't make a discovery at his dig soon, he would have to reimburse them out of his own pocket.
He looked over to his black lab, Sonia, who was breathing hard. Her tongue was rolling out of the side of her mouth, like a Camel. She looked at him with her pretty brown eyes, and whined quietly. "Darn", thought Mikhail. He had forgotten Sonia's breakfast. That meant that she would be whining and crying the whole way to the dig. So when he parked in the parking lot, composed of two parking spaces, and opened the glove compartment, he took fifteen Гривень with him. Ten would cover the sack of dog food, and the other five would cover his usual order.
Mikhail sat down on a stool between two construction workers. There was nobody else in the bar, so the smoke hanging from the ceiling must still have been from last night. He asked for his usual order from Adrian Sevastopol: a tall Лвівське with a handful of coffee beans on the side. As odd as a beer in the morning may seem, it was a tradition that the archeologist's father had started, and it was one that he would continue.
"You have, eh, found something in the dig?"
"Not yet, Adrian. Not yet." Mikhail paused. "We will soon, though. We have to. The other archaeologists are getting restless, and I think we're getting close to something big. Nobody else believes that there's something out in the northern fields, but I'm still sure that there is."
Adrian Sevastopol whirled around suddenly. "Why dig there, if there is nothing to find? Why not dig in a more profitable, better place, where you are nearly sure to find something?"
"Well, I have this feeling, and..."
"I do not want you to dig there! You will find nothing, and you will be ruined; it will cost too much and the government will fire you." Adrian slammed Mikhail's beer onto the table and looked him straight in the eye. He then said, simply, "Do not dig there."
The young archeologist's hand shook ever so slightly when he drank the beer; he had been told that the barman never lost his temper unless he had good reason to. Sevastopol went about his business of cleaning glasses, wiping the table. He finished that, and was himself enjoying a beer when Mikhail
Artamonov left.
Mikhail didn't heed Adrian's warnings; after all, he had never been wrong before. That day a spoon and a fork were found in the archaeological dig; both were made in China. The archaeologist was let down; he had thought that he would find something. He turned to walk dejectedly to his Jeep on the cracked, clay-encrusted ground when a shovel struck something wooden. Cries of happiness broke out, and the men quickly put themselves to the task of pulling a chest out of the yellow ground. They heaved the old, brown box onto the side of the dig. The archaeologists wanted to open it immediately, to see the inside of the box, to see why such a box had been put in this place.
Mikhail just decided to open the chest and not to let anticipation mount. He flicked a switch , and with a loud click, all of the pegs that held the box closed opened and the chest popped ajar. Inside the box, newspaper clippings had been, at some point, plastered to the sides. The men were saddened when they discovered they had not found a treasure chest, but a simple time-capsule in the ground. Most swore and went home for dinner. Some stayed and cleaned up their workplaces and put plastic coverings on all of their workbenches.
The Jeep door swung gracefully open, and Sonia jumped in, sitting in her usual spot in the back seat. Mikhail pushed her into the right side of the seats,and after Sonia the box made it's way into the back seat, full of its newspaper treasure. The dog was apprehensive of the chest, and she sat in a corner whining. Mikhail drove home the quick way, the way that took him far from Sevastopol's bar and straight home. He swore as he
remebered that he had never actually gotten the dog food.
Arriving home, he turned to Sonia in the backseat. She seemed to be cowering away from the box, as if she was afraid of it. "Silly dog" he thought, "what kind of guard dog is she?" He took her and the chest into his house.
Once inside, Mikhail looked over his bounty. Headlines like "The
Sevastopols win!", and "The United Soviet Socialist Republic stands behind comrade Sevastopol!" stood out. This was interesting, but it was hardly the material he was looking for. Mikhail looked the box over, and deciding it was nothing of value, started to take it downstairs.
On the way he nearly stepped on his dog. He lost his balance and grabbed the handrail, dropping the artifact down the stairs. It exploded into a million pieces, leaving but the bottom intact. He ran down and realised something was not right. The bottom piece was false! There were two articles pasted to the real bottom. He began to read the first.
"Yesterday, in a small community in the mountains, fifty people were killed by
Kolos Sevastopol in his bar. His fifteen year old son will be taking over Sevastopol's bar. The only notable
buisness in the area, Sevastopol's Bar, as it is called, is a very profitable enterprise."
Mikhail stopped reading, because his dog was barking very loudly upstairs. Then she started whining, too. He went upstairs to comfort her. It was odd, because it seemed that there was nothing there, but something had shaken the dog and her master didn't know what else could scare a dog like Sonia.
Once she had been calmed down, he went back downstairs and started reading the second article: "Dinner held at grand mansion!" Apparently there had been an old mansion where Mikhail's dig was, and it had been very rich and luxurious. The government would very much enjoy having that as a find! He forgot instantly about the massacre story and went to bed. He tried to sleep, knowing that he had to get up very early to go to the dig.
In the morning, Mikhail went the direct route, straight to the archaeological dig. There, his team found many vestiges of the old house. Since they now knew where to look, and they soon found a monumental artifact: a box with a flag in it. This signified that an important house had been there, and that it had fallen. They were so excited that Mikhail could see that they could get no further work done, so he sent them home earlier than usual.
He came home. Sonia threw herself at him without a second thought, but when the archaeologist saw what she had done to the priceless document in his basement, he became very angry. The dog had torn up every last shred of the newspapers that were helping Mikhail fix his financial woes. He was frustrated and went to bed early. When he got up, he brushed his teeth, took a shower, put in his contacts, combed his hair, fed the dog and left for work.
"You know, I saw an article about your family in a newspaper article from a long time ago. Something about your father." The archaeologist mentioned. He sat down at one of the small, round wooden tables in Sevastopol's bar, dropping his knapsack at his feet.
"
Aaah, so you know now. Yes, my father was quite insane. I will never forgive him for what he did that day." Sevastopol said, emotionally.
"I'm very sorry about that. You seem to have turned out alright, though." He said, trying to reassure the man.
"Yes, well. I burnt my father's house down the day after he was arrested. It shamed me to live under the same roof as a murderer. That is why I didn't want you to dig there; my father is dead to me, and that is his grave." Now there were tears streaming down Adrian's face as he spoke. It
occured to the young
archaeologist sitting across from the crying
barman, that he must have thought about it very much over the past few years.
Mikhail took his knapsack off the back of his chair. Out of it, he took the flag his team had found on top of the box a day earlier. Without a word, Sevastopol took it into his hands and wept into it harder than ever.
"I'm sorry we dug it up. I did not understand what it meant to you, that it had such a significance in your family." He paused as every weeping of Sevastopol's sent a shudder through the poor soul's body. "You can put it back if you like."
"No, it's all right. I feel glad to have something to remember him by, no matter how bad he was. You can keep digging and searching. I will not stop you."
"You know, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..." Mikhail Artamonov remarked.
