“Picasso”: Nastya and the New Year’s Prayer Service

Time: 1991
Place: Kyiv
Characters: Fr. Alexander Kaminsky; his son Misha Kaminsky; Nastya Ishchenko, Misha’s girlfriend; and their classmates.

Misha Kaminsky was also invited to a New Year’s Eve party. One of his classmates, Vanya Ovcharenko, had called him, Nastya Ishchenko, and about a dozen other friends to come celebrate. Naturally, Nastya assumed Misha would be there.

But Misha was torn. On the one hand, he couldn’t imagine leaving Nastya alone among their laughing, festive classmates. On the other hand, it was the Nativity Fast. Merrymaking didn’t seem right. Besides, there was the traditional New Year’s midnight prayer service with an akathist at church. He couldn’t, and didn’t want to, miss that either.

So what was he to do?

He decided to ask his father.

“Dad, I kind of want to go celebrate New Year’s at Vanya Ovcharenko’s place. He’s a classmate.”

His father looked at him in surprise.

“Well, you see… Nastya will be there. She wants me to come too. I can’t just…” He stopped mid-sentence, searching for words.

“But what about church? The thanksgiving prayer service?”

Misha shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know, Dad. I want to go to church too, but… Dad, tell me what I should do?”

Fr. Alexander sighed. It was not an easy or pleasant question.

“What you should do, you’ll have to decide yourself. You’re old enough now to make your own choices. But if you want my advice… I’d tell you to invite Nastya to come with you to church for the prayer service. Talk to her, explain what it is and why it matters. Tell her that we must thank God for everything and ask His blessing for the coming year. Tell her about the fast…”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think she’ll understand.”

“Why wouldn’t she? Have you even tried? And if she doesn’t understand – how do you plan to build a relationship with her at all?”

Misha only shrugged again.

“My son,” said his father, “I advise you always to be honest and open with girls. There must be no ambiguity, no misunderstanding between you. Tell her plainly that you are a believer, that you serve in the church as an acolyte, that you plan to enter seminary and become a priest. Tell her that God’s commandments and Church tradition are your way of life – something you cannot compromise. Say that for you, a relationship with a woman is only possible within marriage, and that marriage will be the only one in your life. I’ve told you that before, haven’t I? That way you won’t deceive yourself or her. And then let her decide – whether she wants to keep seeing you or not. And if she decides it doesn’t suit her, it’s better you part ways. The sooner, the better.”

Fr. Alexander spoke as one who had lived, knowing well that first love is rarely true and lasting. But Misha couldn’t imagine life without Nastya, and phrases like “the sooner you part, the better” were completely unacceptable to him.

Although, perhaps, Dad’s right. I should talk to her about it somehow, he thought.

But for now, his father’s advice, though wise, brought him no clarity.

Later, Misha delicately sought the opinion of his best friend Georgiy about the New Year’s dilemma.

“I already told you – it’s a sin!” Georgiy said. “Temptation and downfall! I’ve decided: when I grow up, I’m going to become a monk!”
And he launched into an enthusiastic speech about the beauty and holiness of monastic life.

Misha had no plans of becoming a monk, but he now began to think hard about how to “sit on two chairs” at once – which, unfortunately, stood in entirely different places.

He came up with this plan: he had saved a small sum of money from his pocket allowance. He would go with Nastya to the party, help set the table, and all that. Then, around half past eleven, he would order a taxi and rush to church for the midnight prayer service – maybe even take Nastya along. Afterwards, they could ride back to the party together.

He simply couldn’t bear the thought of being away from her on New Year’s Eve. No way.

To Misha, the plan seemed brilliant. His father just shook his head.

“It won’t work.”

“Why not, Dad?”

“You’ll see,” Fr. Alexander replied. He almost added: “You cannot serve both God and Mammon,” but chose to remain silent.

* * *

When Misha and Nastya stepped into Vanya Ovcharenko’s apartment, it was already filled with cheerful noise. Loud music blared from one room, the TV shouted from another. People wandered from room to room, laughing, joking, shouting. It was only 10:30, but the celebration was in full swing. The absence of parents and the presence of alcohol were both quite palpable.

Nastya was immediately sent to the kitchen to chop salad for the olivier. Misha hurried to help, carrying dishes from the kitchen to the table.

At eleven o’clock, he leaned toward her, shouting over the noise:
“Listen, Nastya! I… I want to go to my church for a bit…”

She looked at him in surprise.

“By taxi… You see, every year we have a thanksgiving service. We thank God for the past year and ask His blessing for the new one. It’s a beautiful service. I… I… listen, come with me, will you?” He tried to keep his voice steady and quickly added, “We’ll come right back! It won’t take long!”

He was terribly afraid she’d say “no.” But Nastya, carried away by the festive mood, unexpectedly agreed.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

She was excited and distracted, and Misha had the feeling she didn’t quite understand what he was talking about.

Just before midnight, he called the taxi service. But to his dismay, he heard that all cars were busy.

“Try calling back later,” said a pleasant female voice on the phone.

Later – the same. And later still – again.

Misha, red-faced and anxious, sat by the phone, desperately trying to get through. But every operator politely explained that it was New Year’s Eve and the lines were overloaded.

The clock hands crept toward midnight.

They’re all already in church, he thought miserably. Dad must be in the altar, vesting now.
A wave of sadness swept over him.

Finally, at five minutes to twelve, someone answered.

“A beige Volga, number 2701, will be at your entrance in five minutes. Please come out.”

He leapt up and went searching for Nastya. Everyone had gathered in the living room, standing around the table and TV. Someone was opening champagne. Nastya was laughing at a joke whispered in her ear by Oleg Belkovich – another classmate.

“Nastya! Come on! The taxi’s waiting downstairs!”

“Taxi? What taxi?” she asked, puzzled.

“Well, you know! We agreed to go to church for the prayer service!”

“Oh! Right! I remember. But… Misha… it’s almost midnight now! We can’t just leave everyone… Look, Lyosha’s already opening the champagne!”

“Oh!” she squealed and burst out laughing as the cork popped, spraying foam all over Lyosha’s shirt. Everyone rushed to grab glasses. Nastya too.

The clock struck twelve. Everyone shouted:
“Hurrah! Happy New Year!”

They clinked glasses, kissed, laughed, cheered. Someone fired a confetti popper.

And Misha stood there, sad and crushed. His heart, his thoughts – they were in church. He could almost hear the quiet chant of prayers, the clear, calm voice of the priest, smell the incense…

And what had he traded all that for?

Lyosha opening champagne…

Nastya, glowing with happiness, threw her arms around him.

“Happy New Year, Misha! Happy new happiness!”

* * *

When Misha came home from the party, no one scolded him or asked any questions. His conscience did all that perfectly on its own.

While agonizing earlier about whether to go or not, he’d made an unpleasant discovery about himself – he was terribly jealous. He loved Nastya, thought she was the most beautiful, wonderful girl in the world – and therefore assumed everyone else must see her that way too. Every glance cast her way, every word from another boy felt like the start of a sinister plot to steal her away and leave him brokenhearted.

She was beautiful, after all.

So the very idea of her being at the party without him, surrounded by fun and all those “devious” classmates, terrified him. For her sake, he had made what he thought was a great sacrifice.

And in the end, it turned out exactly as he feared. His “brilliant plan” to go to church by taxi failed completely. Misha sat gloomily at the table, picking at food, searching for anything remotely fasting-appropriate – which turned out to be only bread and tangerines. Nastya, meanwhile, was full of life, laughing, drinking champagne, dancing. And that annoying Belkovich – the school’s heartthrob and self-appointed ladies’ man – kept whispering things into her ear and asking her to dance.

Misha, swallowing his pride, tried to act cheerful, even attempted to dance, but it came out awkward and forced.

“Misha! Why are you so gloomy tonight? Smile, come on! It’s New Year’s!”

He smiled and forced a few jokes. When the party finally ended, Belkovich gallantly offered to walk Nastya home.

“No, Oleg,” Nastya replied. “Thanks, but I’ll go with Misha.”

“Alright, princess, see you at school,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

By the time they reached Nastya’s building, Misha was nearly boiling over with jealousy, while she chattered merrily about something. At the entrance she turned to him, still cheerful:

“Oh, Misha, it was such a great night, wasn’t it? Did you like it?”

He couldn’t bring himself to utter a dishonest “yes,” but when he looked at her, he realized he didn’t have to.

She yawned loudly.

“Oh… I’m so sleepy. Come over tomorrow, Misha. Well – I guess today already.”

She hugged him, and they kissed – in a way his father would definitely not have approved of.

To be continued…

The previous episode of the book is available here.