When the Campane struck twice

Summer brought lavender purple with its soft, sweet floral, herbal, woodsy evergreen scent that used to fill the air of Silvi's grandmother's house. Silvi cherished this memory and her home always had a lavender-scented candle she lit daily.

“Silvi, are you still sleeping? You need to help me feed the chickens,” Silvi’s grandma yelled from right underneath her room’s window in the early summer morning.

The clean mountain air, the silence on the road, the smell of herbs and lavender in her room made her sleep deep and relaxing. She did not want to leave her cozy bed. A sunbeam stroked her face, and she squinted her eyes. The rooster began crowing, and Silvi had no choice but to drag herself out of bed.

Still, at the age of fifteen, she liked to spend her summer vacation with her grandmother, helping her on the little farm, but mainly, Silvi loved roaming around the village and listening to stories.

“She wanted to leave him, you know,” Silvi’s grandmother muttered, stumbling into the kitchen. She took out the big copper saucepan, dropped the wooden spoon in it, and sat at the edge of her bed. The old spring squeaked. Stoyana wiped her face with her sleeve, staring at the wooden floor. She couldn’t stop crying.

The campane stroke again, a set of two beats for the tenth time of thirty-three repeats. It announced the death of a woman. One of Stoyana’s lifelong friends had died. Her husband was a drunkard and two days earlier, after a fight like so many before, she tripped off the little stair, running outside, away from him, and fell to the ground. She died later, in the hospital, of a head injury.

Stoyana could not control herself and did not stop weeping while preparing the funeral meal for her friend. Silvi had never seen her grandmother so upset, not even at her grandfather’s funeral. "What connected these two women so much?" she wondered but decided to ask her grandmother later, at a less painful time.

At the cemetery, Stoyana threw a handful of soil on her friend’s coffin and looked at her friend’s husband with the eyes of a killer. If she could have sent him there in her friend’s place, she would have done it instantly.

The next few weeks, Silvi spent more time with the chickens in their little farm than with her grandma. Stoyana was more quiet than usual, away in her thoughts, thinking about the loss of her friend.

She cut some tomatoes, cucumbers, and green onions and made salad for lunch, then quietly passed the bowl to Silvi to finish garnishing the salad with some salt, sunflower oil, and vinegar. They had their lunch outdoors almost every summer day, under the growing vines. Two generations of women following the traditions of the Bulgarian culture. Every day, Stoyana put on the table some fresh vegetables from her garden, a big slice of feta cheese, and a fresh loaf of white bread. Silvi was steadily learning how to prepare homemade food from her grandma and this brought her great joy and pride. Before she took a sip of her red wine, Stoyana poured a few drops on the cement, made the sign of the cross, and whispered the name of her recently passed friend. Then she broke the loaf of bread into two big pieces and passed a half to her granddaughter.

“Grandma, how did you and Granny Mara become such close friends?” Silvi finally asked her.

“We were in the same circle of special women, you know. Maybe this summer, you should have your first performance in Nestinarstvo and become part of this very same circle. It’s time.” Her grandma sighed.

Just then, they heard someone yell, “Silvi, are you coming with us today?” Her friend Mila had snuck up on top of the cracked stone wall outside Silvi’s grandma’s house.

“Go, my child, have a good time with your friends. And be careful, no swimming in the river,” her grandmother said and handed Silvi some bread to share with her friends.

Silvi was excited to go out with Mila and Nina, her two best friends since they were little. She eagerly left the house followed by her dog. Every summer, they spent time together, sharing memorable experiences and learning all about life in a small, provincial village.

“How is your grandma doing after the loss of her friend?” Nina asked along the way to the waterfall.

“She is still very upset. Not talking much,” said Silvi.

“I heard the barn owl a few nights in a row before she passed away, you know,” said Mila.

“Me too. I even saw her this time, sitting on the old walnut tree in our backyard. Beautiful creature. I do not think people should view her as a harbinger of death,” said Silvi reflectively.

The three girls finally got to the small waterfall located a few miles outside the village. Surrounded by old linden trees that filled up the air with a sweet, honey-like scent, this place was close to paradise, a favorite to the locals, and a popular tourist destination.

It was crowded on this late afternoon, and most of the people were resting under the shade of the trees, drinking and playing board games. The girls, too, picked a spot under a big oak tree, opened their books, and silently enjoyed their time.

“She is pregnant, you know. Our neighbor told my grandma yesterday. You know how gossip spreads faster than wildfire here. And she is only seventeen. Her parents do not want her to keep the baby,” a girl their age, still soaked in water, wrapped around in a towel, said suddenly to Silvi and her friends.

“Maria, you really should mind your own business.” Silvi looked at her with annoyance.

“She is not pregnant, she is sick,” Silvi said after Maria left. “My grandma told me to pick some oregano because she is going to make her some tea and essential oil. She has a tumor.”

Mila and Nina remained silent. They knew Silvi’s grandmother’s remedies were strong and had helped many people before. They prayed she would cure the poor girl as well.

“I heard the owl again last night, Grandma,” said Silvi at lunch the next day.

“It’s not for her. She will live. Now, let’s go to her house and give her the oregano remedies I made.”

The two walked silently to the sick girl's house. Silvi spent some time with her, laughing and making plans for her graduation the next year.

“Lavender will be the right color for your dress. You will be stunning. And the years in college will go by with a blink of an eye.” Silvi smiled and hugged the sick girl tightly. The girl felt relieved and somehow, she believed Silvi’s words. Deep inside, she, too, knew she would be cured.

On the way out, Silvi’s grandma cuddled her hand and pulled her close. She felt so proud. And peaceful. Her secrets and gift of healing had been passed to her granddaughter, and she knew Silvi would be an even more powerful healer than she was.

Shortly after they left the girl’s house, they arrived downtown of the village. From afar, they could hear the drum rhythm. It was getting dark, and they saw the flickering lights coming from the center. The circle of smoldering embers was already set, about two meters wide and five to six centimeters thick. One nestinar dancer was walking across, pressing her bare feet against the live coal. She was dancing in a trance, holding the icon of Saints Constantine and Helena decorated with flowers.

The Nestinarstvo was a unique blend of orthodox beliefs and prehistoric pagan ritual observance performed in several villages of the Bulgarian side of the Strandzha Mountain, near the Black Sea coast.

Stoyana stood a couple of minutes on the side, watching the nestinar dancer. She was waiting for her turn.

“It’s time, my child. I will walk you through the first time,” said Silvi’s grandmother. Silvi trembled. Her eyes were wide open, her heart pounding fast. They were listening to the drum rhythm and slowly falling into a trance. The two danced around in a trance for a few minutes, shouting all the time, voicing prophesies. Remarkably, after the dance, their feet did not show the slightest trace of injury or burns.

Silvi’s first performance went so naturally, as if she had always danced.

Her friends watched her in worship. She was going to be the next-generation healer and nestinar dancer.

Silvi was lying in her bed, trying to fall asleep, but the August heat and humidity kept her awake for hours. Her grandmother’s house did not have air-conditioning, and she used an old fan that was noisy and practically useless. She finally turned it off and enjoyed the crickets chirping outside.

And then she heard the barn owl again. The long, harsh scream gave her goosebumps.

How can such a beautiful creature make such an eerie sound? Silvi thought and decided to go downstairs and made herself a tea, and maybe drink it outside on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the night creatures. Hopefully, this would make her sleep.

Her grandmother’s window was still shining and Silvi wondered what kept her awake. She had complained of a terrible headache and made herself a strong tea that was supposed to put her in a deep sleep. The door squeaked but the sound did not make any effect on Stoyana.

“Granny, are you alright?” Silvi touched her grandma’s shoulder and shook it gently.

Silvi’s knees hit the floor hard, but the pain she felt when she realized her grandmother was dead struck even harder. Unbearable. Silvi wrapped her granny’s body with her arms and cried hard, and long.

The harsh, eerie sound of the owl took her out of her shock. The owl was sitting on the young cherry tree she and her grandma had planted that spring very close to the house. Silvi had never seen the bird so close. The owl screamed a few more times, then stopped. Silvi stared at her while talking on the phone. The room suddenly seemed brighter. Silvi watched the owl flying away and somehow, she felt relieved. At that moment, she knew her grandmother would always watch for her from the other side till one day they would see each other again.

The campane struck two times. It announced the death of Stoyana. The whole village attended the funeral. They had lost a great woman, a healer, and a friend. But her granddaughter, Silvi, was going to continue her deeds, and pass healing to her children like it had been passed down for generations in her family tree.