Once, I had an acquaintance. I would never have met him under normal circumstances, as we were involved in very different things, but somehow I was lucky to know him. His name was Pavel, and his nickname was Zmey. He was an incredibly kind, open, and internally strong person, which was surprising given his typical appearance and his lifestyle as a “nonconformist.” As it turned out later, he was terminally ill, knew about it, and that’s why he lived life to the fullest, without trying to build a career or a family. He died young. When I interacted with him, neither I nor his friends were aware of his illness, and everyone admired him. He was very wise for his age, never competed with anyone, helped everyone around him, was friendly in conversation, and loved to experiment with substances. He could have become the leader of some alternative cult, but he didn’t need that. Of course, girls loved him too, and he was constantly in some sort of half-friendship, half-romantic relationships with several girls at the same time, and none of them were jealous, as it was easy with Pasha; he didn’t put any pressure on you, and those who might have caused him stress were not in his circle of preferences.
Once, when we were discussing religions, cults, and metaphysics, and it was interesting to talk about this with Pasha, he said that people don’t believe in something for no reason. He argued that if in some region people believe in, say, wizards and sorcerers, then they actually exist; we just don’t see them. Just like the aborigines of some remote island in the Pacific wouldn’t see airplanes in the sky. After all, airplanes don’t exist in their world. The most they might see is the contrail from a plane, as it resembles a cloud they are familiar with, even if it has an unusual shape. Moreover, we don’t even understand what kind of magic sorcerers can perform, since you can’t create a miracle out of nothing. But sorcerers don’t create miracles; they simply make slight changes to the past to achieve what they want in the present.
In response, I told Pasha a story:
We were descending from Kilimanjaro when I noticed that my guide was limping. When I asked what was wrong, I saw a large burst blister on his leg from chafing, which was already starting to get infected. The guide told me that he had set out on the climb with that blister because it was his livelihood, and he couldn’t afford to miss the opportunity. But over the course of the week, the situation had only worsened.
I felt a sense of relief that the conductor didn’t have a high temperature, as high altitude temperatures in the mountains are a guaranteed recipe for pulmonary edema and death if not evacuated in time, and not while lying down. But I didn’t know how to help him. The best remedy I knew for such a situation was plantain, which doesn’t grow in Africa. It doesn’t grow high in the mountains and doesn’t grow in the jungles below either. But we urgently needed plantain.
And with that thought, my gaze landed on a huge bush of some kind of burdock that had grown right by the side of the path. Not only did my gaze land, but it also got caught, because it was a massive bush of plantain, about a meter in circumference. The only one on our way. Taking a break, I made a poultice for the guide from the plantain (crushed inside, whole on the outside, everything had been disinfected beforehand with antiseptic from a spray bottle) and secured it with a bandage. I also gave the guide a few more leaves for later, along with instructions on how to use them. Everything was very good and very timely. A couple of days later, we happened to run into our guide in Moshi, and in response to the question “How are you?”, he began to thank us profusely and showed us his wound. It hadn’t healed yet, but there was no longer any inflammation.
“Here,” said Pasha, “this is the witch’s trace.”
Of course, there is a suitable rational explanation for everything, especially in hindsight. It’s easy to imagine that a plantain seed, having once caught on the shoe of one of the tourists, found its new home on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. The warm, moisture-rich climate and the need for light under the canopy of the tropical forest transformed the unremarkable little bush into a giant burdock.
But, in any case, this plantain somehow ended up in the right place at the right time.