Centuries ago people trod a wide and long road still followed by crowds of people, some riding in fast automobiles, others bicycles and horses, still others walking. No matter how they moved, everyone eventually reached the crossroads, a place adorned by an ancient oak. Here the road branched off in three directions and the travelers would make a short stop to look around, for from here one could see far and wide, and get their bearings. Each, after thinking long and deeply, chose a direction, relying on his or her luck. Some, however, did it quickly, without hesitation, others took their time. Sometimes they returned to the crossroads after awhile and went on in a different direction. It is not surprising, because the roads starting from here were very different.
The left one was sharply inclined, as though leading to an abyss, where dark clouds always floated above, parting now and then, showing that the road forms a loop by the horizon, once again joining the trail far beyond. Strangely, this road was most often taken by people who had repeatedly followed that loop, perhaps believing that by following in that direction they would reach another crossroads. And so they moved in circles, returning to the crossroads and starting off again, drawn there as if by magnet.
The road on the right also led down. As far as one can see, it was the only way out of the big valley with high forbidding rocks on both sides and aborigines closely watching all the approaches. From where the oak stands one had a clear view of the settlement below, the small windows of the homes sparking in the welcoming sun, smoke rising from the holes in the roofs (the populace did not yet know of chimneys) all the way to the crossroads above, breeze carrying whiffs of baking bread, frying cabbage, incense, gunpowder, and that special drink they call pervak (a popular brand of local firewater — Ed.). What made this place especially attractive to the weary traveler was its easy and safe access, including the old mountain climber’s technique of sliding down a slope on one’s hindquarters (“Mount your own ego, hold on fast, and go down nice and easy,” to quote from a local blank verse poet).
Getting back to the crossroads, the third road branching off therefrom took a steep climb and, from what one could see, became increasingly steep and perilous, with a mountain towering on one side and precipice gaping on the other. Further up it crossed ice fields running long greenish deep cracks hiding under the snow, with giant walls of ice and boulders hanging over the path.
People taking this road prepared long in advance. Sitting under the oak, they put on special clothes, sturdy spiked shoes, fastened coils of strong rope, ice picks, and steel hooks to negotiate rock and ice walls. Meticulously they packed food, dumping everything they would not need. After that, they learned to work in teams, tying ropes to their climbing harness, so they could protect and help each other in dangerous phases of the climb. Mutual assistance was the law of this road.
Where did it lead? To the peak from which opens a breathtaking view of the world around you, with all its incredible variety; also, you can see a hundred roads leading down to blossoming valleys on the other side of the ridge. As one got to the peak he could relax, breathing in the crystal air, embrace his teammates, rest awhile, and climb down to his chosen place in life and work.
Few people choose the third road and even fewer could travel it, for in most cases people fail to learn teamwork and to protect and help each other. Some of the travelers were well trained and equipped, but as they started the technical climb first one, then another, and still others drop off the steep wall, tumbling down into the abyss, until no one was left. Those with evil tongues have it that among such climbers no one is in the habit of keeping fastened to whoever slips and falls lest he be pulled down as well. Instead, he quickly slices through the rope. Eventually, he and the rest end up at the bottom of the precipice.
The crossroads is still there, sorting out people, directing everyone to his own road. A traveler is sleeping under the oak, oblivious to the hustle and bustle around, his head shaved clean save the oseledets traditional Cossack tuft of hair. He came here a long time ago and stood for quite a while, thinking hard, pulling at his mustache and scratching the back of his head, trying to figure out which way to go. He had gone the one taking the loop more than once. It found it a bit tiring. He had been to the settlement, taking the right road, and, thank God, somehow got out in one piece. The middle road was the most attractive, of course, but all that training and preparing, teamwork, helping each other! He thought and thought, then got tired and dozed off. Maybe he dreams, like the Biblical Jacob, of competing with a divine adversary for his future and winning.
