As my tongue slid over my cracked lips, a gnawing saltiness invaded my mouth. Yet, my lips remained dry. I took a sip from the bottle. I held it against my lips, but kept my mouth shut. After withdrawing the bottle, I circled reachable areas with my tongue several times. What I managed to gather, I swallowed. It was probably the last few drops of water within several tens of kilometers, so without hesitation, I hid the bottle.

The well offered some relief from the heat. I was grateful for that much. I checked the ground—crumbled into tiny grains of sand at the slightest touch. I poured some water into a makeshift cup, resembling a castle turret. My hands trembled as I attempted to clean them. My gaze slid along the walls of the well.

At the very top were concrete rings, already showing signs of wear. I installed metal footholds in each section to make climbing easier. The rings themselves were the fruits of my father’s labor. He had tirelessly excavated the plot to revive the well, which never ran dry even in the hottest summer, and tests confirmed the water’s quality. I never delved into why it was so important for him to dig a well. Only a few phrases, uttered by my drunken father, remained. How his own grandfather had covered up that well because he believed it was a cursed place. But that didn’t deter my father.

Beyond the rings lay layers of smooth stones. Some stones protruded, forming a spiral staircase. Unfortunately, few steps remained intact, so I installed a rope elevator at this level. Constructing this stone wall must have been exhausting and slow work. I admired this labor — stone upon stone was evidence of past order. An order in which man and nature lived in harmony.

The deepest layer was supposed to contain remnants of the oldest ages. Once fallen and turned into dust, stone splinters. Something already unrecognizable, invisible. Yet, what I saw was quite the opposite—objects gleamed invitingly, and even the scent hinted at novelty. The walls were solid concrete, with ledges resembling human skin. Self-expanding, chromed rods guarded against collapse, serving as the longest screw-like stairs. Inspired by the work of my ancestors, I decided that a screw structure was necessary, not just for convenience, but out of necessity—this layer was the deepest and widest, so lifts and ladders wouldn’t suffice.

Standing at the bottom, I often imagined the well as a tower. The tower offered hope. Just like that. Upwards—better than downwards. And a tower can stand empty, but a well… At the same time, this image was frightening. The tower altered perception. It was essential to understand that I was the one who, instead of extending the structure and making the tower even higher, transformed what was already there. The one who disrupts the former order and turns the past into his life. What then remains of the past if you inhabit it?

I climbed the metal rungs, realizing I hadn’t done everything. Leaning my back against the well wall, I wedged my feet into the ladder. I pulled out two coins from the inner pocket of my suit. Holding one object in each palm, I weighed the choice between one and the other. Both fates were uncertain. Well, I had to act accordingly—it was time to play blind. Placing both objects in my hands, I flipped them, then with my right hand, I picked the winner. The coin bore the inscription “Gediminas Castle Tower.” The result surprised me, but I didn’t dare change my decision. All I could hope for was that it would turn out for the best. Flicking my fingers, I released the spinning coin to where it belonged.

***

Early in the morning, I had finished mowing the lawn, so the scent of freshly cut grass wafted through the estate. Wiping sweat away, I glanced towards the terrace where a cold, now probably lukewarm, carbonated drink awaited. I had hoped to relax a bit after mowing the lawn and before preparing breakfast. But plans changed. Still, I didn’t grumble. I knew I had to be here with my father now. It was a rare moment when we both knew what to do. A rare moment when we didn’t feel like strangers to each other, when there was no awkwardness being together.

I stood just a good step away from the well. Curses and the sound of crumbling concrete echoed. A beam lay across the diameter of the ring, supporting the lowered ladder. Sometimes the structure shifted. I knew that with the ladder against the wall, the weight distributed, but still, the beam seemed like it could collapse at any moment.

“Mikai, come closer,” my father shouted.

Carefully squatting, I squinted to see my father. He was on his knees, standing on the ladder steps but not holding onto them. To maintain balance, he pressed his back against the wall. His free hands were working on the connection of two pipes. One pipe led to the hydrophore, the other to the bottom of the well. I tried to imagine myself in that situation—I would probably plunge into the water in an instant. The thought of momentarily relaxing my body and then falling without support made me shudder.

“Here, look, Mikai, we’ve cleaned the filter, but there’s still no water in the pipe,” my father said, lifting the pipe. “Hold on, we’ll have to fill it manually. Maybe then we’ll have enough pressure.”

I grabbed the pipe with my hands. Above the last ring, my father’s head appeared, but he didn’t climb higher. His clenched fist emerged.

“Take the bands and don’t drop them.”

I hadn’t yet understood what he meant when I saw two small rubber bands in his palm, hovering over the dark water. At the same time, I tried to grip the pipe tightly to prevent it from slipping. The pipe slid, and then, with both hands, I grabbed what needed saving. Two small black rubber bands plummeted into darkness. I saw my father’s angry look from the well.

“Fuck, Mikai, if this continues, we’ll never fix this damn hydrophore,” I lowered my eyes and said nothing.

My father climbed, banging the ladder, and then the beam creaked. It was just one crack, but instinct kicked in—my father immediately jumped off the ladder and hung onto the well railing. Kicking the rungs with his feet, the whole structure shook with a terrible clang as it plummeted downwards. I heard my father trying to lean against the well and push himself to the other side, but his feet kept slipping. With fearful eyes, he looked for a way out. He called me. He asked me to reach out. And I did nothing. I was afraid to intervene, afraid to do something wrong again. So, I just stood there and waited until he climbed out of the well himself.

My father slipped again. He cursed loudly. Not seeing any other way out, he decided to save himself however he could. With all his might, he hoisted himself over the well railing and tried to grab me. Perhaps he hoped I would stay on my feet, and when he pulled me up, we would both climb out together. Unfortunately, acting on some instinct, I suddenly resisted and recoiled. My father’s hand brushed my shirt sleeve, but his fingers didn’t grasp in time. This action caused me to lose my balance. And then my body slipped from the railing.

I heard a loud splash in the water below. Running to the railing, my father’s head emerged from the water. He began coughing and spitting out water.

“Fuck, it’s lucky there’s so much water this year,” he exclaimed. “But my arm will break, as I hit that damn ladder. Mikai, go to Salvijus.”

I was about to do as told when I noticed the water next to my father bubbling vigorously, and something splashed beneath the surface.

“What now?” my father exclaimed, surprised and alarmed.

Something tapped my father’s leg. Weakly, as if checking. The next tap was stronger—my father disappeared entirely under the water, but quickly resurfaced. Gripped by fear, he tried to climb up the hydrophore pipe, but it snapped, and the water collected in the pump tank began pouring out. The last tap was fatal. His body vanished. The water churned and moved for a while. After a few minutes, it calmed down.

First, with the help of local men, neighbor Salvijus descended into the well. By then, the water level had significantly dropped. Salvijus got soaked only up to his armpits, but he couldn’t feel the body. In the evening, the firefighters arrived. There was no need to go down anymore. Just shining a spotlight was enough—there was no water or body in the well. At the bottom lay the ladder, which the rescuers pulled up with a hook, not yet seeing the need to descend.

Everyone thought I had made it up. But I didn’t push or insist. I just muttered something about a state of shock. The rescuers inspected the shed, cellar, and corners of the house. They also checked the wells of neighboring estates, where water was abundant. Finding nothing, they said my father would return soon. Until then, I had to stay with Salvijus. Mom tried to rush back as soon as possible—she was waiting for a connecting flight at some airport.

I said I wouldn’t go anywhere until I was lowered into the well. It annoyed me that the rescuers were inactive. It was obvious—my father’s disappearance and the water were related. I started crying and hitting. They had no choice but to lower me into the well with a rescuer. When we descended, beneath the last concrete ring, I saw something shining. It was a Gediminas Castle coin from my father’s collection. Financially, it was almost worthless, but it was the one that started his collection. My father kept his collection locked in a safe, arranged in albums and in cases, so finding the coin in the well was unequivocally strange.

“This is evidence that my father fell into the water,” I told the rescuer.

Uncle Salvijus also knew about my father’s collection, so he went to check the albums. He returned with the same coin and dropped it into the well to convince himself. The coins were similar, almost identical, except for a few differences. The well coin was more worn out, not shiny for a long time, while the other coin sparkled as if freshly minted. Another difference was even more striking. The reverse of the found coin had the word “castle” scratched off. It didn’t look like ordinary wear and tear. Was this a message from my father?

It was getting dark, so it was getting cold. My clothes were wet and muddy. The rescuer was no longer beside me. Only a shovel and a spotlight remained. I still held the coins tightly in my fist. I put them in my pocket. I started digging. It seemed like the only logical thing to do.

Working with a shovel was not easy. I quickly started sweating, my head spinning. The rescuers, from time to time, shone the light to check if I hadn’t given up. I had become quite a nuisance to them. I felt hotter and hotter. There was a lack of air, my vision blurred. I felt nauseous. Finally, my body gave way, and I slumped into the wet sand pit.

Once my father took me to see Gediminas Castle. I sat at the entrance to the museum and cried. My father tried to explain complex things like history and the changes in the world. I felt deceived. I didn’t understand why one should promise things that don’t exist. Suppressing my anger, I sat down and began scooping sand with my hands. I piled sand into little heaps, slapped to form towers, and dug trenches with my fingers.

“What are you doing here?” my father asked.

“I’m building a castle,” I replied and sniffled, wiping my running nose.

***

I pulled out my water bottle again. Damn it, it was empty. I placed the bottle on the ledge, and it accelerated and flew into the depths of the well. I waited for the echo of the splash. But I heard nothing! I lay on my stomach, slithered towards the edge, and peered over, only to see the rings shimmering. Without hesitation, I plunged headfirst into the darkness and the cold. My hair came alive, and my skin began to tingle. I rose to the surface, spluttering water. I coughed, gasped, but didn’t stop. At least regaining minimal vitality, I contemplated — dive or not. I remembered the coin, the fate already cast. I took a deep breath and submerged.

I had no tools, not even a flashlight, so I swam in complete darkness, feeling that I would soon run out of air. Just as I was about to turn back, unexpectedly, I reached the other side. I didn’t even feel how it happened — I broke through a gap in the rungs and then saw light above the well. I was panicking, feeling the lack of air, but accidentally my hand touched the oxygen mask and tank hooked on the rungs. I put on the gear. I took several deep breaths, and after a while, I breathed slowly and calmly.

I lifted my eyes upwards. Something was floating on the surface. I swam a little closer and gently tapped to check if it was real. My body tensed. I tried to move as little as possible, not wanting to disturb the water. Still disbelieving, I wanted to see for myself. So, I grabbed the person by the legs and dunked them headfirst. His sneaker slipped off, but I managed to catch a glimpse of the face. Through the haze, I remembered the horror of my childhood. The urge to turn around, not to cause myself pain. But the sequence of events was the same…

I had to hurry because I didn’t know how much time I had. I heard my father fall into the water when he couldn’t hold onto the pump tube. I rose slightly and, gripping my father’s legs tightly, I dived with all my might. My father resisted. I took off the oxygen mask and tried to put it on him. I wanted to show that I meant no harm. My father momentarily calmed down. We floated towards each other. Perhaps he recognized me? I was glad we couldn’t talk right now.

My father removed the mask and handed it to me, along with the oxygen tank. I took the gear. My father began to swim upwards. I grabbed him again by the legs and pushed downwards. He resisted. I removed the oxygen mask and tried to put it on him again. He tried to resist again. I held onto his leg and accidentally pulled off another sneaker. Then he attacked me with all his might.

As we struggled, we ended up at the bottom. My father wedged one leg against the well wall and pressed my free limbs with his other leg and arms. The oxygen mask also ended up with my father. I was running out of breath and had no strength to fight. My head fell to the side. Involuntarily, I glanced at the coin stuck under the grate. I noticed distinct rust marks on the coin’s reverse. The coin looked even older, as if it had been waiting for its fate for decades. I raised my head to take a closer look. It wasn’t the one I had thrown with the spell… It was a scratched coin! The letters were just an illusion—someone had already planned the whole sequence of events.

I began to look around to see if there was anyone else hiding in the well. There was nothing else except a relatively large, black cavity beneath the rungs. It was right next to me. I reached in with my hand and felt a heavy stone, which I squeezed tightly in my fingers. At the same time, someone else’s fingers gripped my wrist. I reached out with my hand to try and free myself, but my limb was pulled even harder. I struggled with two at once now. I exhaled the last breath from my lungs. My eyes dimmed. Suddenly, I felt the fingers of the other person release my hand. And then, pulling with all my might, I dragged the one who had been holding me. It was my father.

I floated on the surface, staring at the stars, while the water reflected the celestial bodies. The well was sparkling right up to the top ring. I heard the water system still pumping water into the cisterns, generously watering the greenhouses. Occasionally, someone would touch me, and I would push them away. It was my father’s body, which I didn’t want to see.

I started laughing out loud. I couldn’t stop and accidentally swallowed water. I coughed and continued to laugh. I laughed at my own naivety. Just like in childhood, I believed that I could restore what had changed and disappeared.

Suddenly, unable to bear it, I jumped out of the well. I tore off my clothes and grabbed the first dry rags I could find, starting to dry myself. I made sure there wasn’t a single drop of wetness on my body. Horrible thoughts about destroying all the equipment plagued my mind. With difficulty, I pushed these thoughts away.

Meanwhile, the desire to fix, restore, redeem, cancel, change only grew.

The MoA Week In Review – OT 2024-257

Last week’s posts on Moon of Alabama:

Color Revolutions:

• Oct 21 – “Democracy” in Moldova
  Related:
  – Georgian Rural Voters Care More About Grape Prices Than Geopolitics – RFE/RL
  – Georgian Election Commission’s preliminary results put ruling party at 54% – Agenda.ge
  – Republic of Georgia’s Ruling Party Claims Election Victory – New York Times