I was about four years old when I saw the dark man. My grandmother’s Kate house was built on a terraced plot of land, and the garden was planted on several levels. I was standing on the courtyard level in the tomato patch. My grandmother was sewing inside the house, and I could hear the tapping of her sewing machine. Suddenly I glanced down at the narrow path leading to the main door from the street and saw an unknown man wearing black cloth. He was standing there without saying a word. His head and face were also bandaged with black tissue, so you could not see his eyes or any other features. I was seized by terrific and freezing fear. A black ghost was staring at me, and I lost my words and voice. I jumped back, and lost the dark man from my field of vision just for one second. When I looked down again, he was standing at the bottom of the stone stairs leading to the level of the courtyard where I was. I could clearly see his bandaged face, eyes and hands. He was wearing a black hat, and his head was turned up towards me. A deep animal terror made me shout. I ran to the house and cried, "dark man!" I was in floods of tears, and I pulled my grandmother outside to see if the man was still there. When we came out there was nobody in the courtyard, only the strong singing of cicadas.
Tens of years later I could realize that this dark man might have represented a strong family fear of aggression and loneliness. My great-grandfather was arrested by Bolsheviks, and the children of the family were separated. Grandmother Kate’d been living her whole life with the dread of being taken from her family. I should have created this illusion of a dark man to relive these feelings and remember to recall them many years later.
