Angel’s Schoolbook

Helen Karpenko

Angel’s Schoolbook

Ironic antidepressant fantasy

Distributed by Smashwords

© Helen Karpenko, text – 2012-2018

© Tatyana Guschina, illustrations – 2015-2018

© Borys Montgomery, Helen Karpenko,

English translation – 2013-2014

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Annotation

It’s a book about values, choice, way to yourself, search for truth and love. A kind of antidepressant novel.

Some may say it’s a fairy-tale or a mockery of today’s show-business. Others may perceive it as a dialogue with caring, responding and cooperative Universe.

There’s a key in this book. Looking for entertaining storylines, intrigues and humor, you may unexpectedly find yourself. Enjoy!

Noel is not an ordinary student; he wants to become an angel. And his course is not an ordinary one, either, it takes just three days. In this term, Noel needs to stop a human, who is planning a suicide, to change his outlook and to help him accept his life as it is, in all of its aspects.

This is not an easy task, though; Noel’s protégé, Jeff Erby is one of the top sound-producers in the USA – Grammy-award winning, rich, famous, popular, but a tired and lonely man, who lost his belief in life.

All Noel’s attempts to get to Jeff’s consciousness appear ineffective and even humorous. Jeff can hear everything: the music, the hypocrisy of people around him, but he doesn’t hear his guardian angel. Every minute he draws closer to the abyss.

Fortunately, Noel has a Schoolbook. However, for an inexperienced angel even the Schoolbook itself appears to be a problem: it provides the student with confusing directions – so general, that they seem to be not helpful at all. During just one day Noel, an assertive angel, becomes hesitant and loses confidence. Instead of preventing Jeff’s suicide, it appears that his angel increases its probability.

Unable to change a person, angel decides to change himself.

Entertaining plot, irony, humor, philosophy and romance, intertwined with elements of detective story will captivate your imagination and uncover the best in your soul.

Some people say it’s a fairy-tale, others consider Angel’s Schoolbook to be the Way to Self. What will this book mean for you? Open it – and see.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

References

About the author

I dedicate this novel to my parents, 

Nataly and Alexey Karpenko.

Both of us – my book, and I –

appeared thanks to them, their love and faith.

Prologue

If this was a theatrical play, then the beginning would look something like this: a dark theatre hall, an empty stage, dim light coming from somewhere behind the scenes.

Silence…

Suddenly, a man’s footsteps are heard, not fast, not slow, just a heartbeat rhythm: one-two, one-two, one…

With metallic ringing, the sound of steps spreads throughout the theater hall.

Behind the illuminated screen, as in a theater of shadows, emerges a man’s silhouette. As he walks closer to the source of light, his proportions are distorted. Table and chair, computer and even a bottle, they all appear from the darkness with their shadows distorted just the same.

The man takes a sip from the bottle as he sits down on the edge of the table. Then aimlessly, he inspects the space around him. His movements seem hopeless and fatigued. He ruffles his hair and looks around one more time. The man walks away from the screen for just a moment, and comes back with a microphone stand. Without any rush he connects cables to the computer, adjusts sensitivity levels on the console (we can hear his breath and the noise from the theatre hall coming back from the speakers). The man presses a few keys on the computer keyboard and a red sign Silence, please! lights up above the stage.

The audience holds its breath. We can hear a floorboard squeaking and a women’s voice somewhere in the hall: Hu-u-u-sh!.

The microphone caught man’s cogwheel breathing.

And – a gunshot…

Chapter 1

In the briefest of moments, the stage is illuminated – and we are now in a university lecture auditorium. An elderly, bordering on baldness, old man points a remote at the screen – which dutifully roles up to the ceiling. There is nothing behind the screen.

Remember, you cannot influence him in any physical way. All actions – are his actions, an expression of his own free will. You can only persuade and guide, but he makes the decisions.

The dumbfounded student, after having a hard time taking his view away from where the screen used to be, looked at Professor in bewilderment, blinked a couple of times, looked around the empty hall once again, as though seeking help from space, and, obviously struggling with himself, said:

Why is physical influence… not allowed?

Professor looked at the young man with interest.

Well, any ideas on how that could be done?

The student gave a puzzled frown.

After observing him, Professor moved slightly closer to the student and softened his tone.

The thing is, even with the strongest desires you will not be able to touch him. It’s not about restraining yourself from physical contact, but the mere fact that you will not be able to do it.

Professor spread his hands in a gesture, as to show that this was common sense, plain and simple.

Besides, such action would give you away. And that, as you may understand, is undesirable.

It seemed that what was said had been so obvious, it did not require an explanation. However, the student looked confused.

A shadow of a smile appeared on the instructor’s face.

Look!

Professor extended his hand and it passed through the student unhindered. Then, after rummaging in the young man’s head, he extracted a couple of metallic question marks and threw them on the teachers table.

Any questions?

After tracing Professor’s movements, the young man looked at the table. His face had a look of a person, who forgot something important. After a moment of hesitation, with an uncertain tone, he answered:

I’m not sure.

Well, well, − Professor was radiating complacency. – Now the important information. There are three days and three terms. Condition one: body change is allowed. Condition two: you can shift back the time by using a transfer. But only once. And the third condition: you can call me for help. Just once, also. Got it?

The student only had time to nod, as Professor’s pointer shot up to where the screen was hanging a minute ago.

If in three days’ time this poor fellow, even with your interventions, will commit suicide, than you failed the exam – you will never become a real angel. That’s crystal clear, I hope?

The student gave an uncertain nod and rubbed his wrinkled-up forehead.

But if this man will decide to live and accept life for what it is, then in three days’ time I will personally give you a pair of real white angel’s…

Wings?

You’re so old fashioned! – Professor burst out, from perturbation or perhaps laughter. – Shoes. Shoes like mine. See?

The shoes did look good, even though a little worn out. It seemed, the challenge was worth it.

Nice shoes, Professor.

The awkwardness in the compliment was obvious.

Professor cocked his head to the side like a bird and, with irony in his smile, looked over the student from head to toe, which brought a shivering wave throughout the student’s body. What a horrible feeling – such combination of sadness and disappointment from personal stupidity; a sudden rush of squirming metal inside the stomach that disappeared surprisingly quickly.

Thank you. Where, did you say, you were from?

From Corjib.

A spark lit up in Professor’s eyes.

We’re almost neighbors – I’m from Tolverro; it’s only three or four light years away. Have you heard of it?

The student seemed surprisingly happy:

Yes of course, Professor!

Well then, compatriot, I wish you luck. Here’s your Schoolbook. Any information you might need is in it.

The joyfully smiling student had suddenly realized that he had a parchment scroll; he had no idea how long he had been holding it in his hand, with heavy wax seals and charred edges. The scroll had a distinctive stench of naphthalene or rats. Professor gave no time to recollect and continued:

Now then, clear your consciousness – and go ahead, take action! Oh, yes… one more thing. Try not to deviate from prescriptions.

He suddenly moved towards the student, as though letting him know, that there was a deep mystical connection between the two and said, quietly:

Even we, angels, can fall under the spell of temptation. What is there to say about the others?

They both looked at each other in mutual understanding. The Professor’s smile resembled a playful puppy.

You have three days. Earth days.

The student nodded with enthusiasm. Professor raised his index finger:

From this moment you are no longer a spirit but an angel, even if this is temporary. Be ready to absorb as you go, learn through inurement. You have to think and act like an angel. So be careful, don’t mess anything up.

I won’t, Professor. Thank you!

Words were spoken to the Void – Professor and the university auditorium have vanished. Questions were gone, as well. Now there was time to take a look around and get accustomed to the new status.

It should be mentioned, that the young man was quite plain. He looked approximately twenty five – twenty eight years old, blond hair, slim figure with no signs of any acquaintance with a gym. He slouched slightly and had unremarkable facial features. That was pretty much everything you could say about the student, if not for the scroll in his hand.

In no way did the item match the young man’s appearance. Great parchment sheets of unknown polygraphy format were thoroughly wrapped and tied in the middle by a red and white ribbon with a heavy silver emblem. Also, the scroll had several signets that seemed to fasten different sections of the document. Checking this hypothesis was not an easy task, however. With any attempt to take the ribbon off, the sheets would begin to disperse, risking to tear under the weight of the signets.

Without making an overstatement, acrobatic attempts to untie the scroll showed a remarkable combination of a visionary and a workaholic in the young man.

The situation was even more complicated by the Void around, there was nothing to lean the scroll against, no place to put it down. Finally, holding the scroll like a swaddled-up infant, by using his legs and teeth, sometimes both at the same time, the young man was able to take the cincture red and white ribbon off. The scroll ruffled immediately.

It turned out, that each of the three signets held a chapter. Another pirouette and the student found out their titles: Day First, Day Second and Day Third. Not exactly innovative, but nicely straight forward.

A choice had to be made: to try and read at least one page, while holding the scroll, or try a daring attempt to get free from the other two sections and give complete concentration to Day First.

Giving it some hesitation, the student chose the latter. The task, however, turned out to be not that simple. So hard, in fact, that after a few moments the student started to plead:

Would it be so much trouble to choose an easier format for the Schoolbook?

The Void, as expected, provided no answer for inexplicit questions.

After, somehow separating two sections from the first, the student realized that he’d got himself into a tight spot. In order to roll the first scroll up, while simultaneously trying to read the second, keeping it unrolled, he would need at least another pair of hands.

The student tried to imagine for a second, how such a juggling act would look to a spectator and chuckled. Then, after keeping balance in an uncomfortable position, he said:

Do me a favor, stay right here for now, − he laid the scroll down into the Void.

Remarkably, the pages not only accomplished the task, but aligned the pile and, twisting masterly, rolled up into a neat scroll and wrapped themselves with a ribbon.

The student smiled, and looked at the two scrolls one more time:

Well now, I haven’t read a line and you’ve already taught me something. Thank you, Schoolbook… Let’s make a deal: you will turn into a small notepad and, for that, I’ll put you in my pocket and will always carry you around. How does that sound?

Immediately, the scroll disappeared and an old shabby notepad materialized on the palm of the student’s hand.

What about the smell? Something softer, more pleasant, maybe?

The notepad showed no reaction.

The young man waited for half a minute, then took a deep breath and opened the Schoolbook:

"Day First"

Enter password

Yes, just like that: Enter password.

What password? Where in the world from? And even if the password is known, how and where is it entered?

After checking the notepad and making sure, that the pages – all, except the first, – were blank, the student started guessing the password out loud:

Angel… No? Fine… Angel’s Schoolbook… Also no? Hmmm… What about, exam?.. Hmmm… Universe? Well, maybe it’s, life? Death? Law? Balance?

The young man was obviously fond of philosophy.

A chair appeared out of nowhere. The student was not a bit surprised and sat down. The Void was apparently letting him know, that the guessing game would take a while, a long while.

Light?.. Darkness?.. Space? Void? The cosmos?.. Order? Consciousness? Maybe, spirit or soul?

When all the sublime terms that were on the tip of his tongue were said, the student felt wrapped in deep anguish. The pages, no matter how many times he went through them, stayed blank, like the morning snow.

Isn’t it funny, − thought the student, – everything, practically everything I dreamed about all my life, has come true today. I was accepted into a School of Angels, I received an assignment and here’s the Schoolbook in my hands. All there is to do now, it seems – is just get to work. But, no.

The young man stood up from the chair and, nervously pacing back and forth, began talking to someone in a determined tone, chiseling every word:

In three days’ time, I, a simple spirit, can become a real angel. And the one thing that is going to interfere… a password? Just a password! No way, guys, you are messing with the wrong guy. Come on, give me a dictionary. I will go over every word from ‘A’ to ‘Z’, even if it will take me a whole week.

A chubby scroll with a blue ribbon materialized on the chair.

No, no, in a book format, please. Oxford press, preferably.

The dictionary complied and transformed into the desirable form.

Much better, − smiled the student, rubbed his hands and, somewhat detached, looked in the book’s direction.

Dictionary… No, I already said that. How about, chair?

The Void was suddenly overwhelmed with an unbearable screeching sound. So bad, it brought on a desire to put your head under water, like the sound of an abandoned cathedral opening its massive door. The notepad was turning a page by itself.

‘Chair?’ Who would have thought? – chuckled the student, then sat down and began going over the small gothic letters with reverence:

The connections you should see,

Find the object, self, and name,

Let the voice be heard and,

Farther, let the path be specified.

Not another word.

The student read over the text four times. Thought about it – then, read it again.

He staggered, and then said:

Is it possible to be more specific? It would be nice to have an explanation. Or a hint. Just one. Please.

The Schoolbook did not react.

A thought slipped through the student’s mind: Perhaps, it requires a password, again?

Chair!

There was a sound of a terrifying screech, then a sound of a heavy door being slammed shut. The notepad closed, spewing out a naphthalene ball of dust.

Chapter 2

Gladys was not there yet, when Jeff entered the studio.

It was her tradition, to be late for a minimum of half an hour, anywhere she went − unbroken for many years, established in the far gone days of her fame. The blues queen’s career had somewhat faded, but the ex-diva herself, it seemed, was still savoring the lingering aftertastes and had no desire to change her habits.

Your coffee, Jeff, − Kathy extended a cup and set it down on the edge of the table.

"Thank you, Kathy. How was your weekend??

Great, thanks. And you?

Not bad. So, what’s new?

’Tribune’ called. They would like to hear your comments about preparations for ‘Best Voice’.

What did you tell them?

To email us any questions they have.

Clever girl. Answer the questions yourself. What else?

MTV has launched ‘Come To Me’ into airtime.

Jeff mumbled something vague. Kathy accepted that as an answer and continued:

’Billboard’ has added ‘Dance With A Fire’ to their chart.

Which one?

Top 40.

Jeff frowned.

Need to get Rob and his boys on this, have them roam the internet a little bit; dispense a few comments and links. Top-40 isn’t serious. What compositions is at the top?

’Never Fly Again’.

That lame song with overloaded bass? No way… Have all the good composers gone extinct? Where is their common sense?.. By the way, how’s your life?

Some New-Age style got written yesterday. Trying to figure out, how to arrange it now.

Jeff looked at Kathy with irony.

Don’t you get tired of writing in a new style every time? Shouldn’t you have made up your mind, already?

Kathy smiled and shrugged.

You know, Jeff, I hear music already complete, like at a concert. Trust me, the last thing I think about during that moment, is what style of music it is.

Well, who, in your opinion, should be thinking about that?

Kathy rolled her eyes. Jeff took a sip of coffee, cocked his head to one side and smiled:

As I recall it, my question was about personal life, not about music.

Kathy raised her eyebrows.

Your studio and my personal life are not compatible.

Jeff chuckled and took another sip.

Fine, fine, anything else?

Kathy sighed, gave Jeff an ironic look and went back to her lengthy list of notes.

We had a call from ‘Kinsley Booking Management’ about Neo and the ‘Bully Boom’ tour. When would you like to meet them?

"Let’s postpone all negotiations until Thursday and concentrate on ‘Best Voice’. Has ‘Marian Music Hall’ confirmed receiving the rider?"¹

Yes, Jeff.

"Well?

A spark of mockery flashed in Kathy’s eyes.

They say, you’re getting impudent.

That put a smile on Jeff’s face.

In that case, they can invite someone, who’s in their budget. Why not, for instance, put Gordon McFowell or George Seel at the console? Has the whole world converged only on me or something?

They’re saying that you’re the only sound-producer, who’s able to work with sounds from both − stage and hall. They want the TV audience to hear a stadium full of spectators even if there are only a few people present at the contest.

Why would they need that? Parents, grandparents, neighbors, friends, dogs and hamsters of the contestants. There will be lots of fans…

"Nevertheless, they want you specifically, but have no desire to pay three times the usual amount. They’re requesting a discount, on a condition, that you are going to