Introduction
At the beginning of this story, my name was Anna. I was seventeen and lived with my family in a small provincial town in Russia. You could say we were like any other family — nothing special, no reason to stand out. A bit cramped, not rich, but decent enough. My parents worked, and my little sister never gave me peace. Life was as it is in many families.
My parents would occasionally raise their voices at each other, trying to understand one another. During those moments, Dad used to joke that he had a weak heart and that Mom would be the one to send him to his grave. And one evening, that’s exactly what happened. Somehow, he froze in the doorway, leaned against the frame, clutched his chest, swayed for a second, and fell. The only thing he managed to say was clearly: "Short Island."
In the rush of everything, no one paid attention to what he said. But in my imagination, that name quickly took root, it grew into high rocky shores and empty beaches. Strangely, my father’s death passed before me like a minor scene, already covered by those images.
Often in dreams I would hear the rustle of palm leaves and see the Sun setting into the ocean, its burning circle somehow turning into a glowing tip at the end of a long cigarette held in the hands of a very dark-skinned woman, barely visible in the twilight. Sometimes I could make out her face. She would smile with a generous, motherly smile, and I would wake up feeling calm.
These dreams wouldn’t leave me alone, and one day, I made a decision. I started learning languages and other useful skills. On my second autumn after turning eighteen, I stood behind the glass wall of the capital’s airport, watching a wide-bodied airliner glide in for landing, heading toward distant and strange shores...
As long as I could remember, my father never spoke of his past. He worked with his hands, and could fix just about anything. He loved the sea and all things related to ships. My mother also knew little about him. Before they met, Dad had traveled a lot and lived in different cities. Considering that he was already not young when I was born, there must have been some kind of past behind him, and that gave me something to think about...
