Fanyasha: Why Do Angels Need People?

Fanyasha: Why Do Angels Need People?

Marianna Rosset

© Marianna Rosset, 2016

© Cloudberry Language Solutions, translation, 2016

ISBN 978-5-4483-3026-1

Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero

The book is an adventure. It’s a book that can change your life. You’ll change and the world will change around you. A little bit. Maybe these changes will be enough.

A charming baby girl Efania (Fanyasha) is born in a regular family of angels.

Her happy and carefree childhood ends when she finds out that a human is going to be born for her soon, and she is supposed to devote all her life to this person.

She’ll go to an elementary school for angels and learn how the world of people works, what they live for and why they die, what the secret of female and male nature is, what a child needs in order to be happy, and many other things.

This unusual story of a small, inquisitive angel girl and her family will help you learn not only about the life of heaven’s creatures, but also about the rules of life on Earth and the laws of the Universe.

After traveling a difficult path, full of serious tests and exciting discoveries, Fanyasha will be able to understand what love and friendship are, and what the meaning of her own life is. She’ll be able to understand human nature and answer the main question: Why do angels need people?

Reviews

“This book changed my life. It made me realize how fragile our own human existence is, and how much help we need to get through life’s big challenges. This story got me thinking about the mistakes and troubles I’ve had in life, and how lucky I’ve been to have an angel like Fanyasha looking over me. Hooray for angels!” – Christopher Pascone, teacher.

“This book is probably not for everyone. However, it’s definitely for those women who want to have it all – be happy spouses and mothers as well as accomplished professionals and creators. It’s for dreamers and thinkers. It will give you encouragement and food for thought wherever you are – at a crossroads with a difficult decision to make or in your nursery putting your baby to sleep.” – Ksenia Jackson, entrepreneur.

About the Author

Marianna Rosset, a happy woman, a loved and loving wife, and the mother of two children, graduated from the Russian State University for the Humanities. She has worked in the education, real estate, marketing and restaurant fields. Before becoming an accomplished writer, she overcame many challenges in her difficult life path, and never lost her belief in kindness and miracles. She has visited over 44 countries in her search for the purpose of life, and has attended multiple workshops and training sessions. Marianna’s life experience, along with her internal freedom and harmony, has brought a whole kaleidoscope of precise observations, good pieces of advice and philosophical parables to her book. The book has united inspired readers into the FanyaClub, which helps thousands of people from all over the world to hear their angels, to learn, and uncap their internal potential.

– I still don’t understand how an angel can let a person know that he exists.

– There are many ways. For example, through a book.

– A book? How?

– Well, see, if a person starts reading a book about angels, it means his angel wants to talk to him.

– It’s a great idea, granny. Where can I get this book?

– Where? You can write it yourself!

– How can I write a book for people? It’s impossible. We live in different dimensions. People can’t read our books.

– We can solve that. Just choose the right person on Earth, talk that person’s angel, and dictate your book to him. You just need to want it!

From Fanyasha’s conversation with grandmother Nokomis

Chapter 1:

Love is Stronger Than Fear

It was one of those sweltering summer days when life in the courtyard of building number 8 became filled with the sounds and smells of the weekend.

As always, at noon, all of the building’s residents of were busy with their usual chores. You could hear the jabbering of the Sunday news coming from the open windows, knives hammering on the cutting boards, the clattering of ladles and grease splattering in the frying pans.

Oh, the smell of the approaching Sunday lunch, when the whole family gets together to savor some truly delicious food! It takes some time to herd the kids inside. Then a chorus starts up, “Vi-i-i-tya, Nata-a-sha – come ho-o-o-me! Ta-a-nya! Let’s go eat!” Without a doubt, “Mo-o-o-m, can I play some more? I’m not hungry!” is heard in response.

Usually, in these moments, it’s as if time has stopped – after a huge family feast, the sounds slowly die down, and the courtyard becomes shrouded in a quiet afternoon nap.

But for now, the buildings and the courtyard were abuzz with activity. Swings were screeching incessantly around the corner of the building. A neighbor from the second floor was beating a rug loudly. The sound of a tiny voice and timid keystrokes could be heard from another window on the floor above. From the top floor came the sound of a horrible rattling – apparently someone had decided to drill a hole in the wall to hang a new painting. Somewhere behind the building, a motor started up and then shut down repeatedly, the car clearly refusing to cooperate with its owner, who ultimately swung a muffled kick into the tire.

Two elderly women were flapping their hands by the second entrance to the building, presumably discussing something awfully important.

“Hey! No drawing here! I am talking to you! Go draw on the asphalt over there!” one of the old women yelled to a girl who started drawing a sun on the brick wall of the building with colored chalk. The girl shoved the crayons into her dress pocket and ran to the playground.

An apple-cheeked boy was running around the slide, laughing happily, because his small, ruffled-up puppy could not catch him. All of the benches were occupied, except for the one further away at the end of the yard. The benches were surrounded by a few trees that created wonderful and necessary shade on this hot summer day.

A few kids were playing ball, yelling out the names of different cities. Close by, a few girls were laughing loudly and jumping over an elastic band tied between two tree trunks. Neighborhood boys swung by on their bikes, screaming happily, then left a cloud of dust. On the playground, the littlest ones got distracted for a brief moment following the boys with their eyes, then returned to restlessly banging their shovels.

Had the residents not been so busy with their things, they would surely have noticed that an unusual man appeared in the yard. Despite the hot weather, he was wearing a long dark purple raincoat that fell to the ground, with a large hood over his head. He was extremely tall, thin, and old, judging by his long grey beard.

The man walked softly through the yard, peering into the faces of its inhabitants. Everyone was actively engrossed in something and no one paid any attention to him.

Needless to say, people tend not to notice all of the strange things that happen nearby, even if this strange thing is as big as our silver-haired guest.

Meanwhile, the strange man walked slowly around the whole yard. Only the ginger cat, which was lying not far from the sand box, moved his tail, lazily turned his head, and with an attentive gaze followed the guest to the bench at the end of the yard. When the man quietly sat down and closed his eyes, the satisfied cat continued to lie in the sun with a feeling of accomplishment, and dozed off.

Suddenly, the sky turned dark, a strong wind started to blow, and clouds rushed in. Large raindrops fell loudly on the ground. The yard emptied in a matter of moments. It was hard to predict this sudden change in the weather, especially since the forecast did not mention even a possibility of rain. But in the meantime, the rain was coming down in buckets. It was so strong that not one of the residents of building number 8 could have made out the tall strange man in the dark purple raincoat sitting quietly at the end of the yard. He sat motionless, and, surprisingly, the rain did not bother him at all, as if there had been a huge open umbrella over him, and the water just flowed away from him on all sides.

The rain stopped toward evening, and right away a tear-streaked girl, about seven years old, ran into the yard. Splashing in puddles in her unclasped sandals, she ran all over the yard, searching for something that seemed to be very important to her. She peeked into the sandbox, circled the swings and the slide, checked under one bench and then another.

“It’s not here or anywhere,” she muttered through tears, totally exhausted.

The girl’s eyes filled with tears again, she leaned on the bench, covered her little face with her hands, and started sobbing.

“Why are you crying, dearest creature?” The girl heard an unfamiliar, but very pleasant voice.

This was the first time in her life that she was addressed with a formal “you” and was called a “dearest creature.” The girl turned around, and through her tears and the rays of the setting sun, she saw a large purple silhouette standing in the shade.

“It seems you have lost something, my dear?” the silhouette spoke again, approaching the girl, and she could make out a beautiful luminous face, framed by silver hair and beard with large blue sparkling eyes, and a soft, kind smile.

She had been taught never to talk to strangers, of course, but she had also been taught to be polite to older people.

“I wonder whose grandfather this is,” thought the girl, sorting in her mind through all of the boys and girls that she knew, but could not remember anyone who could be distinguished by such height, elongated facial features and big blue eyes.

This was because the girl knew for sure that relatives must resemble each other. That was what her mother always told her, showing her black and white photographs of her grandmother and grandfather, noting that they were also redheads and had green eyes.

The eyes of this unfamiliar old man were so clear and transparent that they glowed like two blue mirrors. In them, the girl saw her own tearful reflection and, having remembered her misfortune, uttered:

“I…I lost my doll here.”

“A doll? And what is its name?”

“I don’t know! I haven’t had a chance to give it a name. It was still brand new. It was given to me only yesterday and it was so beautiful and so, so new,” she chattered guiltily and started sobbing yet again.

“And where did you leave it, dearest creature?”

“I don’t remember. Somewhere here, in the yard,” she replied, irritated, spreading her arms.

“How did this happen?” asked the old man in a gentle voice.

“I just got scared of the rain and ran home,” said the girl defensively.

“Is the rain really that scary?”

“It’s not scary, but I…I was worried that my mom would scold me for getting my clothes wet,” she continued, while sniffling, “and I ran home, and now my doll is lost, and I don’t even know what happened to it… Maybe someone took it, maybe it will live in someone else’s house and I will never ever see it again!”

At this point, the girl’s imagination painted a horrible picture in which her obnoxious neighbor with braids played with her doll, fed it and put it down to sleep. The girl could not bear that and started crying again bitterly. She understood how hopelessly and foolishly she had lost her brand new doll, which she didn’t even get a chance to name.

“Allow me to tell you, dearest creature, that I understand very well how difficult this is for you – it is always painful and sad to lose something precious. And today, I want to help you, my dear,” spoke the old man again, and started rummaging through the folds of his raincoat.

Wiping her tears, the girl thought that no speeches, no advice and no gifts would ever replace her doll, yet she observed with interest how this strange and kind old man was searching for something in his endless dark purple raincoat.

“When your heart is full of love, and when you take care of someone, nothing in the world can scare you. Where there is love and care, there is no place for fear. For love is stronger than fear. If you love something or someone, then, despite any obstacles, always remember and cherish that,” the old man continued, and all of a sudden, the girl saw the familiar face of her wonderful beloved doll in his hands.

“This is it! My darling, my dearest!” the girl twittered, nestling the doll close to her. She laughed, stroked the doll’s hair, and kissed its freckled cheeks again and again.

And it did not matter that the doll’s pink dress was wet, or that its small ponytails – the same ponytails that its owner had – were disheveled. What a mercy it was to see her again, safe and sound!

The girl was so happy, so overjoyed by this meeting, that she didn’t notice the disappearance of her doll’s rescuer.

The sleepy ginger cat emerged slowly and lazily from the building entrance to take a walk before retiring for the night. He snorted in discontent when the redheaded girl nearly knocked him off his feet, hopping up the stairs.

“I will name you Alisa! And I will always take care of you!” she said proudly and firmly, tucking the doll in next to her. Then she got under the covers herself and whispered, “I will never ever leave you under the rain, even if there is hail or a snow storm. Nothing will ever scare me again!”

With a blissful smile on her face, the girl fell asleep hugging her Alisa. But of course, she could not imagine that at the same time something wondrous was happening, and that the strange person in the dark purple raincoat was rushing to some new place, carefully pressing a golden parcel against his chest.

Chapter 2:

Love Always Makes Wings Grow

“Very good morning to you, Madame Aros!” said a tall man in a dark purple raincoat with a big smile on his face while giving a golden parcel to a beautiful young woman. “I heartily congratulate you on the birth of your daughter!”

“How wonderful! A daughter! I am so happy! Thank you! Thank you, dear Oshoria,” said the woman quietly, then gently pressed the parcel against her body, peeked inside, and her big brown eyes filled with tears of happiness.

A fresh teardrop fell on the baby’s face, and trickled down her cheek, tickling her. The baby wrinkled her nose, smiled and opened her eyes slightly.

Everything around them was glistening and illuminated with a wonderful radiant light, and in the center of this light shined two mirrors, which reflected the smiling baby girl, wrapped in a golden cloth.

Suddenly, the two mirrors seemingly filled with water, and the girl again felt the drops falling on her face and running down her cheeks. She rubbed her face with her fists, opened her eyes wide and saw an unusually beautiful woman leaning over her.

“Ma-ma-ma,” syllabified the girl and laughed.

“Fanyasha! My dear child! My darling, I…I am so happy… so happy you are here,” whispered her mother and stroked Fanyasha’s soft chestnut brown curls.

There was a rustling sound, and suddenly a beautiful man leaned over Fanyasha’s head. His big brown eyes emanated both strictness and gentleness.

“Great job, my dear! Already started talking! You take after your father! You will be very intelligent!”

Newborn Fanyasha stopped laughing right away, pouted her lips and proudly flung up her nose as if wanting to make an impression of a well-mannered and serious girl. The man stared at her for moment, and then shifted his glance to his delighted wife and triumphantly announced:

“Borisey, please meet your sister Efania!”

Behind him appeared the head of a handsome curly-haired boy. After seeing Fanyasha, the boy’s eyes popped out in amazement, and he hid behind his father’s back again.

“Bosya, why are you so afraid? Look at your beautiful little sister!” said his mother lovingly and picked up Fanyasha.

The golden cloth slipped off the girl and flew away, swirling in the gentle playful wind until it got tangled in a snow-white cloud-chair.

Everything was made out of clouds here, as it should be in a typical house of a typical angel family: above and below and on all sides – clouds were everywhere!

The walls were made out of light grey dense cumulus clouds; the windows of light transparent milky white clouds; the doors, tables, and chairs of thin and hard white clouds; the couches and pillows of soft and fluffy clouds, which gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow because everything around was filled with warm sunlight. Fanyasha was examining her house with unabashed enthusiasm. With a mouth open with delight, she turned her head back and forth making her unruly curls bounce playfully on the lacy collar of her purple dress.

“Oh, oh!” said Bosya, cautiously examining his sister. “She is a girl. What am I going to do with her? We haven’t gone over that yet…”

“Don’t worry, my dear, you will do great,” encouraged his mother. “I remember that you recently had a lesson on the five languages of love, and you aced that topic. The most essential thing that the child needs is love.”

“And not just a child,” noted father while looking at mother playfully, catching her affectionate look and kissing her shoulder.

“But, mom!” Bosya became concerned again. “How will I… how will we… she cannot even fly! Look how small her wings are!”

“Borisey, you couldn’t fly either when you were born, but thanks to me, your mother, your grandmother and your grandfather, you learned very fast,” said father strictly, then patted his son on the back, and pointed up. “Why don’t you bring your love languages notebook, and we will distribute the duties among all of us.”

Despite the fact that Bosya was an angel, he was nonetheless a boy, and, of course, as a boy of about twelve, he was not too excited about this new responsibility in the shape of a small girl in a purple dress who could not fly or speak properly. But Bosya understood that it was useless to argue with his father, and slowly flew to his room.

“We all lived in peace and then – bam! – a sister appears for some reason,” he mumbled, flying up the corridor. “And now what? Does everyone need to drop what they are doing? Maybe I had different plans! Maybe I did not want a sister at this point. What is the good of it anyway? If I had a brother, I would understand that. We would have things to do together: common interests, man talk… Eh,” Bosya sighed helplessly and entered his room.

Of course Bosya heard that children are, perhaps, one of the biggest miracles of the world. Moreover, neither people nor angels could know for certain who would be born and when. Still, it was unclear to him why things were the way they were, and why one could not choose the desired time of birth and the gender of the child. Bosya was sure that order could be established in life this way. And he really loved order.

Bosya was not in a hurry to return, and therefore decided it was the right time to tidy up the table and the bookshelves. He started flying across the room and rearranging books from place to place, pondering how challenging his life would be from now on. After all, in a couple of years his sister would be flying on her own, and poking her nose everywhere.

Bosya remembered how his classmate complained about his annoying younger sister who constantly got in the way of him doing his homework, flew into his room, and asked a whole lot of questions. And how hard it was for him since, according to the “Rules of Protection of Happy Lives of Small Angels and The Preservation of Information,” one must safeguard angel-children of under school age against everything that they do not need to know. And the most forbidden information was everything that concerned people.

“And how does one do that? I want to know,” mumbled Bosya, and hid the books and pictures with the images of people and life on earth.

Then Bosya flew up to the window and started examining the neighbors’ houses.

Unlike the people’s houses, whose outside appearance doesn’t give away how many people live inside and what ages and gender they are, houses for angels are built according to strict standards. For this reason, one could easily determine how many adults and children live in that house by simply looking at it.

All of the angels’ houses were constructed out of thick cumulus clouds. They hung in the air at a short distance from each other, and were like long column-corridors, going up so high that it was impossible to make out where they ended. Below were large spherical living rooms with multiple windows and a front door. Vertically, along the corridor, there were rooms hanging atop one another from the littlest ones to the largest – in order of seniority. All members of the family from the youngest to the oldest had their own room. On the left side were the women’s rooms with round windows, and on the right were the men’s rooms with square windows.

Bosya saw very few houses nearby where parents lived with only one child. Three or four children’s rooms hung on the majority of the houses. The house across the street actually had eleven rooms: two large ones at the top, and nine down the corridor.

“The Zorge’s have nine children! How do they manage? It’s incomprehensible!” he muttered, irritated. “There is no logic to this! None! Since they created strict standards for the preservation of information and wanted the children to live happily, then they should have given each family one child, and everyone would have been content. And then we would have order.”

When Bosya returned, the whole family had already moved from the lobby to the living room. Father settled comfortably in his favorite armchair made of dense clouds; mother sat to the side on a soft armrest hugging his neck, smiling and humming.

In the middle of the living room, grandmother fluttered in the whirlwind of clouds, cheerfully hooting. Every now and again she would toss Fanyasha up into the air; she merrily laughed and flapped her arms, her legs, and her small transparent wings, as if trying to fly higher and higher, but then falling again and again into the arms of her happy grandmother.

“Here, I brought it,” muttered Bosya, looking at the hero of the day from under his brows, and handed his green notebook to his father, on which it was painstakingly written:

Languages of Love

This notebook belongs to Borisey Aros, student of the second grade of the School of Angels,

“Well, well,” said father in a businesslike manner, scanning the pages covered in neat handwriting.

Even though father tried to hide it, based on his delighted expression, it was clear that he was very proud of his clever and diligent son who had graduated from the Junior School of Angels with honors, and had been a student at the Middle School for the past year. There was no doubt that Bosya’s diligence and patience would be enough for the seven years of the Middle School of Angels, and then for the three years in High School, which is a totally different life, a life of a grown-up angel.

Father was confident that Borisey, with his inherent sense of responsibility, in addition to his love of learning and order, would succeed in tackling not only school, but also his new role as an older brother, and would become a good role model for his sister.

“So,” said father loudly, and paused expressively, waiting for everyone to settle on the puffy clouds around the armchair in which he was sitting, “today the beautiful Efania has joined our family.” Having said these solemn words, he looked at Fanyasha who, realizing that she was being talked about, flung up her nose and closed her eyes with pleasure.

“Our task is to give her as much love as possible, and to help her to become a strong, beautiful and happy angel! Now we will divide our responsibilities for the next ten years.”

This was exactly how much a childhood without a care in the world was supposed to last, according to the laws of the lives of angels, after which something important happened and the life of a small angel changed for good. At ten years old, an angel entered the Elementary School, and the new doors opened into a new world full of amazing events and discoveries. But it was too early for Fanyasha to think about this: in the years to come, what she had in store for her was to play, fly, enjoy the marvelous life, and bask in love. All the more so as her parents decided to go to great lengths in order to make their daughter’s childhood the most happy, carefree and safe, and for her childhood be lived at the highest level, according to them.