Sibeasterus's blog

Short wrestling tale in 8 chapters. The place is somewhere in Chechnya, 1996

It's the seventh chapter of the tale. I began there: first, second, third, fourth, fifth , sixth

7. Ivan Visits Aslan

When the Treaty of Khasavyurt stopped the war, Ivan was able to visit Aslan's highland village. Not as an enemy, but as a man who had been through thick and thin with another. It was an unspoken promise made that day on the mountain road, when their destinies intertwined in a battle that was more than just a fight.

Aslan's house greeted Ivan with silence. Aslan's father, a wise old man to whom his son had apparently confided some facts of his own past—his and this Russian guy’s—left them alone, understanding that there were things that should remain between them. In a closed room, where sunlight filtered through the cracks in the shutters, they found themselves face to face again.

This time, there was no weapon, no order, no duty separating them. There was only their own will, their own desire to understand and be understood. They stripped to the waist and stood facing each other. Ivan's movements were confident, but there was no aggression in them. Aslan responded in kind, his gaze calm, yet the same fire burned deep within his eyes as on the day of their first meeting. They were locked in wrestling match once again, but this time it was a different kind of struggle. No more question of life or death.

Their bodies, hardened by war, moved in unison, like two predators studying each other. Sweat glistened on their skin, their muscles tensed and relaxed, every push, every grip imbued with meaning. They wrestled not to win, but to understand what remained of that old feud. Although each of them wanted victory in this, their first unmilitary match since the distant junior championship.

Ivan sensed Aslan's strength, his endurance, his courage. Aslan saw in Ivan not only an opponent, but also a man who had been through much, a man who understood him without words. In this match, they bared not only their bodies but also their souls.

Their bodies intertwined in a mutual cross-hold, frozen like an antique sculpture. Only the tensed muscles and sweat beading on their skin indicated that they were struggling. Ivan, using all his strength and agility, managed to lift Aslan, throw him onto the carpet, and, after overcoming stiff resistance, pinned him. Ivan held his opponent, feeling Aslan’s heart beat beneath his hand. A minute seemed an eternity. In that moment, there was no winner or loser. There were only two people who had found each other in the chaos of war.

Aslan no longer resisted. He looked into Ivan's eyes, and in his gaze there was neither anger nor despair. There was only acceptance and something else Ivan couldn't name. When the minute was up, Ivan loosened his grip. They laid like that, their bodies heated by the fight touching, their ragged breaths blending.

Ivan leaned over and kissed Aslan. It was the kiss of a man who had found in another what he had been searching for his entire life. Aslan kissed him back, and in that moment all the boundaries between them vanished. War, duty, past—all that was left behind. Only the two of them remained, their bodies, their souls, their friendship that had overcome hatred.

Their embrace was gentle yet full of strength, as if they were trying to absorb into each other all those months of separation, all those unspoken words that had accumulated in their hearts. Ivan's fingers slid over Aslan's damp skin, tracing the lines of his back, feeling every muscle. Aslan, in turn, pressed his chest against Ivan's, his head resting on the Russian youth’s shoulder, and he inhaled his scent—the scent of sweat, earth, and something elusively familiar. In this silence, broken only by their ragged breathing, they found refuge from the world. There was no room here for hatred, for prejudice, for anything that divided their peoples. There was only a pure, primal connection, forged in the fire of trials, tempered in struggle, and now blossoming into tenderness.

Ivan felt Aslan's heart beat in unison with his own, and it was the loudest and truest sound he had ever heard. He understood that this moment was more than just the reconciliation of two enemies. It was the beginning of something new, something deep and inexplicable, something that transcended ordinary human relationships.

Aslan, closing his eyes, allowed himself to dissolve in this feeling. He had always been strong and independent, but now he felt protected and… loved. In Ivan's arms, he found the peace he had so lacked in his turbulent life. He understood that this Russian guy, who had once been his enemy, had now become his closest friend, his refuge, his home.

And yet they could have killed each other many times before...

They laid there for a long time, until the sun's rays began to fade, until the shadows lengthened, filling the room. Aslan's father, returning, seeing them clasped in each other's arms, stopped for a moment, and then said to his son: "Aslan, can you think of anything else than wrestling? Your friend is your guest, and instead of dining, you've started a wrestling with him."

The friends dressed and came to the table. Something in their eyes demanded no words. Peace, however fragile, had given them a chance. A chance for a new life, for a new future. And they both knew they wouldn't miss this chance. They'd been through war, through struggle, through pain, to find each other. And now that they had, they clung to this bond tightly, knowing it was the most precious thing they had.

During dinner, Aslan's father, having sent his son away under some pretext, remained alone with Ivan for a few minutes. After a moment's hesitation, he told a family story:

"When I was very young, on the eve of my own wedding, I killed a man—a Russian engineer. He tried to woo my bride, and I called him outside to talk, man to man; there was no one to stand between us. I was prisoned for ten years, during which time my parents died, and my bride... she waited for me all these long years, even though she had been repeatedly proposed by another men. When I was released from prison, we got married, and only ten years later our first and only son, Aslan, was born. I thought then that God had forgiven me the sin of murder.

Aslan lived up to all my expectations. He was brave, strong, obedient; he'd wrestled from a young age and even won first place in the youth championship—well, you know that yourself. And then he went off to war, and I was proud of my brave son, but his mother…she'd been sick and wasting away ever since. Aslan managed to find her alive and say goodbye, and she demanded an oath from him that he wouldn't go off to war again. And he swore, although at that moment I was sure he'd lied to his mother so she'd die in peace.

After his mother's funeral, Aslan told me he had found a Russian friend and brother in the war. And he would not and could not be soldier any more. At first, I was shocked my son had befriended the enemy, and then…then I realized that only now my sin of murder had truly been forgiven”