#12 | July 17 - 30, 1997  

By Edward Limonov

Ihave arrived to Moscow from Paris on September 16, 1993. During the last few days before departure I was somehow shocked by the series of unusual ominous events. For the first time of my Parisian life, where I had lived for thirteen years, walking near Notre-Dame cathedral, on the Archbishop's bridge, I saw a drowned corpse. Face was a pale, long black hair, wearing a suit and tie, corpse was slowly moving in Seine's waters.

The very next day I was walking Boulevard Saint-Michel, when I was suddenly attacked by the bees! I was savagely stung three times in my head. To be stung by the wild bees in the middle of totally asphalted and cemented city of Paris in something very very strange, isn't it? I thought that the forces beyond the physical world are giving me the signals. I thought little bit more and decided that supernatural forces are trying to prevent me from going to Moscow. In addition the very last day on rue de Buci I was literally covered with a droppings of a pigeons. However, that last event was a rather good omen. All message could be read as such: "Something terrible will happen in Moscow. You better to stay in Paris, but if you will go, you personally will survive." I left Paris for Moscow.

I told about those supernatural events to my Moscow's friends (my editor Alexander Shatalov and journalist Yaroslav Mogutin among them) on my first evening in Moscow. I have expressed my amusement and anxiety. Especially I was alarmed by the bees, because chance to be stung by them in Paris is one in million. Friends didn't say I am crazy, but they looked at each other in a special way.

When, on September 21, President Yeltsin went on television with his abolishment of Parliament speech and the bloody days of short civil war (September, 21 - October, 4) followed, I wasn't surprised. As I was absolutely sure of my super-natural abilities. Lying on Ostankino's asphalt under heavy machine-guns fire I thought about bees and drowned man and pigeons' dropping.

I have had psychic's abilities as I remember myself. I never tried to develop them. I have chosen physical world as my field of battle, but I know and I remember few dozens of examples of my "illuminations" as I call them.

Summer 1980, Paris. In my dream I see the cracking ochre, red walls of the Southern city. Earth is moving, rising, parting and in its abysses, with a terrible screams are falling hundreds of people. I have lived then in my first Parisian apartment on rue des Archives. I was awakened by telephone ringing. That was my ex-wife Yelena, calling from Naples in Italy. "Ed, we have terrible earthquake here. Five thousands are dead! The walls cracking..." "Stop!" said I. "I will tell you what is going on in Naples." And I narrated to her my dream. "You saw all it on television," said she. "I have no television here," said I. Late in the evening I saw my dream again, in apartment of friend of mine, on television. I have explained my vision of earthquake in Naples in following way. In spring time in Paris we started, Yelena and I, a new romance, new love story. When she left Paris, very naturally all my energetic and spiritual forces were mobilized on the catch of her signals from Italy. Normally, she lived in Rome, but for the summer she went to Naples.

More recent example. My ex-wife Natasha was savagely attacked by "unknown man" in the night on March, 30, 1992 in Parisian night-club "Balalaika," where she sang. She was stabbed six times in her face with a screw-driver. Her left hand was broken twice. Shortly before that horrible event I was howling at night. I will quote from my book "Sentinel's assassination": "In the night from March 25, on March 26 I have seen in my dream The DEVIL, which I erased (almost erased, but with what means, the dream didn't explained), only his chalked head remained on the wall. But in replay he had splashed me with a 'fiery water' and I screamed terribly. Then Natasha awakened my and have risen to smoke a cigarette, frightened. As a man who is very far from mysticism, I was extremely horrified by this dream. I was absolutely sure, that big disaster is going to happen soon."

One more example. New York. Summer 1979. I am anxiously awaiting arrival of the proofs of my book of poetry "Russkoye." I was 36 years of age but it was going to be my first book published. I was in terribly need of that book, as a proof of my fitness in life, the evidence that I am not a loser. However my editors "Ardis Press" in Michigan were not in a hurry. Months have passed in waiting. Overtense, once I had a dream. I saw fat black man carrying long package. The dream didn't said that it was my book, but I knew that inside of package were the proofs of my book. I opened my eyes and directly from my bed looked from the window. (My bedroom was so tiny that my feet were almost touching the window.) I lived then on the corner of 83rd street and of First Avenue. I saw far away on the street mail-track. Black fat man closed the door of a truck, and started to move across the street. He was carrying a long package.

I put my jeans on and ran, barefooted, downstairs. I met a black mailman on the staircase of a second floor. Without a word, I put my hands on the package. "What the matter?!" screamed black man. "That is for me!" shouted I. "Savenko, apartment 4-B!" He took a look at address and gave long package to me, thinking, I suppose, that I am sick man. Why the package was long? "Ardis" publishers have cut proofs per three pages in length, I suppose "Ardis" publishers were lazy to cut every page separately.