Page 227 - The Mirror of My Soul. Vol. 1

Nicolai Levashov. The Mirror of My Soul. Vol. 1. Born in the USSR

the limits of Moscow and its outskirts, we moved on to the aim of my guest’s visit. She

gave a more detailed description of her work and the names of several famous people,
whom she had found and “cleared the way” for. If she found an interesting person, she
tried to ensure that this person was shown on Soviet Central TV before these video
materials went to Europe.

Svetlana told me that the words of the Donetsk journalist about my ability to
transform brain surprised her. Therefore, she asked me to explain, whether she had
understood correctly and what exactly, I meant by that. And I began to tell about the
work to which I have dedicated my life and how I went against the current in spite of the
grins and mockery of people around me: although, those people did not have the slightest
idea of what they mocked. Usually, grins and mockery dis-appeared very quickly, when
I began to prove my words.

I began to tell her all about it and was surprised by the fact that there was no
mockery from her, even mentally. Usually I begin my conversation with an unknown
person touching upon some boundary subject and look at how this person reacts to my

words. If I see that he perceives the in-formation normally, that his brain does not begin
to “boil” and he does not think that someone (me in particular) is not in his right mind,
gradually I begin to add more interesting (from my point of view) information and tell
about the way I came to one or another conclusion or understanding. And even if people
perceived my information adequately, nevertheless, in an hour or two, mostly, their brain
will “overheat”.

With this woman the situation was the opposite—the more I told her, the more
animated she became and the more inner interest I saw in her eyes. It is always pleasant
to meet a person who understands what you say. I was so carried away with my story
that, when I “came to my senses”, it appeared that it was already very late and the last

suburban electric train had left for Moscow. Svetlana asked me whether it was possible
to call a taxi in Butovo. I answered that it was certainly possible, but improbable, that a
taxi would arrive and that sometimes it was possible to find a taxi near the subway station
and suggested taking them to their hotel. I declined all objections that it was in-
convenient to take up my time and I said that beautiful women should not “push their
luck” late at night. I took my car keys and we went out.

My Mercedes was in front of the entrance, right under the windows my aunt’s
apartment. We got in the car and left for Moscow. Svetlana stayed at the hotel “Kiev”
near the Kievan railway station. At that time there were not many cars on Moscow roads,
and late at night they were almost empty and it was possible to maintain a high speed,
fearing only traffic cops with their fines for exceeding the speed-limit. This factor
restrained me a little, however, at night I rarely drove at a speed of less than 100-120
kilometers per hour. Therefore, I pretty quickly delivered my guests to the ho-tel, said
goodbye and wished them good night, and went back home.

Svetlana visited me a couple of times with her friend Olga, and later began to come
alone. Olga was not interested in our conversations at all. She found it tedious. She was

interested in quite another thing and when she saw that she could not get it, she was
obviously bored and did not even bother to hide it.

The conversations with Svetlana were interesting not only because I had a
gratifying listener, who understood everything I was talking about and I had no need

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