After reading Anna Karenina, I got a desire to visit Leo Tolstoy and personally pay tribute to him on that masterpiece. What I like about Tolstoy first of all is that his stories are unforced, they somehow flow without any artistic pretensions. In addition, I was attracted to Tolstoy because he was an anarchist, so he also influenced such characters as Gandhi.
He greeted me with a scowl in the armchair at his desk. Tolstoy is apparently still writing. What he writes and how he writes, only the angels around him know, although we might get some insights if if we make a little effort in that direction.
I was caught off guard by his deep blue eyes. He is a noble character, no doubt about that. He is young-looking, if that can even be said for someone who has not been alive for more than a hundred years, and died at a very old age. He was upset when he saw me. He said to me: “Well, what do you want from me?”
I told him I just wanted to give him credit in a big way and bow to him. He told me that he receives visits from numerous admirers every day, so in the last hundred years or so he has become a bit tired of both people and spirits. I had to tell him that perhaps I am different from many others in that, as far as I know, I am still alive. Tolstoy smiled at me for the first time. Then he told me something that I will remember all my life and that will probably encourage me in some difficult situations in the future. He told me: I didn’t know how to do it while I was alive, I regret that I didn’t.
To conclude this short story: Tolstoy, according to what I saw and felt, is an angel of human origin.