З життя
Прогулянка Ліди вулицями рідного містечка.
Ліда йшла вулицями маленького рідного містечка. Точніше, рідним, вже більше сорока років, для неї був зовсім інший місто. Той, інший, був величезним і гучним. У ньому життя вирує цілодобово, всюди сяють вогні реклами. Тисячі туристів клацали фотоапаратами, мільйони мешканців поспішали у своїх справах, не піднімаючи очей і не помічаючи краси та історії довкола.
Коли Ліда щойно туди переїхала, вона дивувалася, як можна, проходячи повз Софійський собор, не зупинитися на секунду, не завмерти, захоплюючись його красою. Потім і сама так же бігла, не піднімаючи очі. А коли піднімати? Діти, чоловік, робота. Турботи, клопоти. Влилася у велике місто, стала своєю.
Раділа, що змогла втекти з маленького нудного містечка біля Дніпра. Життя там текло повільно й зовсім не цікаво. У такому містечку можна народитись і померти, жити ж неможливо. От вона й не стала там жити. Подарувала великому місту двох корінних мешканців. Хороші хлопці вийшли.
«Ой, онуки мої приїхали!» – ляскала в долоні бабуся й розставляла руки, щоб обійняти улюблених онуків. Малюки туллися до кругленької й м’якої, що пахне пиріжками бабусі, і обличчя Лідиної мами світилося неймовірним щастям.
Навкруги Віри, мами Ліди, із онуками бігала стара собака й кіт, десь за будинком кричав півень, оповіщаючи, що час забирати яйця. А Лідина мама не могла відпустити онуків, насолоджуючись такою довгоочікуваною близькістю. Як ніби, якщо вона їх відпустить, вони зникнуть.
Тільки сама, ставши бабусею, Ліда зрозуміла, що онуки в сто разів солодші за дітей. Дітей часом треба сварити, а з онуками — тільки святкування. З онуками можна забути про хворі коліна й хоч на хвилину стати маленькою Лідою, у якої все життя попереду. А життя пролетіло дуже швидко, більша її частина була позаду.
Дітей виростила. Тихо і без скандалів розлучилася з чоловіком. Вийшла на пенсію. Пів року тому поховала мати. Написала фарбою на паркані рідного дому «продається» і свій телефон. І ось знайшлися бажаючі купити. Приїхала обговорити угоду. Дай Боже, востаннє приїхала сюди. Нема інших приводів. Могила мами є, та мама пробачить, і родичі за могилою доглянуть. У маленьких містечках чужих могил немає.
Йшла вулицею і несподівано для самої себе милувалася небом, травою, будинками. Ніколи не помічала, який гарний містечко. Будинки всі доглянуті, зелені багато. Ось і знайомі з дитинства зелені ворота. Трохи похилена хвіртка з різьбленою поштовою скринькою. Відкрила її й занурилася в дитинство. Запущений сад зі старими яблунями і грушами зустрів її так, як ніби вона нікуди не виїжджала.
Зайшла в будинок. Пахне мамою. Дивно. Пів року порожній стояв, але ніби мама на ринок пішла півгодини тому. Пройшла в зал. Комод, накритий різьбленою серветкою з фотографіями в рамках. На всіх вона, діти, онуки і правнуки. Скатертина з великими рожевими трояндами на столі. Велика книжкова шафа. Спогади нахлинули.
Згадала, як маленькою тискала курчат у курнику за домом. Згадала, як полола картоплю і бурчала, що дня тут жити не буде, коли виросте. Згадала, як Михайло лазив до неї через вікно в спальню, щоб поцілувати її на ніч. Ох, Михайле, не дочекалася вона його з армії, поїхала підкоряти велике місто. Нерідко про це думала, але заборонила собі шкодувати про зроблене.
Відкрила верхній ящик комода. Гребінець, мамині гребені, намисто з червоного бурштину. Одягла на себе намисто. Подивилася в дзеркало. Гарно! Не модно, ні. Напевно, у модному вироку б засудили. Але їй добре. Як ніби мама по шиї рукою погладила.
Почула якісь крики біля хвіртки. «Ей? Тут хтось є?» — закричав дитячий голос. Пішла до хвіртки. Троє хлопців років п’яти-шести. У одного в руках цуценя. «Здрастуйте, тітонько! А ви що тут робите? Тут же ніхто не живе? Ви, мабуть, злодійка?» — сказав найсміливіший білявий хлопчик із цуценям у руках.
«Ні. Я не злодійка. Я донька Анни Петрівни, яка тут жила. Приїхала ось, дім продавати», – сказала Ліда. «Це ви даремно! Мій дідусь Мишко сказав, що такому домові зносу не буде», – сказав білявий. «А це хто у вас? Як звати?» – запитала Ліда і кивнула на цуценя.
«Це собака. Ми тут їй дім шукаємо. Я її до себе взяв, та дід не дозволяє. Він каже, поїду до батьків, а йому доглядати. А у нього є собака. Він у мене один живе. Бабусю ми поховали торік, тому друга собака йому занадто багато. А куди цю дівати? Ми її біля кар’єра знайшли і бубликом нагодували. Ось ходимо, пристраюємо. Можливо, вам потрібно собаку?» – сказав білявий і всунув цуценя в руки Ліді.
Цуценя було брудним, м’яким і пахло щенячим запахом. О! Як смачно пахнуть цуценята. Щенятам пахне травою, маминим молоком і щастям. Чому щастям? А хіба може бути нещасною людина, яка тримає на руках щеня? Ліда давно забула цей запах. Спочатку у чоловіка була алергія, та й тварин він не любив, а потім якось не до щенят було. Цуценя смішно хрюкнуло і лизнуло Ліду в обличчя.
«Артемко! Відчепись від жінки. Замучив усіх вже з цією собакою», – почулось голос ліворуч. До них підійшов старший чоловік. «Ліда! Треба ж! Приїхала! Мамин дім продавати будеш! Ти мене впізнала? Зовсім ти не змінилася, Ліду, зовсім. Це онук мій Артемко. Артем, відчепися від тітоньки, їй щеня не потрібен, вона тут жити не буде. Вона у нас киянка», – сказав той, в кому Ліда миттєво впізнала своє перше кохання, якого із-за приїжджого хлопця не дочекалася з армії.
Ліда повернулася і подивилася на дім, потім подивилася на Михайла, кинула погляд на щеня і несподівано для себе сказала: «Привіт, Мишко. Ні, я дім продавати не буду. Жалко такий дім. На віки будувався, і щеня візьму. Буду тут жити!».
«От і добре, Лідо. А я тобі допоможу. Там он дах може потекти або ще щось, ти ж пам’ятаєш, де я живу. Приходь, чай поп’ємо. А хочеш, я до тебе прийду. Хочеш, знову через вікно», – сказав Михайло і усміхнувся.
Ліда усміхнулася у відповідь і уткнулася в морду щеня, щоб не було видно, що вона почервоніла. Треба ж, стара баба, а почервоніла, як дівка, яке позорище. Михайло і діти пішли.
Ліда опустила щеня на підлогу і сказала йому: «Підемо змивати напис “продається” з паркану, тому що не продається цей дім. Це мій дім і твій дім. У нас з тобою стільки справ. Скоро канікули, онуки приїдуть. Треба готуватися. І погодься, Мишко зовсім не змінився. Очі ті ж і усмішка». Щеня радісно тявкнуло. Ліда зрозуміла, що вона вдома.
“We’ll Stay at Your Place for a While Since We Can’t Afford to Rent a Flat!” – My Friend Announced At 65, I’m a lively woman, never letting age stop me from exploring new places or meeting fascinating people. I look back at my youth with both joy and a touch of sadness. Back then, you could holiday anywhere you fancied! From seaside trips to camping adventures with friends, even sailing down any river you chose—all for just a little money. Sadly, those days are behind me now. I always loved meeting new people—on the beach, at the theatre, anywhere really. Many of those acquaintances became lifelong friends. One summer, I met Sara while staying at the same B&B. We parted as friends, keeping in touch with the occasional letter over the years. Then one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at 3 a.m. Please meet me!” Puzzled about who had sent it, my husband and I stayed put. But at four in the morning, our doorbell rang. To my shock, there stood Sara with two teenage girls, a grandmother, and a man, all surrounded by heaps of luggage. My husband and I were baffled but let these unexpected guests in. Sara exclaimed: – “Why didn’t you meet us? I sent you a telegram! Besides, that’s not cheap! – Sorry, we didn’t know who sent it! – Well, you gave me your address. So here we are. – I thought we’d stick to letters, nothing more!” Sara explained that one of the girls had just left school and decided to go to university, so the whole family came to support her. – “We’ll be living with you! We can’t afford to rent a flat or stay in a hotel!” I was stunned. We weren’t even related—why should we let them stay? We had to feed them three times a day; although they brought a bit of food, they cooked nothing and ate ours. I was left to serve everyone. After three exhausting days, I asked Sara and her family to leave—I didn’t care where to. That sparked a row. Sara smashed crockery and screamed hysterically. I was appalled. As they packed, they even managed to steal my dressing gown, a few towels, and somehow my large cooking pot vanished too—no idea how! That was the end of our friendship—and thank heavens! I’ve never heard from her since. How could anyone be so cheeky?! Now, I’m much more wary when I meet new people.
Well be staying at yours for a while. We dont have any money to rent a flat!my friend declared. I...
A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Forgetting a Gift, a Stray Kitten, and a Chance Encounter Turned the Holidays Around for Peter, Anna, and Little Masha in London
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He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together, Fifteen Mornings Waking Up Side by Side—But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Drive Him Mad, Especially One: Stretching Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Saying, “Good Morning, Sunshine! Today Will Be a Wonderful Day.” What Seemed a Simple Phrase, Her Slim Arms, Her Sleepy Face, Now Filled Him with Disgust. She’d Rise, Walk Past the Window, Gaze Out for a While, Then Slip off Her Nightdress and Head to the Bathroom. Early in Marriage, He’d Adored Her Body, Its Natural Confidence That Seemed Almost Indecent—But Now, Though She Was Still Beautiful, Her Nakedness Made Him Angry. Once, He Even Considered Pushing Her to Hurry Her Morning Routine but Only Managed a Gruff: “Get a Move On—I’ve Had Enough!” She Refused to Rush or Let His Affectionless Hostility Change Her Pace—She Knew About His Affair, Even Recognized the Young Woman He’d Been Seeing for Three Years. Time Dulles the Sharp Sting of Pride, Leaving Only a Lingering Sense of Uselessness. She Forgave Him—the Aggression, the Neglect, His Need to Relive His Youth—But She Wouldn’t Let Him Rob Her of Living Mindfully, Cherishing Each Moment. She’d Made Up Her Mind When She Learned She Was Ill. The Disease Was Slowly Consuming Her; It Would Win Soon. Her First Urge Was to Confess to Everyone—To Lessen the Brutal Truth by Sharing the Burden with Loved Ones. Yet She Endured the Hardest Day Alone, Accepting Her Fate, and Then Resolved to Remain Silent. Life Slipped Away, Yet Each Day She Gained the Wisdom of a True Observer. She Found Solace in a Quiet English Countryside Library, a Ninety-Minute Walk Each Way. Every Day, She’d Hide in the Narrow Aisles Marked “Life & Death’s Secrets” by the Elderly Librarian and Lose Herself in Books She Hoped Contained Every Answer. He’d Go to His Lover’s Flat, Where Everything Felt Warm, Bright, Familiar. Their Love Affair Had Grown Wild—Three Years of Passion, Jealousy, Heartache, and Asphyxiating Desire. Today He Came With a Decision: Divorce. Why Torment All Three of Them? He Didn’t Love His Wife—No, He Hated Her—and Here, He Could Start Fresh, Find Happiness. He Tried to Recall His Feelings for His Wife, but There Was Nothing—He Couldn’t Even Remember Caring for Her on That First Day. He Pulled Out a Photo of Her from His Wallet, Tore It Into Pieces—Determined to End It. They Arranged to Meet at the Restaurant Where, Six Months Earlier, They’d Celebrated Fifteen Years as Husband and Wife. She Arrived First. He Stopped Home to Find the Divorce Papers, Ransacking Drawers in a Panic Until He Spotted a Dark Blue Folder He’d Never Seen Before. He Ripped Off the Seal, Expecting Dirty Secrets—But Found Only Medical Reports, Official Documents. His Wife’s Name on Every Page. Realisation Struck Like Lightning; She Was Ill. He Googled the Diagnosis: “6–18 Months Life Expectancy.” Six Months Had Already Passed. He Remembered Little of What Happened Next—Only the Words “6–18 Months” Looping Relentlessly in His Mind. She Waited for Forty Minutes. No Answer from His Phone. She Paid the Bill and Went Outside. The Autumn Weather Was Glorious—The Sun Gentle, Comforting. “Life Is Beautiful, the World So Wonderful, So Warm.” For the First Time Since Her Diagnosis, She Felt Sorry for Herself. She’d Found the Strength to Hide Her Secret from Everyone, Sparing Them the Pain at the Cost of Her Own Crumbling Life. After This Year, She Would Be Nothing but a Memory. She Wandered Down the Street, Watching Bright Faces Filled With Hope Of Winters and Springs Yet to Come—As If the Future Were Theirs To Shape. She Would Never Know That Feeling Again. Bitterness Swelled and Burst Forth as Tears She Couldn’t Stop… He Paced the Room. For the First Time, He Felt The Swift Passage of Life as a Physical Ache. He Remembered His Wife Young, Full of Hope When They First Met—He’d Loved Her Then. In That Moment, Fifteen Years Vanished: Happiness, Youth, and Life Still Ahead. In Her Final Weeks, He Became Devoted, At Her Side Every Hour, Overcome by a Joy He’d Never Known. He Was Terrified She’d Leave—He Would Have Given His Own Life to Save Hers. Had Someone Reminded Him Of His Hatred Just a Month Ago, He’d Have Sworn: “That Wasn’t Me.” He Witnessed Her Battle to Say Goodbye, Weeping Secretly at Night When She Thought He Slept—He Understood No Punishment Was Worse Than Knowing Your Days Are Numbered. He Saw Her Fight for Every Moment, Grasping Even the Smallest Hope. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Path from Home to Cemetery in Flowers. He Wept Like a Child as Her Coffin Was Lowered—He Felt Centuries Older. At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found a New Year’s Wish She Had Written: “To Be Happy With Him Until My Last Day.” They Say All New Year’s Wishes Come True—Perhaps They Do, For That Year He Wrote: “To Be Free.” In the End, Each Got Exactly What, It Seemed, They Had Wished For…
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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—Yet I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Beds — “What are you doing here?” Standing in the middle of the swan-shaped flower beds, my mother-in-law shouted, “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I had seven children—never a single weed!” Her shriek drew the neighbours, who clung to the fence like crows and immediately dissected everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law took great pleasure in performing. I stood, speechless, as she went on. At last, worn out from shouting, she drew a breath and said loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I walked calmly past my mother-in-law, holding my child even closer. Once inside, I divided up, in a special box, everything my mother-in-law was to take that evening and the next morning. Without folding anything, I tossed my son’s things and mine into a bag. I left without saying a word. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is very expensive. The ones with foreign labels, well, we don’t use those or exchange them. So what am I to do? You left, offended for some reason, and here I am, about to meet my maker!” I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That’s it. I can’t go on—I have no physical or emotional strength left. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember saying goodbye for the last time, the ambulance taking him away, and waking up the next morning as a new mother… I didn’t care about anything. The world felt empty and pointless without my beloved husband. I nursed and rocked my son like clockwork, because that’s what I was told to do. A phone call snapped me out of my stupor. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. Apparently, she won’t last much longer.” I made my decision at once: after settling things, I sold my flat in London. I invested some of the money into building a home, so my son will have something of his own when he grows up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I haven’t really lived—I’ve just existed. I had no time for sleep, caring for both my mother-in-law and my baby son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law required round-the-clock care. At least I had the money. I called in the best specialists from all over the UK; I bought every medication prescribed. Eventually, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her through the house, then around the garden. By the end, she was strong enough to walk—on her own—as if nothing had happened… I don’t want to know her now, or hear from her ever again. Let her work out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her recovery. My son and I moved to our new flat. I never imagined it would end like this. I wanted to be close with my husband’s family, since I am an orphan myself. But now it’s just me. I need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about a tidy vegetable patch.
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For Two Years, Maria Was Just the Carer for Her Mother-in-Law Maria Managed to Marry a Very Distinguished Gentleman: All Her Friends Were Jealous. Her Husband Owned His Own Business, a Gated Luxury Home, Several Cars and a Cottage in the Countryside, All by Thirty-Two. Maria, Having Just Graduated and Worked as a Teacher for a Year, Married Him That Summer. After the Wedding, Her Husband Said There Was No Need for His Wife to Work for Peanuts. He Asked Her to Stay Home and Prepare for Children, and Maria Did Not Object. The First Year of Marriage Felt Like a Fairy Tale: Maria and Her Husband Travelled, Creating Memories and Buying Expensive Things. Yet Maria Had Nowhere to Wear Her New Clothes—Her Friends Were Busy Working and Spending Weekends With Their Families. Her Husband Often Partied Without Ever Inviting Maria. Maria Was Bored. Unable to Have Children, Her Feelings for Her Husband Faded. After Finishing Her Household Tasks, She Roamed Room to Room, Wondering About Her Future. A Year Passed. Her Husband Was Rarely Home, Often Returning in the Evenings, Exhausted and Irritable, Claiming His Business Was Struggling. First, He Told His Wife to Spend Less. Then He Demanded She Account for Every Purchase and Expense, Calculating and Insisting They Could Live Just as Well for Half the Amount. Maria Grew Worried. She Wanted to Work, But Couldn’t Find a Teaching Position. She Decided to Enrol on a Course, But Then Her Mother-in-Law Fell Ill, and Maria Had to Take Care of Her for Two Years. Her Husband Moved His Mother In. Maria Did Everything, Caring for the Sick. Her Husband Came Home Even Less. When Her Mother-in-Law Passed Away, Her Husband Grew Even More Distant—Barely Speaking to Maria, Withdrawn, Spending Most of His Time at Work and Seldom Returning Home. Maria Couldn’t Understand What Had Happened Until She Visited Her Mother-in-Law’s Old Flat, Where She Hadn’t Been for Ages. Behind Closed Doors, She Heard a Child Crying. Surprised, Maria Rang the Bell. A Young Woman Opened the Door—Maria Learned Her Husband Had Started a Second Family Before His Mother’s Illness, and Then Installed Them in His Mother’s Flat. For Maria, It Was a Shock. She Realised She Couldn’t Save Her Marriage. She Left for Another City, to Her Aunt, Practically With Nothing but a Small Bag—Not Wanting Anything Reminding Her of Her Marriage or How Badly Her Life Had Turned Out…
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