З життя
«Знайшла сили для суду, але не для турботи про матір!»
Коли я була маленькою дівчинкою, світом моїм була бабуся. Саме вона виховувала мене, вчила життя, гладила колінки, коли я падала, і пригортала до себе, коли мама знову зникала у пошуках «свого щастя». Мама завжди була в дорозі — то з одним чоловіком, то з іншим, і на мене в неї не лишалось ні сили, ні бажання. Вона з’являлася, як гість: на день-другий, з кількома фразами й холодним поглядом, і знову щезала.
А бабуся… Бабуся була для мене всім. Вона була і матір’ю, і подругою, і опорою. Віддавала мені усе — час, душу, останню гривню. Навіть коли я підросла й поїхала навчатися до Львова, бабуся лишалася найближчою й найдорожчою людиною. Та, на лихо, доля розпорядилась інакше — незабаром вона серйозно захворіла, і їй знадобився постійний догляд. Я, кинувши навчання, повернулася додому. Грошей не вистачало, і я зверталася по допомогу до матері. Але щоразу чула одне:
— Я сама ледве на ногах тримаюся… У мене тиск, серце, суглоби… Ти й уявити не можеш, як мені важко. Мабуть, інвалідом стану!
Слухаючи це день у день, я не розуміла: навіщо вона це говорить, якщо допомагати не збирається? Бабуся, побачивши мою розгубленість, якось тихо промовила:
— Це вона заздалегідь алібі готує. Щоб потім ніхто не докоряв, що за матір’ю не доглядала. Бо ж сама була «хвора» й не могла.
І справді, мама щоразу підкреслювала свою «неміч», але коли бабуся оформила на мене дарчу на квартиру, а за пару років пішла з життя — сталося диво. Мама, раптом одужавши й забувши про всі свої хвороби, кинулася до суду. Мовляв, я скористалася станом бабусі, вона була «не при собі», тому заповіт треба скасувати. І що тут почалося! Папери, позови, засідання… Я навіть не знала, звідки в неї сили: ще вчора ледве ходила, а тепер годинами бігає по інстанціях.
З кожним днем я все більше дивувалася: скільки ж у ній злості й жадоби наживи. Де були ці сили, коли бабусі потрібна була допомога? Де була ця енергія, коли я, двадцятирічна дівчина, сама годувала, мила й годувала лежачого старого? Тоді вона лише ридала в трубку й зітхала, як їй погано. А зараз — жвава, активна, боєцька. Вже всім на вуха повісила, як її бідну матір позбавили спадщини, як її обдурили, зрадили, лишили житла.
Та жодного дня вона не провела біля бабусі. Жодне ліки не купила. Жодної ночі не доглядала. Усе лежало на мені. Лише я знала, як бабуся стогнала від болю, як втрачала свідомість, як просила води серед ночі. Лише я чула її останній подих, тримала її холодніючу руку, плакала над нею.
Коли бабуся оформляла на мене квартиру, вона глянула мені в очі й сказала:
— Я не хочу, щоб твоя мати отримала хоча б копійку. Ти була поруч, лише ти. Це — твоє. Ти заслужила.
Я не хочу помсти. Мені не потрібна війна. Але я не дозволю нікому, навіть власній матері, копатися у волі людини, яка дала мені все. Я мусию це відстояти — не заради квартири, а заради пам’яті. Заради любові. Заради правди.
Нехай мама подає до суду, розповідає знайомим казки, грає трагедію. Як знаю правду. І поки в мене є голос — я його не віддам.
Життя навчає: іноді найсумніше — не боротьба з чужими, а доводити очевидне рідним.
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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