З життя
«Втомлені від міської розкоші: повернення до рідної домівки»
“Ми не хочем тут жити, сину. Повертаємось додому. В нас більше немає сил”, — сказали батьки, відмовившись від міської розкоші заради рідного села.
“Твої батьки з‘їхали з глузду, Тарасе? Хіба хтось міг уявити щось краще? Велика квартира, свіжо приготована їжа, усе під рукою. А їм усе не так!” — з роздратуванням вимовила Оксана, дружина.
“Обережніше, Оксанко”, — похмуро відповів Тарас.
“Та це ж правда! Вони не хочуть вчитися користуватися технікою, не виходять на вулицю, постійно незадоволені. Чому вони не можуть просто бути вдячними?”
Тарас мовчав. Він і сам не розумів, що коїться. Батьки справді змінилися. Колись жваві, енергійні, усміхнені — тепер вони, наче тіні, блукали по квартирі. Він перевіз їх до міста, вирвав із глухого села, купив усе найкраще — і що в результаті? Сум в очах і тиша. Невже він помилився?
Переїзд із села вони відкладали довго. Тарас умовляв, переконував, обіцяв золоті гори. Батьки не продавали хату — та й не було потреби, у сина були гроші. Врешті вони переїхали, але їхні душі, здавалося, залишилися там, під білими березами.
Петро та Ганна так і не звикли до нового місця. Їм не вистачало галасливого подвір‘я, сусідів, що заходять “на чай”, городу, запаху землі після дощу. Тут же — чужі обличчя, замкнені двері, швидкісні авто та вічна метушня. Навіть авто, яке Тарас подарував батькові, той боявся водити — надто багато знаків, поворотів, незнайомих вулиць.
“Як там наші сусіди?” — зітхала Ганна. “Певно, огірки гарно вродили, стільки дощів було… А я так і не зварила смородинового варення.”
“Годі, серце болить…” — шепотів Петро, витираючи очі. “Уві сні кожну ніч бачу нашу хату. Усе своє. А тут… ми тут чужі.”
“Ми не хотіли тебе образити, сину. Знаємо, ти стараєшся… Але це не наше. Не можемо ми тут жити.”
“А ти коли востаннє був у селі?” — спитав Петро. “Воно ж за дорогою, а зайти часу нема. А твоя Оксана тільки й робить, що здіймає очі, коли я їй розповідаю про добрива…”
У цю мить Тарас увійшов у дім. Приніс пакети з продуктами, якісь речі. Побачив їхні очі й зрозумів — час говорити відверто.
“Мамо, тату, що відбувається?”
“Сину… ми їдемо додому”, — тихо сказав Петро. “Повертаємось. У нас більше немає сил тут жити. Нам важко. Ми тут чужі. У нас там хата, земля, береза у дворі. Тут красиво, зручно… але не по душі.”
Тарас мовчав. Він дивився на батьків, на їхні втомлені обличчя, на руки, що звикли до землі, до простої праці. Він не розумів — як можна відмовитися від усього, що він для них облаштував? Але сперечатися не став.
“Добре. За тиждень допоможу з переїздом. Ваш вибір — я поважаю.”
“А завтра?” — несміливо спитала Ганна. “Може, завтра знайдеш час?”
“Завтра так завтра”, — кивнув син.
Він не міг зрозуміти їх до кінця. Сам-то в селі бунтівно дихав. А вони, навпаки, там оживали. Невже справді рідне — це не стіни та комфорт, а спогади, запахи, тиша та спів птахів?
Петро й Ганна ожили того ж вечора. Збирали речВони повернулися додому, де серце б‘єтся рівно, а душа знаходить спокій.
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