З життя
«Я пам’ятаю!»
«Я не забула!»
– Бабусю, уявляєш, ми сьогодні на озері знайшли золоте кільце! У піску! Тато випадково руку сунув у пісок, а там кільце!
– Та невже?!
– Так, бабусю, не віриш?!
– Звісно, вірю, люба.
– І тато його одразу мамі подарував! Там навіть бірка була!
– Бірка?!
– Так! Тато пояснив, що, найімовірніше, кільце якось із ювелірного магазину випадково закотилося в пісок.
– У пісок?!
– Так, бабусю!!! Ну, так він нам і мамі пояснив. Що це не з потопельника чи не вкрадене кільце!
– Ну, якщо тато так сказав…
– Так, бабусю! І сказав, що там таких кілець дуже багато! Ми з Лесиком ще тиждень цілими днями цей дурний пісок риємо! Нам хоча б одне маленьке кільце знайти.
– У Лесика пройшов кашель?
– Звісно, пройшов. Коли йому кашляти?! Тут знаєш, скільки справ?! Як у Бімки справи?
– Нормально. Що ви там їсте?
– Бабусю, не переводь тему. Покажи його!
Бабуся повернула камеру телефону на собаку. Бім лежав поруч і уважно слухав діалог.
– От. Привітайся, Біме.
– Бабусю, а чому він такий сумний?!
– Нормальний він, люба.
– Ні! Я ж знаю, який він нормальний! Біму!!! Що це там тобі?!
Біму здалося, що він почув знайомий і рідний голос. Він вильнув хвостом.
– Гаразд, люба, мені пора на дачу збиратися. Ви ще довго там?
– Мама хоче ще на два тижні залишитися.
– На два тижні?! – бабуся подивилася на Біма.
– Ну так. Нам тут добре! От би ще кільце знайти… Біму, хочеш кільце на нашийник?!
– Па-па, люба.
***
– Мам, привіт! Ліза сказала, щось термінове?
– Так. Коли ви прилітаєте?
– Не знаю. Тут дуже добре. Може, ще пару тижнів. А що?!
– Нічого! Бім не їсть зовсім!
– Як не їсть?!
– А от так не їсть. Як ви поїхали, тільки спить і у вікно дивиться, а при найменшому шурхоті в під’їзді біжить до дверей і гавкає.
– Ви йому точно той корм даєте?!
– Ні, блін, сирою картоплею годуємо! Звісно, кормом!
– Блін.
– От тобі й блін. Він схуд, знаєш, як?!
– Ну-ка, покажи?!
Бабуся показала сплячого Біма.
– От. Шкіра й кістки.
– Може, його до ветеринара?!
– До якого ветеринара?! Ти нормальний?! Він за вами сумує?! Вас уже місяць немає! Ви його так надовго ніколи не залишали!
– Мам, давай так. Я запишу вас до ветеринара. Відведи його, будь ласка.
– Ну, добре.
***
– Мама, привіт! Ну як сходили?
– Ох… Привіт. Сходили. Він ветеринара вкусив, коли той хотів його зважити. Я його утримати не змогла. Намордник довелося надягнути, щоб узд зробити.
– Блін.
– От тобі й блін. Забився в кут і гарчить. Звідки сили взялися – незрозуміло.
– Ну, а лікар що сказав?
– Каже, кров треба здати. Зовні все нормально. Скоріш за все, стрес у нього.
– Чому?
– Чому?! Ти ще питаєш???
– Мамо, не кричи! Ми теж на нервах.
– Ой, робіть, що хочете…
***
– Мамо, привіт. Чому так пізно?
– Мені здається, він ледь дихає.
– Як?! У нас літак зранку. Мамо, заспокойся. Не плач.
– Він кілька днів не їсть. Раніше хоч трішки…
Хтось із дітей ззаду спитав:
– Бабусю, а чому ти плачеш?
– Любий, Біму погано.
– Тато казав… Ну ми ж завтра прилітаємо!
– Боюся, що можна…
Несподівано на камері телефону бабусі з’явилося обличчя дівчинки.
– Ні!!! Бабусю, піднеси екран телефону до нього і ввімкни гучний зв’язок!
– Любий, він…
– Піднеси!!!!
Вона піднесла телефон до сплячого собаки.
– Бім, ти мене чуєш?! Ми завтра приїдемо! Я знаю, що ти на нас образився. Ти думаєш, що ми тебе забули! Бім, слухай мене!
Собака підвелася. Вона уважно слухала.
– Я теж ображаюся, але потім забуваю. Ну, а який сенс?! Все життя прожити сумною та ображеною?
Зрозумій, Бім, ти – Зайцев! А Зайцеви, коли складно й страшно, не падають духом. Бім Зайцев, ти думаєш, я не забула, як ти тоді на ротвейлера дурного кинувся, коли він на мене напав?
Ти його вдвічі менший був, але захистив мене! Дісталося тобі тоді. І ти думаєш після цього, я тебе забула?!
Собака слабо вильнула хвостом.
– Бім Зайцев, я прошу тебе піти на кухню і з’їсти ці коричневі шматочки! Марш на кухню!
Собака повільно пішла на кухню і почала їсти корм зі своєї миски.
***
Коли вранці вони прилетіли, Бім пробачив їх. Але не відразу. Хвилин через п’ять. Спочатку відвернувся, пішов у свій куток, а потім кинувся всіх облизувати. Брудні ж. З дороги.
Michael Froze: From Behind the Tree, a Dog He’d Recognise Anywhere Watched Him with Sad, Knowing Eyes
I frozepeering from behind an old oak tree, a dog watched me with a sadness Id have recognised anywhere. Dust...
DO I REMEMBER? I CAN’T FORGET! “Polly, listen… Remember my illegitimate daughter, Anastasia?” My husband spoke in riddles, making me uneasy. “Do I remember? I can’t forget! Why?” I sat down, bracing for bad news. “Well… Anastasia is begging us to take in her daughter—my granddaughter,” he mumbled. “And why on earth should we, Alex? Where’s Anastasia’s husband? Disappeared into thin air?” I was intrigued. “The thing is, Anastasia doesn’t have much time left. She never had a husband. Her mother remarried and lives in America. They’re estranged, and she has no other family. That’s why she’s asking…” Alex couldn’t meet my eyes. “So, what’s your plan?” I had already decided. “Well, I’m asking you, Polly. Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do,” he finally looked at me. “How convenient. You made mistakes in your youth, and now I’m to shoulder the burden of a stranger’s child? Isn’t that right?” My husband’s feebleness made me furious. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alex pushed back. “Oh, you remembered now! Yet, when you fooled around, did you consult me? I’m your wife!” Tears welled up and I stormed out… In school, I dated a boy named Peter, until a new boy, Alex, arrived and swept me off my feet. I broke up with Peter. Alex noticed me, walked me home, kissed my cheek, and picked flowers for me. A week later, he led me to his bed. I didn’t protest—I fell head over heels for Alex. After we graduated, he went off to serve in the army in another city. We wrote to each other for a year. Then Alex returned on leave. I was overjoyed. He promised we’d marry when he came back for good—already considered me his wife. His sweet words melted me every time, even years later: one loving look from Alex, and I’d melt like chocolate in the sun. Alex went back to the army. I waited, confident I was a betrothed bride. Six months later, a letter arrived: Alex had found “real love” in his garrison town and wasn’t coming back. But I was already carrying Alex’s baby. So much for a wedding—just as my gran warned me. When the time came, I gave birth to my son, Ivan. Peter, my old boyfriend, stepped in to help. Desperate, I accepted. Yes, Peter and I became intimate. I’d long given up hope of seeing Alex again. Then he turned up, surprised to see Peter there. “Can I come in?” Alex asked. “Come on in, since you’re here,” Peter reluctantly allowed. Sensing the tension, Ivan clung to Peter, wailing. “Peter, why don’t you take Ivan for a walk?” I was at a loss. When they left, Alex asked, “Is he your husband?” “What’s it to you? Why are you here?” I was angry and confused. “I missed you. I see you’ve made a life with Peter—you didn’t wait for me. Well, I’ll go—sorry to intrude on your happy family,” he said, heading for the door. “Wait, Alex. Why have you come—just to hurt me? Peter helps me cope with loneliness. He’s been raising your two-year-old son, by the way,” I tried to keep him there. My love for him hadn’t died. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” Alex asked, hope in his voice. “Come in, dinner’s ready,” my heart leapt—he came back, so he hadn’t forgotten. Why resist? Peter was shoved aside. My Ivan needed his real father. Later, Peter married a lovely woman with two children. A few years passed. Alex could never love Ivan as his own—he was convinced Ivan was Peter’s son. Alex never really cared for Ivan. He always had an eye for the ladies. He was forever chasing after women, easily smitten, just as easily moving on—including some of my own friends. I cried but kept loving him, determined to hold my family together. It was easier for me than for him—the one who loves is always blinded by hope. I never needed to lie or invent excuses; I just loved him. He was my sun. Sometimes I wanted to leave, but then I’d scold myself: Where would I go, who could compare? Besides, Alex would be lost without me. I was wife, lover, and mother to him. Alex lost his own mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep. Maybe that’s why he always looked for lost affection elsewhere. I forgave everything. Once, after a bitter argument, I threw him out. He moved in with his relatives. Months passed—I forgot why we argued—but he didn’t return. At last, I went to his family’s house. His aunt was surprised to see me. “Polly, why do you want Alex? He said you’d divorced—he has a new girlfriend now.” I found out where she lived and paid them a visit. “Hello! Could I see Alex, please?” I asked politely. She just smirked and slammed the door in my face. I left in silence. A year later, Alex came back. By then the girl had given birth to his daughter, Anastasia. To this day, I blame myself for throwing him out—maybe that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up otherwise. I tried harder to please and adore Alex. We never talked about his illegitimate daughter. It seemed if we did, our family would fall apart. We let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what’s one stray child? It happens. I blamed the “temptresses” instead. In time, Alex settled down. Flings ended. He stayed home watching TV. Our son married early, gave us three grandkids. Then, out of nowhere… Anastasia, Alex’s daughter from long ago, reappeared—asking us to take in her daughter. How would I explain a new little girl to Ivan? He never knew about his father’s youthful escapades. In the end, we took legal guardianship of five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away, gone at thirty. Graves grow over with grass, but life goes on. Alex spoke to Ivan man-to-man. After hearing his father’s confession, Ivan said, “What’s done is done, you don’t answer to me. But the girl should stay—she’s family.” Alex and I breathed easier. We’d raised a kind son. Now, Alina is sixteen. She adores her Grandpa Alex, whispers secrets to him, calls me Granny, and says she’s my spitting image at her age. I never argue…
DO I REMEMBER? I COULD NEVER FORGET! Polly, darling, theres something I must tell you Well, do you recall my...
Winter had blanketed Andrew’s garden with soft snow, but his loyal dog Duke, a massive German Shepherd, was acting strangely. Instead of curling up in the large kennel Andrew had lovingly built for him last summer, Duke stubbornly insisted on sleeping outside, right in the snow. Watching from his window, Andrew felt a pang of worry—Duke had never behaved like this before. Each morning, as he stepped outside, Andrew noticed Duke watching him tensely. Whenever he approached the kennel, Duke positioned himself between Andrew and the entrance, growling softly and looking at him pleadingly, as if to say: “Please, don’t go in there.” This odd behaviour was so out of character for their years of friendship, it made Andrew uneasy—what was his best friend hiding? Determined to get to the bottom of it, Andrew came up with a plan—he lured Duke into the kitchen with a tempting piece of steak. While the dog, locked inside, barked desperately at the window, Andrew crept towards the kennel and crouched down to peer inside. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw something that froze him on the spot… …There, curled up in a blanket, was a tiny kitten—dirty, freezing, and barely breathing. Its eyes barely opened, and its frail body shivered with cold. Duke had found it somewhere, and instead of chasing it away or leaving it to its fate, he had sheltered it. He had slept outside to avoid scaring it and guarded the entrance as if there was treasure inside. Andrew held his breath. He reached out, gently lifted the tiny creature and pressed it to his chest. In that moment, Duke raced over and nestled beside his shoulder—not growling, but gently, eager to help. “You’re a good dog, Duke…” Andrew whispered, clutching the kitten. “Better than most people.” From that day on, there were no longer just two friends living in the garden, but three. And the lovingly built kennel found its purpose again—as a little home for souls in need of saving.
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