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.
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The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**
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