З життя
Ірена не здогадувалася, що син забере її додому.
Ірина ніколи не думала, що син забере її додому.
Хто міг уявити, що Ірина, колись успішна інженерка і шанована мати двох дітей, одного дня опиниться у будинку для літніх людей.
Її життя було насиченим і цікавим, і як всі матері, вона постійно балансувала між домом і роботою. Багато хто з колег дивувався, як вона так вдало поєднувала ці два обов’язки. Ніхто навіть не здогадувався, як важко їй було все це поєднати.
Вона завжди була усміхненою і сповненою життя, яке залишало її лише тоді, коли вона переступала поріг власного дому. Її чоловік помер, коли діти ще були маленькими, і тому їй було вдвічі важче поєднувати все це.
Хоч вона дуже старалася, та десь у вихованні дітей, особливо доньки, допустила якусь помилку.
Завжди добра, співчутлива і любляча мати, вона не змогла привити ці риси своїй Галинці.
Незважаючи на всі її колишні добрі вчинки, час не був прихильним до неї. Вона ніколи не думала, що колись стане непотрібною своїм дітям.
Старша дочка Галина не бачила матір вже кілька років. Одного дня вона вирушила на роботу до Нідерландів і там залишилася. Вона рідко спілкувалася з матір’ю, для якої кожен рік був стражданням від туги за дочкою.
На обличчі Ірини з’являлося дедалі більше зморшок, а очі ставали все тьмянішими. Вона не могла знайти радості в житті, і лише пояснювала собі, що у Галинки там своя сім’я, свої проблеми, і вона не буде турбувати себе старшою матір’ю.
Її син Михайло кілька років тому поїхав на навчання до іншого міста і там залишився, завів сім’ю, але завжди мав час зателефонувати мамі, хоча рідко відвідував, бо постійно працював, і вона це прекрасно розуміла.
Ірина дивилася в вікно пансіонату і помітила, як її очі виблискували в склі — це було відображення її очей, сповнених сліз.
За вікном тихо шуміли дерева, дощ м’яко стукав краплями по рамі. На тротуарі прогулювались люди з яскравими парасолями. Там вирувало життя.
Наближалися її день народження, вона примружила очі і легка усмішка осяяла її обличчя. Вона згадала минулі роки та своїх дітей. Час, коли вона раділа кожному дню, спостерігаючи, як вони граються, ростуть і біжать до неї, сідаючи на коліна.
Колись на свято до її дому з’їжджалися багато гостей, родичів, друзів, а передусім її діти. Тепер вона сиділа сама, усміхнена, але з відчуттям зневіри, бідна жінка.
Раптом почулося стукання:
— Заходьте! — ледве проказала Ірина.
До кімнати вбігло кілька літніх жінок у капцях, на чолі з її сусідкою по кімнаті, Ніною.
— З днем народження, дорога Іринко, міцного здоров’я! — хором промовили вони під шум безупинного дощу.
— Я цього не очікувала, — жінка була розгублена.
— Могли б хоч попередити, бешкетники!
— Яка ж це була б несподіванка, — зазначила одна зі старших жінок, простягнувши руку з пакунком, що пахнув чимсь смачненьким.
Іменинниця встала з крісла і сказала:
— Заходьте, розміщуйтеся, я дуже приємно вражена.
Свято вдалося, вони заварили смачний чай, з’їли по шматочку торта, довго ще розмовляли, а потім розійшлися по своїх кімнатах.
— Мамо, мамо! З днем народження — десь вдалині пролунало.
Вона усміхнулася, побачивши уві сні свого сина. Але це вже не той хлопчик, якого вона пам’ятала, а ґречний, дорослий чоловік.
Мамо, прокинься — пролунали слова чіткіше. Раптом вона відкрила очі і підскочила отетерілою.
— Мій син? Це не сон, правда?
Її подих частішав, а щоки відразу стали вологими від сліз.
— Це не сон, я тут, мамо. Я хотів тобі зробити сюрприз, не міг залишити тебе саму в твій день народження.
— Я не знав, що ти тут перебуваєш, думав, що з тобою все гаразд. Приїхав додому, а сусіди мені сказали, де ти. Я не мав гадки, що моя сестра влаштувала тебе в таке місце і навіть мене не повідомила. Боюсь запитати, як тобі тут.
— Добре, сину, — відповіла Ірина з майже непомітним смутком.
— Готуйся, у нас небагато часу, наш потяг скоро відправляється.
— Потяг? — Ірина була розгублена.
— Так, дорога, ми повертаємось додому.
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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