З життя
Эхо предательства: история любви и прощения
Зоя копала грядки во дворе, когда к ней подошла соседка Галина. Та небрежно бросила:
— Зоя, а твоего Сергея ты, что, голодом моришь? Он, между прочим, у Татьяны Степановны ужинает…
Зоя застыла на месте. Руки опустились сами собой.
— Галя, ты что несёшь?!
— Да то и несу, что своими глазами видела, — усмехнулась та. — Вчера зашла к учительнице, сына проверить. Подошла к окну, а там твой Серёга за столом сидит, будто дома. Я постучала — он аж под стол нырнул.
— Врёшь. Не может быть, — Зоя хотела отмахнуться, но в спине уже пробежал холодок.
— Да зачем мне врать? Не веришь — как хочешь. Только потом не удивляйся.
Зоя сделала вид, что не поверила, но сомнение засело в голове. Да и Сергей в последнее время стал есть как-то неохотно. Третий день приходит с работы и бубнит: «Устал, есть не хочу». Ни супчика, ни картошечки.
В тот вечер, когда муж сразу лёг спать, Зоя не могла уснуть. Она смотрела на его лицо в лунном свете и боролась с мыслями. «Не может быть. Не может…»
Через день Сергея не было до позднего вечера. Ужин остыл. Зоя, не выдержав, накинула кофту и пошла к дому Татьяны Степановны.
Подойдя к калитке, она замерла. Тишина. Свет горел только в прихожей. В доме — ни звука. Но что это за куртка висит в коридоре? Похожа. Очень похожа на Серёгину. И тут её осенило. Дочка Катя недавно научилась вышивать и, хвастаясь, украсила отцовскую подкладку цветочками. Зоя подошла и, дрожа, вывернула куртку. Крошечные ромашки врезались в глаза, как нож. Сердце забилось так, что казалось, выпрыгнет. Ноги подкосились. Она опустилась на пол. Слёзы хлынули сами.
Через минуту в коридор вышел Сергей. Растрёпанный, виноватый.
— Зоя… ты не так поняла…
— Что, биологию здесь преподаёшь? Или уроки математики до ночи? — Зоя встала, и в её голосе было больше боли, чем гнева. — Я-то, дура, верила, что ты устаёшь… А ты — с ней, за одним столом. И даже под стол прячешься, когда ловят!
Сергей бросился за ней, но она уже бежала по улице.
— Зоя! Ну прости! Люди же смотрят!
— Пусть смотрят! Я не по чужим постелям бегаю. Мне стыдиться нечего! Это тебе — и ей — должно быть стыдно!
Татьяна Степановна считала себя в селе городской дамой. Местные жители для неё не существовали. Она поселилась в коммуналке на четыре семьи и ждала только дня отъезда. Ей было не интересно ни с кем общаться, ни хозяйство вести, ни даже детей учить. Пока однажды не сломалась ступенька на крыльце. Тогда она заплакала прямо на пороге. В этот момент мимо шёл Сергей. Помог, починил. А потом — остался на чай.
Так всё и началось.
Сначала — печенье из магазина. Потом — жареная картошка. Потом — долгие разговоры за кухонным столом. Татьяна не любила Сергея, но и одна ей была не мила. А он… Он гордился. Учительница! Сидит с ним!
Но теперь всё раскрылось.
Зоя рыдала, уткнувшись в подушку. Дети — девятилетняя Катя и шестилетняя Лена — прижались к ней, не понимая, что случилось, но тоже заплакали. Потому что мама плачет.
Развод? А куда идти? Родных нет. В селе одни пересуды. Работы — кот наплакал.
Сергей чувствовал вину. Несколько дней он не подходил к Зое. Жил, как чужой. Сам варил, сам стирал. Пытался поговорить, извиниться, клялся — но Зоя была холодна.
— Возвращайся к своей учительнице. Я тебе не нужна.
— Зоя… ради девочек…
— Не прячься за дочек! Не тебе теперь ими прикрываться!
Прошло два месяца. Учебный год закончился. Татьяна уехала. Собрала вещи и покинула село. А в доме Зои и Сергея стояла ледяная тишина.
Август. Последние деньки лета. Девочки играли во дворе.
— Кать! Ленка! — позвала Зоя из окна.
Дети вбежали в дом. Мать протянула узелок с едой:
— Отнесите папе в поле обед.
Катя с Ленкой помчались со всех ног. Серёгин трактор стоял посреди поля. Девочки замахали руками.
— Пап! Мама обед передала!
Сергей вышел из кабины, будто очнулся.
— Мама?! Передала?! — переспросил он.
— Вот! — Катя протянула узелок. — Там котлеты и хлеб.
Сергей присел, разложил еду на клеёнке, вдохнул запах свежего хлеба. Глаза застилало.
— Пап, ты что, плачешь?
— Нет, просто пыль…
Вернувшись домой с полевыми цветами, Сергей подошёл к Зое.
— Прости меня, Зоя. И спасибо.
— Да ладно. Раз не простила бы — не кормила бы, — Зоя улыбнулась впервые за долгое время.
Прошло девять месяцев. В семье родился Ванечка. Крепкий, румяный, с папиными глазами.
А Сергей? Сергей больше ни разу не заходил к другим женщинам даже за спичками.
Теперь он точно знал: дом — самое дорогое, что у него есть.
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The children’s home has been waiting for you for ages! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a trembling voice. The target of my wild indignation was my cousin, Dima. God, how I loved him as a child! Blond hair, bright blue eyes, cheerful nature — that was Dima. …Relatives often gathered around the festive table. Of all my cousins, I singled out Dima. He could spin tales with his tongue like a lace maker and he drew brilliantly. Sometimes he would churn out five or six sketches an evening. I would stare, entranced by their beauty, quietly gathering his drawings and hiding them in my desk. I carefully treasured my cousin’s artwork. Dima was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died—gone so suddenly, she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—what would happen to Dima? Naturally, they first turned to his father, but finding him was no easy feat. He and Dima’s mother were long divorced, and the new family “couldn’t be disturbed.” The rest of the relatives just shrugged: “We have our own families, our own problems.” Turns out, during the day, family is there, but come nightfall, not a soul to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became Dima’s guardians—after all, Dima’s late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But then… On his very first day in our home, Dima’s behavior set me on edge. To comfort her orphaned nephew, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just say.” And Dima immediately replied, “A model train set.” Now, this wasn’t a cheap toy. I was shocked—your mum just died, the most important person in your life, and all you want is a train set? How could you even think of that? But my parents immediately bought him his dream. Then it was, “Buy me a tape player, jeans, a designer jacket…” This was the eighties, mind you, and not only was this stuff pricey, but it was impossible to get. My parents made sacrifices for the orphan, even at our own expense. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When Dima turned sixteen, he discovered girls. And he wasn’t afraid to show his affection. Worse yet, he started making advances toward me—his own cousin. But as a sporty girl, I skillfully dodged his unwelcome attention. We’d even come to blows. I would cry and cry. I never told my parents—they didn’t need the heartache. Kids don’t talk about such things. After I fended him off, Dima wasted no time turning to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. …But Dima was also a shameless thief. I remember my piggy bank: saving on school lunches to buy presents for my parents, only to find it empty one day! Dima denied everything—didn’t bat an eye, didn’t blush, just outright lied. It broke my heart. How could he steal while living under our roof? He was wrecking our family from within, but Dima really didn’t understand why I was upset. He truly believed everyone owed him. I began to hate him. That’s when I finally screamed at him: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said things that can never be taken back… My mum barely managed to calm me. From that day on, Dima ceased to exist for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives knew what a “character” Dima was—they lived nearby and seen it all. Our family lived across town. Even Dima’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’re making a big mistake. Dima will ruin your other children too.” …At a new school, he met Katy—she loved Dima all her life. She married him straight out of school. They had a daughter, and Katy put up with his lies and cheating without protest. As they say: single life is hardship, married life is double. Dima joined the Army, stationed in Scotland. There, he started another family—he somehow managed it during leave. When his service ended, he stayed in Scotland. He had a son there. Katy, not hesitating, went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back home. My parents never received a word of thanks from cousin Dima—not that they expected it. Now, fifty years on, Dmitri is an active member of the local Anglican church. He and Katy have five grandchildren. On the surface, all seems well, but the bitterness of life with Dima remains… No amount of sugar could ever sweeten it.
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Bittersweet Happiness – “What’s wrong with that young lady? She’s a good girl. Modest, neat, a hardworking student. She loves you,” Helen Edwards chastised her son. “Mum, I’ll handle it…” Denis clearly ended the pointless conversation. Helen left the room. “He’ll handle it… How many girls has he turned away… Nearly forty, and soon no one will do. Nothing’s ever right for him…” she thought with a heavy sigh. “Son, dinner’s ready,” Helen called from the kitchen. Denis responded instantly, tucking into his mother’s homemade stew. “Thank you, Mum. Delicious, as always.” “You should be saying that to your wife, not me,” Helen couldn’t let it go. “Mum…” Denis drank his compote and prepared to leave. “Wait, son. Do you know, I once visited a fortune-teller? She took one look at me and said: ‘Your son will have happiness, but it will be bittersweet.’” “Oh, Mum, don’t believe such things,” Denis grinned. …Through the years, different women—some loved, some not—came and went in Denis’s life. …Inna was smart, cultured, shockingly wise for her age. She often gave sound advice to the nine-years-older Denis. At first he liked this, but then he began to see Inna more as a mentor than anything else. Everything felt colourless. They split up. Polly had an eight-year-old son. Try as he might, Denis couldn’t get through to the boy, though he loved Polly. She was beautiful, but too headstrong. Whenever they quarrelled, he’d try to patch things up with gifts. The arguments felt senseless. Something was always missing—maybe peace and stability. Vera was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Denis almost married her. She was decent, pure, balanced—he felt like he had to “wear kid gloves” just to speak to her. He even moved into her flat. He was ready to start a family. But… He came home unexpectedly from a work trip to find Vera in bed with her old school friend. Classic… After that, Denis moved back in with his mum. Enough romance, he decided. “I’ll be a bachelor—a solid family of one,” he joked to his mum. Helen would shrug and sigh: “Will you ever find your one, son?” But fate had its own plan. Suddenly, unexpectedly. Denis was travelling for work, claimed his usual bottom bunk in the train carriage. A woman entered: “Excuse me, would you mind swapping? Can I have your lower bunk? Please.” “No trouble,” Denis replied. He looked her over—nothing remarkable. Yet his heart skipped. “Maybe she’s the one…” He clambered onto the top bunk and dozed off… “Glad you’re awake! Come, have some tea,” the stranger cooed. Denis climbed down and they started talking. “Larissa,” she introduced herself. “Denis. Nice to meet you, Larissa.” They talked throughout the evening. Denis felt instantly at ease. He didn’t try to impress her; everything just flowed, as if he’d known her forever. They exchanged numbers, just in case… A couple of weeks later, he couldn’t resist calling her. One thing led to another… Dates, kisses, promises… Denis couldn’t imagine his life without Larissa. At forty years old! He’d always let previous girlfriends go easily—but not this one… He wanted to lose himself entirely in her life. Larissa surrounded Denis with love, care, and understanding. Three months in, he offered his heart and hand. “Denis, I’m seven years older than you. I have three children. We live in a council flat,” Larissa admitted. She never lied. “I know, Lara. I’ve met your kids—you’ll all move in with me. It’s sorted. I love every inch of you. You’re my last and only,” said Denis, kissing her tenderly. “All right, Denis, let’s give it a try,” murmured a shy Larissa. “No, not try, Lara. We’ll be together. For good,” Denis squeezed her hand. “Do you hear me? Forever.” When Helen learned his plans, all she could say was: “You’ve really outdone yourself this time… The plainest girl of them all…” …Nine months later, their daughter was born—a child with Down’s syndrome. Denis felt both joy and worry for Larissa. Would she cope? Having a child with special needs is never easy. …Today, Denis and Larissa’s daughter is eight. The whole family adores her. Denis worships Larissa. Bittersweet, but happiness…
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