З життя
«Кохання поза віком: невигадана історія»
**«Кохання не має віку: історія Соломії»**
Коли багато років тому до нашого провінційного Кам’янця-Подільського приїхала висока, граціозна, неймовірно гарна жінка з Львова, увесь двір завмер. Її звали Соломія Ярославівна, і вона була немов із іншого світу — горда постава, стримана усмішка, погляд, від якого чоловіки губили голову, а жінки… ну, одні заздрили, інші захоплювалися. Вона приїхала за направленням після інституту, і нам, місцевим, здавалося, що на нашу вулицю ступила справжня пані.
Соломії ніколи не були потрібні бутики чи дорогі магазини. Досить було шматка тканини, котушки ниток, голки — і через пару днів вона вже виходила на вулицю в пальто, яке легко могло б прикрасити обкладинку журналу. Вона шила сама, вишивала, в’язала, а витончені візерунки на її одязі викликали шепіт і заздрісні погляди. Ми, діти, тікали до неї додому, гралися її яскравими парасолями — у неї їх була ціла колекція! А вона, сміючись, вчила нас «дефіле» й дозволяла уявляти себе моделями на показі мод.
Незважаючи на увагу чоловіків, заміж Соломія Ярославівна довго не виходила. Можливо, їх лякала її незалежність, краса і, найголовніше — гідність. Але все змінилося ближче до сорока. Тоді вона працювала економістом на меблевій фабриці й закрутила бурхливий роман із директором. Чоловік був одружений, і чуток вистачало. Особливо коли на світ з’явився син — Богдан, схожий на батька як дві краплі води. По двору пішли плітки, осуди, шепоти за спиною. Але Соломія трималася гордо. Вона звільнилася, але не залишилася в бідності. Її обранець вчинив гідно: забезпечив її, купив квартиру, і, як неважко здогадатися, меблі в ній були з тієї самої фабрики.
Я ріс разом із Богданом — тим самим хлопчиком. Наша пісочниця, ігри, свята. Соломія ладнала з усіма жінками двору, допомагала, шила, завжти зустрічала з теплотою. Її квартира була немов оазис — відчинені двері, аромат пирогів, добрі очі. Але перед школою мою сім’ю перевели в інший район, і зв’язок із ними поступово загубився.
Через роки, після університету, у відрядженні в Хмельницькому я раптом побачила знайому ходу. Жінка сідала в машину, їй допомагав чоловік, в обрисах якого я з подивом впізнала дорослого Богдана. Я підійшла, і раптом відчинились двері:
— Оленко! Впізнала? А я тебе відразу! — це була вона, Соломія Ярославівна, незмінна, стильна, жива.
Ми поїхали разом, балакали. І раптом вона сказала те, від чого у мене мурашки побігли:
— Уявляєш, я закохалася… У свої-то літа! Ми з Олегом познайомилися в Карпатах, спочатку це був лише курортний роман, а потім — справжнє кохання. П’ять років разом… А тепер його діти — дорослі, забезпечені, але все бояться, що я «заберу» у них будинок. Ось і пішли докори, тиск… Він охолов, і ми розійшлися.
У її голосі лунала сумна нота, але очі не згасли. Ми попрощалися біля готелю. Вона поїхала з сином, а я повернулася до номера й довго не могла заснути.
Минуло пару років. Зовсім випадково я зустріла Богдана в кав’ярні. Ми сіли, згадували дитинство, і він розповів продовження:
— Мама не витримала. Поїхала до нього. Сама, без попередження. І прямо в дорозі — інсульт. Подзвонили з лікарні, я кинувся туди. Лікарі не давали шансів… Але вона викарабкалася. Уявляєш? Повернулася додому через місяць.
Я була в шоці. Жінці, якій було вже за сімдесят, кинулася в інше місто — заради кохання. Не через користь, не через вигоду — а просто тому, що не могла жити без нього. Я запитала:
— І як вона зараз?
Богдан усміхнувся:
— Нещодавно прибрав у неї в шафі — знайшов сумку. Паспорт, косметичка, сукня, квитки… Знову збирається їхати! Кажу: «Мамо, ну ти ж тільки одужала!» А вона: «Жити треба, Богдане. Поки серце б’ється — треба кохати».
Я сиділа, не знаючи, що відповісти. Перед очима знову постала та Соломія Ярославівна з дитинства — яскрава, вільна, непідвласна ніяким правилам. Вона не змінилася. Тільки стала ще сильнішою.
І тоді я зрозумів: кохання не має віку. Його не загнати в рамки. Воно приходить тоді, коли душа відкрита — навіть якщо тобі за сімдесят. Головне — мати сміливість його впустити.
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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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