З життя
Майже півроку після весілля: Наша перша зустріч з батьками.
Вирішили ми відвідати батьків майже через півроку після весілля. Я знав, що це буде випробування, але навіть не уявляв, наскільки. Ще з порога мати зустріла нас холодними очима і словами, від яких кров стигла в жилах: “Тут працюють, а не розважаються”. В її голосі була загроза, наче ми приїхали не в рідний дім, а на службу.
Моя Оксана, з її ніжними руками і міською витонченістю, здавалася мені раптом крихкою, немов квітка серед бур’янів. Я бачив, як вона стискає мою руку, коли мати доручила їй чистити рибу. “Василь, це ж твоя дружина, а не прислуга!” — хотілося кричати, але я мовчав. Мовчав, бо знав: кожен протест лише підсилить полум’я.
Теплі літні дні в селі стали кошмаром. Оксана працювала до пізньої ночі, її пальці тремтіли від холоду, коли вона мила посуд у криничній воді. Я бачив, як вона прикушує губу, щоб не заплакати, коли мати знову і знову звинувачувала її в лінощах. “Ти ніколи не будеш гідною моєї уваги до мого сина!” — звучало в голові, мов прокляття. А я стояв осторонь, ніби прикований невидимими ланцюгами до своєї землі.
Наші вечері складалися з вареної картоплі та риби, яку Оксана готувала, але мати навіть не сідала з нами. Вона спостерігала з кутка, немов тінь, що чекає помилки. Коли ми нарешті лягали спати, я чув, як Оксана тихо плаче в подушку. “Пробач… Пробач мені за все це…” — шепотів я, але слова зникали у темряві.
Повернувшись назад, я наважився сказати матері: “Не ображай більше мою дружину”. Але вона лише глузувала. “Ти згадав, хто тебе виростив? Хто годував тебе, коли ти страждав від голоду?” Її слова в’язалися, мов шипи, у душі.
Коли ми знову поїхали в село, я був готовий стати на захист. Батько травмував ногу, і я мусив випасати корів. Оксану вдягли в гумові чоботи, що терли ноги до крові. Дощ залив поле, перетворивши його на болото. Вона йшла за мною, спотикаючись, а я мовчав, знаючи, що кожна моя спроба турботи викличе нову хвилю знущань.
А потім — баранина. Оксана не витримувала її запаху, але мати навмисно готувала її щодня. “Їж, якщо хочеш бути частиною цієї родини!” — яріла вона, коли Оксана відсувала тарілку. Я взяв виделку, розірвав шматок і кинув його на підлогу. “Більше ніколи”, — тихо сказав я, але це був лише початок нашої битви.
Тепер, коли Оксана вагітна нашою донькою, я більше не можу ризикувати. “Їдь сам, якщо хочеш, — кажу матері телефоном, — але вона залишиться тут”. В її мовчанні — океан образи, але моє серце нарешті спокійне. Я обіймаю Оксану, і її теплі руки нагадують мені: іноді родину треба захищати навіть від тих, хто дав тобі життя.
P.S. Наступного разу, коли мати зателефонувала, я вимкнув телефон. Нам обом було боляче. Але іноді біль — це єдиний спосіб прозріти.
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