З життя
Маленький зріст: випробування чи благословення?
Для чоловіка низький зріст – неначе Божа кара. Андрій Шевченко змалку соромився свого зросту. У третьому класі ще сподівався наздогнати товаришів, а до десятого вже змирився.
Хоч був він добрячим, веселим, завжди готовим допомогти, тому й усе село його любило та поважало. Після школи не став вчитися далі – закінчив курси водіїв і влаштувався в колгосп. Життя йшло своїм чередом, але коли всі однокласники вже обзавелися родинами, Андрій досі ходив самотнім.
Одного літнього дня повертався він із райцентру Бережани. На околиці помітив дівчину у яскравій капелюсі з величезною торбою. «Отаку б дружину», – подумав він із посмішкою.
Раптом порив вітру зірвав капелюха з її голови. Дівчина кинулася назустріч небезпеці. Андрій гальмував, але здавалося, ніби вона зникла під колесами. Вистрибнувши з кабіни, він побачив її на асфальті.
– Поранилася? – занепокоєно запитав він.
Вона заперечно похитала головою:
– Не жалко себе… Капелюх мамин. Майже нічого від неї не лишилось.
Андрій не розумів слів – його зачарували її очі. Саме та, про яку мріяв усі ці роки.
– Капелюх? Зараз! – кинувся він шукати втрачену річ. Повернувши дівчині, представився:
– Я Андрій. Куди прямуєш? Підвезу.
Марічка, так звали незнайомку, розповіла: їде до села Червона Зоря до тітки Галі. Після смерті матері батько одружився знову, тому вона вирішила жити з родичкою.
Коли вони під’їжджали до сусіднього села, Андрій раптом зупинив авто:
– Марічко… Може, не дарма твій капелюх саме під мої колеса впав? – він взяв її за руку. – Одружися зі мною. Обіцяю – кохатиму все життя.
Дівчина кивнула.
За два місяці вони влаштували весілля. Село щиро вітало молодих, а закохані не могли надивитися одне на одного.
Через рік народився перший син – Олесь. Згодом з’явилися ще двоє дітей. Дивно, але Марічка почала виростати. Через п’ять років вона вже на голову перевищувала чоловіка.
– Покинеш мене тепер? – сумно запитала вона одного вечора.
Андрій ніжно торкнувся її обличчя:
– Кохатиму тебе будь-яку. І ти мене не кидай – серце розірветься.
Минали роки. У подружжя з’явилося п’ятеро дітей. Коли вони йшли вулицею – він обіймав її за талію, вона притримувала його руку. Ніхто не сміявся – лише заздрили.
Одного разу Андрій лагодив дах старого комора. Раптом перекладина впала, притиснувши його. Марічка, почувши крик, одним махом відкинула колоди й на руках понесла чоловіка до лікарні.
– Дякую, Господи, за зріст і силу, – шепотіла вона, біжучи.
Лікарі врятували Андрія. Довгі тижні він провів у ліжку, а Марічка кожен день йшла до шпиталю, ніби відчуваючи його теплоту у своїх долонях.
Прожили вони довге життя. Виростили дітей, побачили онуків і правнуків. Але ніхто у селі не пам’ятав щасливішої пари, ніж низенький дідусь Андрій із своєю велетнею-дружиною. Вони йшли кріз роки, тримаючись за руки, немов дві половинки одного серця.
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No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. 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I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. 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