З життя
Несподівана сусідка: моя відповідь на візит свекрухи
Шість років ми з Олегом відкладали на власне житло, відмовляючи собі майже у всьому. І ось, нарешті, у нас з’явилася двокімнатна квартира у Києві — затишля, світла, хоч і з простим ремонтом. Це мало стати початком нового життя — сімейного, щасливого. Наталка чекала дитину, пологи ось-ось, залишилося всього кілька днів. Все було готово: речі зібрані, куточок малюка облаштований, і лише останнє прибирання відділяло нас від батьківства.
Наталка від самого початку мріяла про свій простір, без нагляду батьків і, особливо, без втручання свекрухи. З Галиною Миколаївною стосунки завжди були… напруженими. Жінка обожнювала диктувати, як правильно жити, дихати, мити посуд. І колись Наталка не витримала і прямо сказала їй, що не потребує постійних порад. Свекруха образилася й зникла на деякий час.
Коли Олег відвіз Наталку до пологового будинку, він і уявити не міг, який сюрприз його чекає. Наступного ж дня після госпіталізації дружини йому подзвонила мати і повідомила, що заїжджає у гості. Він не встиг нічого заперечити. Галина Миколаївна з’явилася, наче на огляд, оглянула квартиру: передпокій — «нічого собі», штори — «жах», кухня — «глянцевий кошмар, тепер щодня натирай!». Влаштувала ревізію в холодильнику, по дорозі зневажливо відгукнувшись про магазинні вареники й запланувавши борщ на завтра. Олег намагався жартувати, змінити тему, але марно. Мати перевдягнулася у спортивний костюм і, немов генерал, відправилася інспектувати решту кімнат.
Ввечері він хотів відвезти її додому. Але почув: «Я залишаюся на ніч. Тобі самому не можна, раптом Наталку завтра привезуть». І залишилася. На одну ніч. На другу. На третю…
Поки Олег був на роботі, вона перекладала речі, сортувала одяг, вирішувала, де має стояти пелюшковий столик і що треба докупити. Олег уже починав божеволіти від її «допомоги», але боявся розчарувати. Тоді свекруха оголосила: вона залишається на пару місяців, допомагати з дитиною. Адже самі вони не впораються.
Коли Наталку виписали, зустрічали всі — батьки, Олег, і, звісно, Галина Миколаївна, вся сяюча. Наталка одразу зрозуміла, що в домі щось не так. Штори інші, меблі переставлені, все пропахло чужим запахом. Батьки поїхали додому. Свекруха — ні. На німе запитання дружини Олег пробурмотів: «Мама поживе трохи. Допомагатиме…»
Наталка була виснажена після пологів, але іншого виходу не бачила. І вже ввечері почався пекло: «Ти не так тримаєш дитину», «Ти неправильно пеленаєш», «Він кричить, бо ти не вмієш його колихати». Наталка мовчала, доки свекруха не забрала малюка у неї з рук. Тут чашка терпіння переповнилася.
— Дякую за допомогу, але ви вільні, — тихо сказала вона. — Це моя дитина. І колихати її буду я. Сама.
Свекруха закатила очі, ображена до глибини душі. Чоловік теж почав нерішуче заперечувати, але Наталка глянула на нього так, що він змовк. Вона була спокійна. Сильна. Це був її дім. Її сім’я.
Галина Миколаївна зібрала речі. Більше не приїжджала. Олег зрозумів, що дружині потрібні не вказівки, а підтримка. А Наталка вперше відчула себе справжньою господинею. І неважливо, скільки часу минуло після пологів — головне, вона не дала себе зламати.
Вийшло, що кордони треба вміти ставити навіть перед найближчими. Бо ніхто не має права втручатися у твоє життя.
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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