З життя
Новий мешканець: загадковий переїзд у квартиру № 23.
В квартиру № 23 переїжджав новий мешканець, троє чоловіків заносили нехитрі пожитки. Досвідчена Лариса Матвіївна одразу визначила, хто з них вантажник, а хто господар. До господаря і підійшла.
— Ласкаво просимо, я тут представник будинкового комітету, — відрекомендувалася вона. — Майже управитель. Ви до нас надовго чи ні?
— Як вийде, — відповів чоловік. — Поки зняв житло в оренду, але мрію згодом викупити. Маю честь представитись: Євген Ілліч Кудря.
Лариса помітила, що серед речей Євгена немає нічого дитячого та жіночого. Отже, дядечко безсімейний. Це насторожує. З тишею й порядком у безсімейних завжди не дуже. Шум, п’янки, жінки…
— Звуть мене Лариса Матвіївна, — промовила вона. — Прізвище моє — Плахотнюк, але не тіштеся. У мене не пошалієш. Ви п’єте?
— Так! — сказав чоловік. — Як ломовий візник!
— Палите?
— Так!
— По ночах скандалите?
— Обов’язково!
— Непристойних жінок додому водите?
— Безперечно! Як же без них?
— Просто камінь з душі зняли, — відповіла Лариса Плахотнюк. — Якось нарешті нормальний мешканець з’явився.
Вантажники засміялися, Євген теж.
— Будуть питання — звертайтеся, — додала Лариса. — Я живу на два поверхи вище. І майте на увазі, що будинок у нас передовий. Квіти, суботники, прибирання… не полінуєшся! Я буду залучати вас до громадської роботи!
Попри побоювання, Євген Ілліч виявився досить спокійним мешканцем. Він десь працював позмінно, вихідні зазвичай проводив вдома. Підозрілих гостей не водив, музику на всю потужність не вмикав, у стіни перфоратором не грюкав.
Бачачи, що Кудря — чоловік серйозний, Лариса трохи обнагліла. Вечорами вона зі стайкою таких же активісток носилася по корпусу, вирішуючи темряву насущних побутових задач. І якщо будинковий актив терміново потребував чоловічої сили, управителька Плахотнюк, пробігаючи повз, запросто тарабанила у двері номер 23.
— Євген Ілліч, відгукніться! Мені вас треба!
— А мені вас треба! — в тон їй відгукувався Кудря.
Занята громадським навантаженням, Лариса навіть не помічала двозначності такого привітання. За плечима в неї були два розлучення, вдома росли двоє дітей, особисте життя давно було закинуте на антресолі буття. Вся жіноча енергія і все вільний час йшли в управління домом.
— Євген Ілліч, мені вас треба!
— А мені вас, Лариса Матвіївна!
— В електриці випадково не розбираєтесь? Щиток на сходах дивно гуде!
— Випадково розбираюсь. Зараз візьму прилад.
— Євген Ілліч, мені вас треба!
— А мені вас!
— Рятуйте! На козирок під’їзду хтось котеня закинув.
— Зараз візьму драбину, допомога вже близько.
— Євген Ілліч, мені вас треба… Євген Ілліч…
А потім до Кудря прийшла жінка. Лариса Матвіївна засікла чужу гостю щонайменше двічі. Гостя піднімалась у квартиру номер 23, Євген відчиняв двері й впускав її. Управителька Плахотнюк особисто бачила це з верхнього майданчика.
Здавалося б, що тут дивного? Незнайомка приходила легка, на високому підборі, в короткій сукні, вся така себе, дуже класно нафарбована… і цим вона категорично не сподобалася Ларисі. Хоч убий — не сподобалася!
На столі чекали стоси папірців з планами громадської діяльності, кошторисами, афішами, квитками і проектами з розвитку дому. Завжди Лариса Матвіївна з задоволенням порпалася в них, але… сьогодні ввечері вони раптом здалися їй непотрібними.
Сусід Євген Кудря завів собі нафарбовану ціпу в міні-спідниці. І це якось нечесно. Неправильно це. Чому? Чорт його знає.
Лариса стояла перед дзеркалом і розглядала свої сорок два роки.
— Що він в цій заразі знайшов? — раптом запитала вона себе. — Мене штукатуркою не обманеш, я птах битий. Вона мене максимум на три роки молодша. Або навіть менше!
Лариса опустила очі на свої ноги, втягнула животик, повернулась так і інакше.
— Міні-спідниця, каблучок? Фі, бачили ми таких… молодих! Я теж можу дозволити собі міні! Ось візьму і надягну прямо зараз! Просто так, щоб знали!
Хто про це має знати, Лариса не уточнила, але з квартири вийшла в сукні з відкритими колінами, зачесана і підфарбована. В руці в неї, як завжди, були важливі папки і будинкові папери.
Цокаючи туфельками, Лариса спустилася по сходах. Стукати до Євгена вона не збиралася, навіщо відволікати людину від приємної незнайомки. Але Кудря сам відчинив двері — він виносив сміття.
— Лариса Матвіївна? — здивувався він. — Добрий вечір. Яка ви сьогодні чарівна! Ви до мене?
— Ні, Євген Ілліч, — байдужо відказала управителька Плахотнюк. — У вас вечірка і гості, не хочу турбувати по-дурниці.
— Гості? — перепитав Кудря. — Ви про мою колишню дружину? Вона вже пішла. Їй потрібно було підписати документи про відсутність майнових претензій і про правила відвідування дитини.
“Колишня? Слава богу!” — подумала Лариса Матвіївна.
Чи вона сказала це вголос? Вона притулилася до поручнів і чомусь одразу забула, куди йшла зі своїми паперами, наряджена і в красивій сукні.
— Ви шикарна жінка, Лариса, — сказав Кудря, дивлячись на її наряд. — Вас квітами треба зустрічати, а я тут зі сміттям шастаю.
— Смішно виглядаю, так? — запитала Лариса. — Ні вдень, ні вночі від мене нема спокою, зовсім в канцелярську мишу перетворилася.
— Не беріть до серця, — сказав Євген. — Мені вас треба.
— А мені вас, — сказала Лариса.
Michael Froze: From Behind the Tree, a Dog He’d Recognise Anywhere Watched Him with Sad, Knowing Eyes
I frozepeering from behind an old oak tree, a dog watched me with a sadness Id have recognised anywhere. Dust...
DO I REMEMBER? I CAN’T FORGET! “Polly, listen… Remember my illegitimate daughter, Anastasia?” My husband spoke in riddles, making me uneasy. “Do I remember? I can’t forget! Why?” I sat down, bracing for bad news. “Well… Anastasia is begging us to take in her daughter—my granddaughter,” he mumbled. “And why on earth should we, Alex? Where’s Anastasia’s husband? Disappeared into thin air?” I was intrigued. “The thing is, Anastasia doesn’t have much time left. She never had a husband. Her mother remarried and lives in America. They’re estranged, and she has no other family. That’s why she’s asking…” Alex couldn’t meet my eyes. “So, what’s your plan?” I had already decided. “Well, I’m asking you, Polly. Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do,” he finally looked at me. “How convenient. You made mistakes in your youth, and now I’m to shoulder the burden of a stranger’s child? Isn’t that right?” My husband’s feebleness made me furious. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alex pushed back. “Oh, you remembered now! Yet, when you fooled around, did you consult me? I’m your wife!” Tears welled up and I stormed out… In school, I dated a boy named Peter, until a new boy, Alex, arrived and swept me off my feet. I broke up with Peter. Alex noticed me, walked me home, kissed my cheek, and picked flowers for me. A week later, he led me to his bed. I didn’t protest—I fell head over heels for Alex. After we graduated, he went off to serve in the army in another city. We wrote to each other for a year. Then Alex returned on leave. I was overjoyed. He promised we’d marry when he came back for good—already considered me his wife. His sweet words melted me every time, even years later: one loving look from Alex, and I’d melt like chocolate in the sun. Alex went back to the army. I waited, confident I was a betrothed bride. Six months later, a letter arrived: Alex had found “real love” in his garrison town and wasn’t coming back. But I was already carrying Alex’s baby. So much for a wedding—just as my gran warned me. When the time came, I gave birth to my son, Ivan. Peter, my old boyfriend, stepped in to help. Desperate, I accepted. Yes, Peter and I became intimate. I’d long given up hope of seeing Alex again. Then he turned up, surprised to see Peter there. “Can I come in?” Alex asked. “Come on in, since you’re here,” Peter reluctantly allowed. Sensing the tension, Ivan clung to Peter, wailing. “Peter, why don’t you take Ivan for a walk?” I was at a loss. When they left, Alex asked, “Is he your husband?” “What’s it to you? Why are you here?” I was angry and confused. “I missed you. I see you’ve made a life with Peter—you didn’t wait for me. Well, I’ll go—sorry to intrude on your happy family,” he said, heading for the door. “Wait, Alex. Why have you come—just to hurt me? Peter helps me cope with loneliness. He’s been raising your two-year-old son, by the way,” I tried to keep him there. My love for him hadn’t died. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” Alex asked, hope in his voice. “Come in, dinner’s ready,” my heart leapt—he came back, so he hadn’t forgotten. Why resist? Peter was shoved aside. My Ivan needed his real father. Later, Peter married a lovely woman with two children. A few years passed. Alex could never love Ivan as his own—he was convinced Ivan was Peter’s son. Alex never really cared for Ivan. He always had an eye for the ladies. He was forever chasing after women, easily smitten, just as easily moving on—including some of my own friends. I cried but kept loving him, determined to hold my family together. It was easier for me than for him—the one who loves is always blinded by hope. I never needed to lie or invent excuses; I just loved him. He was my sun. Sometimes I wanted to leave, but then I’d scold myself: Where would I go, who could compare? Besides, Alex would be lost without me. I was wife, lover, and mother to him. Alex lost his own mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep. Maybe that’s why he always looked for lost affection elsewhere. I forgave everything. Once, after a bitter argument, I threw him out. He moved in with his relatives. Months passed—I forgot why we argued—but he didn’t return. At last, I went to his family’s house. His aunt was surprised to see me. “Polly, why do you want Alex? He said you’d divorced—he has a new girlfriend now.” I found out where she lived and paid them a visit. “Hello! Could I see Alex, please?” I asked politely. She just smirked and slammed the door in my face. I left in silence. A year later, Alex came back. By then the girl had given birth to his daughter, Anastasia. To this day, I blame myself for throwing him out—maybe that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up otherwise. I tried harder to please and adore Alex. We never talked about his illegitimate daughter. It seemed if we did, our family would fall apart. We let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what’s one stray child? It happens. I blamed the “temptresses” instead. In time, Alex settled down. Flings ended. He stayed home watching TV. Our son married early, gave us three grandkids. Then, out of nowhere… Anastasia, Alex’s daughter from long ago, reappeared—asking us to take in her daughter. How would I explain a new little girl to Ivan? He never knew about his father’s youthful escapades. In the end, we took legal guardianship of five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away, gone at thirty. Graves grow over with grass, but life goes on. Alex spoke to Ivan man-to-man. After hearing his father’s confession, Ivan said, “What’s done is done, you don’t answer to me. But the girl should stay—she’s family.” Alex and I breathed easier. We’d raised a kind son. Now, Alina is sixteen. She adores her Grandpa Alex, whispers secrets to him, calls me Granny, and says she’s my spitting image at her age. I never argue…
DO I REMEMBER? I COULD NEVER FORGET! Polly, darling, theres something I must tell you Well, do you recall my...
Winter had blanketed Andrew’s garden with soft snow, but his loyal dog Duke, a massive German Shepherd, was acting strangely. Instead of curling up in the large kennel Andrew had lovingly built for him last summer, Duke stubbornly insisted on sleeping outside, right in the snow. Watching from his window, Andrew felt a pang of worry—Duke had never behaved like this before. Each morning, as he stepped outside, Andrew noticed Duke watching him tensely. Whenever he approached the kennel, Duke positioned himself between Andrew and the entrance, growling softly and looking at him pleadingly, as if to say: “Please, don’t go in there.” This odd behaviour was so out of character for their years of friendship, it made Andrew uneasy—what was his best friend hiding? Determined to get to the bottom of it, Andrew came up with a plan—he lured Duke into the kitchen with a tempting piece of steak. While the dog, locked inside, barked desperately at the window, Andrew crept towards the kennel and crouched down to peer inside. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw something that froze him on the spot… …There, curled up in a blanket, was a tiny kitten—dirty, freezing, and barely breathing. Its eyes barely opened, and its frail body shivered with cold. Duke had found it somewhere, and instead of chasing it away or leaving it to its fate, he had sheltered it. He had slept outside to avoid scaring it and guarded the entrance as if there was treasure inside. Andrew held his breath. He reached out, gently lifted the tiny creature and pressed it to his chest. In that moment, Duke raced over and nestled beside his shoulder—not growling, but gently, eager to help. “You’re a good dog, Duke…” Andrew whispered, clutching the kitten. “Better than most people.” From that day on, there were no longer just two friends living in the garden, but three. And the lovingly built kennel found its purpose again—as a little home for souls in need of saving.
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