З життя
Пропущений трамвай: Алёнка з мамою залишилися на зупинці.
Всього на кілька кроків запізнилися Оленка з мамою на трамвай. Старенький вагон дзенькнув-бренькнув і від’їхав від зупинки. Тепер чекати хвилин п’ятнадцять, не менше.
– Завжди ти вовтузишся! Скільки разів я тобі казала: прийшли додому з прогулянки – повісь речі акуратно, постав взуття на місце, щоб потім не витрачати стільки часу на збори. І навіщо тобі знадобилися ці олівці? Невже без них вдома не обійтись?
– Мамо! Ну як ти не розумієш! Я ж Насті обіцяла вчора. А ти сама казала, що якщо пообіцяла, то обов’язково треба виконати! – Оленка хитро прищурилася, – казала ж?
– Ну… Казала. Що тепер, на трамвай знову спізнюємося?! А мені ж в ніч на роботу. І я ще тобі сукню не випрасувала, вечерю й сніданок не приготувала. Хто це буде робити? Бабуся Ліда?
– Мамусю, не хвилюйся. Все вийде, тільки не треба нервувати. Бабуся Ліда так каже. Ой! Дивись, мамо! Квіточки! Як вони називаються? – на лавочці лежав маленький зів’ялий букетик.
– Це дзвіночки. Вони в лісі ростуть. Хтось зірвав, а потім кинув. Або забув.
– Мамусю, вони такі гарненькі, дзвіночки! Давай їх заберемо!
– Мало тобі сміття… Ладно, забирай, і йдемо, он вже наш трамвай підходить.
Увесь шлях до своєї зупинки Оленка не відпускала букет з рук. Стебла дзвіночків були зламані, бутони пом’яті, але для Оленки це були найкрасивіші квіти. Ніжно-лілові, з тонким, ледь помітним ароматом, вони здавалися їй чимось чарівним, мов з казки.
Один дядечко сказав, що якщо посадити букет в землю, то дзвіночки оживуть. А тітонька з великим животиком похитала головою і впевнено заявила: «Ніякої землі. Їх у воду треба. Винятково у воду». А інша тітонька, виходячи з трамвая, сердито проскрипіла: «Нісенітниця, краще б гвоздики купили!». Мама Оленки мовчки дивилася у вікно, а Оленка нюхала квіти і шепотіла: «От приїдемо, і я вас сховаю. Хай там кажуть, що хочуть!».
Оленка з мамою живуть на другому поверсі. А під ними – бабуся Ліда з чоловіком, якого всі шанобливо називають «Кузьма Йосипович». А Оленка його кличе «дідусь Кузя». І всі до цього звикли. Бабуся Ліда з Кузьмою Йосиповичем не рідні Оленці та її мамі. Вони просто сусіди.
Але стосунки у них кращі, ніж у рідних. Бабуся Ліда завжди допомагає мамі Оленки по господарству. А дідусь Кузя – по дому. Якщо, наприклад, дверцята в шафі відвалилися, або замок зламався – дідусь усе лагодить. А якщо з пирогом допомогти чи Оленку в дитсадок відвести – це вже бабуся Ліда. Сами вони, бабуся з дідусем, ніколи допомоги не просять. Вважають, що у них все є, і вони поки ще самі все можуть. Так і живуть.
У бабусі Ліди та дідуся Кузьми під балконом росте бузок. А під бузком – таємний Оленчин секретик. Це таке затишне місце, яке ніхто не повинен знати. Тільки Оленка. Щиро кажучи, дідусь Кузя теж про нього знає. І бабуся Ліда. Але вони мовчать і нікому не кажуть. Інакше, який же це секретик?
Від зупинки до дому Оленка бігла підскакуючи. Треба швидше набрати води в пляшку і дуже швидко посадити дзвіночки в землю. І полити. А то вони зовсім помруть, як сказала одна пані з трамвая. Поки мама готувала вечерю та сніданок, а потім прасувала праскою Оленчину сукню для садочка, Оленка совком викопала ямку під бузком, посадила туди свої дзвіночки і полила водою. Дзвіночки чомусь не оживали. «Напевно, вони ще не прокинулись, – подумала Оленка, – добре, ви поки спіть, а я збігаю до мами, проведу її на роботу і повернуся, гаразд?».
Оленка провела маму, повечеряла, помила за собою посуду і побігла до своїх дзвіночків. Навіть про олівці для Насті забула.
***
Сонечко сховалося за горизонт. Сутінки сірим ковдрою облягли місто. Бабуся Ліда закінчила свої вечірні справи і зібралася було за Оленкою. Коли Оленчина мама працювала в нічну зміну, Оленку забирали до себе дідусь Кузя з бабусею Лідою. Але тут дідусь Кузя покликав жінку на балкон, жестом вказав щоб та не шуміла. Дідусь махнув рукою в бік Оленчиного секретика. Там, на корточках, сиділа Оленка. І плакала. Перед нею в калюжці лежали зів’ялі дзвіночки. Бабуся Ліда все зрозуміла. Вона тихенько вийшла з квартири, крадучись пробралася за бузковий кущ до Оленки.
– Що сталося, Оленко?
– Бабусю Ліда! – Оленка схлипнула, – бабусю Ліда, мої дзвіночки не хочуть оживати! Я їм вже стільки водички налила, а вони все лежать і лежать! Бабусю Ліда, вони померли?
– Ну що ти, моя хороша, вони просто хворіють. Усі квіти, якщо їх зірвати, хворіють.
– Я їх не зривала, бабусю Ліда. Вони лежали на лавочці. Хтось їх кинув.
– Ну, так буває. Ти не плач. Ми от що з тобою зробимо. Десь у мене порошок чарівний був. Ти посиди тут, я скоро.
Бабуся Ліда пішла додому. Дістала з полиці банку з борошном, відсипала в коробок з-під сірників і повернулася до Оленки.
– Ось, моя хороша. Залишилось зовсім небагато, але цього вистачить.
– А що це?
– Чарівний порошок для квітів. Я його поперестрачувала, але на те він і чарівний. Дивись, – бабуся Ліда дістала щепотку борошна, посипала ним дзвіночки, нашіптуючи: «Чаклуй баба, чаклуй дід, всім на радість сто літ!» Потім висипала залишки борошна навколо калюжки. – Ну, ось, Оленко. Тепер їм треба відпочити. А чарівний порошок своє діло зробить.
– Бабусю Ліда, він правда чарівний?
– Правда, моя хороша.
– А коли дзвіночки прокинуться?
– А ми вранці і подивимося. А зараз ходімо. Пізно вже, дітям пора спати.
Оленка зітхнула, з тривогою подивилася на свої дзвіночки і пішла з бабусею Лідою спати.
***
Оленка вже бачила десятий сон, коли дідусь Кузя хекаюче, витягав з балкона свій старенький велосипед.
– Кузю, ти ліхтарик взяв?
– Та взяв, звісно, що ж ти!
– А свою лопаточку?
– Ну як без неї-то?
– Кузю, я тобі чаю наливала в термос.
– Лідусю, чай навіщо?
– Ну як! Втомишся – вип’єш.
– Не треба. Я ж не в похід.
– Ти тільки не затримуйся в лісі, я буду хвилюватися.
– Та годі тобі! Я швидко. Плівку захопила?
– Захопила, Кузю, захопила. Давай, з Богом.
Дідусь обережно вивів велосипед із під’їзду, а бабуся тихенько зачинила за ним двері та повернулася до Оленки.
***
Ранок. Прокинулись ранкові горобці, і разом з ними Оленка. Одягнувши капці, прямо в піжамці побігла вона до свого секретика. А там її чекало справжнє диво: на місці грязької калюжки зростав прекрасний кущик справжніх, живих дзвіночків. Оленка обережно нюхала їх, ніжно гладила лілові голівки, щось ласкаво їм шепотіла. А з балкона за нею з посмішкою спостерігали дідусь Кузя і бабуся Ліда.
І ще невідомо, хто в ці хвилини був щасливіший – Оленка зі своїми «ожившими» дзвіночками чи бабуся Ліда з дідусем Кузьмою, які подарували дитині радість…
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “You belong in a care home, and you know it! Get out of our family!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice breaking with emotion. The target of my outrage was my cousin, Dima. Lord, I loved him so much as a child—his golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, cheerful nature. That was Dima all over. Family gatherings would often bring us all together around the table, but out of all my cousins, it was always Dima who stood out. With his silver tongue, he could weave tales like intricate lace, and he was a gifted artist. By the end of any evening, he’d have sketched five or six pencil drawings with ease. I would marvel at his work, unable to tear myself away from its beauty, and quietly stash his drawings in my desk for safekeeping, cherishing his creativity. Dima was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly—she simply never woke up. Everyone wondered what would become of Dima. They looked first to his biological father, but finding him was not easy—his parents had long been divorced, and his father had another family and wasn’t about to disrupt his “peaceful life.” Then the rest of the relatives collectively shrugged—each had their own families and worries. Suddenly, our extended family was nowhere to be found when needed most. So, with two children of their own, my parents agreed to take Dima in—the late woman was my father’s younger sister, after all. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But… On his very first day in our home, I noticed something odd about my favourite cousin’s behaviour. Trying to bring him some comfort, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just tell us.” Immediately, Dima answered, “A model railway set.” This toy was quite expensive, and his wish surprised me. I thought—your mum just died, the most important person in your world, and all you can think about is a train set? How could he? Still, my parents bought it for him immediately. But soon Dima’s requests snowballed. “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the 1980s. Not only were these things pricey, but difficult to find. Yet my parents, depriving their own children, tried to fulfil every wish of the orphan. My brother and I endured this in silence, understanding it was for Dima. When Dima turned sixteen, he started chasing after girls. He became infatuated with me—his own cousin. But I, being sporty and quick, dodged his advances, even fighting him off physically at times and ending up in tears. My parents never knew—I didn’t want to upset them. Most kids keep such things to themselves. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, Dima quickly moved on to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. Dima also stole from us, brazenly and without shame. I remember saving my school lunch money in a piggy bank for a present for my parents—one day, it was empty. Dima swore blind he hadn’t touched it, didn’t so much as blush. My soul was torn to pieces—how could he steal in the very house we shared? Dima shattered our family’s trust, as if nothing mattered to him. I began to hate him. That’s when I screamed, with all my might: “Get out of our family!” I let rip at Dima, said more than fit in a hat—words I can’t take back. My mother barely managed to calm me down. Since then, Dima ceased to exist for me. I avoided him in every way. Later, it turned out the other relatives all knew what “sort” Dima was—they lived nearby and had seen plenty. Only our family, living farther away, had been in the dark. Dima’s former teachers even warned my parents: “You shouldn’t have taken him in. Dima will only ruin your own children.” At a new school, he met Kate, who would fall head-over-heels for Dima and marry him right after graduation. They had a daughter. Kate patiently endured his wild whims, endless lies, and countless betrayals. As the old saying goes: “single and you suffer, married and it’s double.” Dima was later conscripted for military service in Kazakhstan. There, he formed a “second family”—apparently during breaks from service. He fathered a son. After his discharge, Dima stayed in Kazakhstan, but Kate went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back to his family. My parents never heard a word of thanks from Dima—not that they expected it. Now, Dmitry Eugene is sixty. He’s a devout parishioner at the local English church, with Kate and five grandchildren. Everything seems fine, but the bitterness from my relationship with Dima still lingers… A taste too bitter, even for honey.
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Every time he’d marvel, “Where have you been all my life, Ksenia? I’ve searched half my life for you…” Meanwhile, Katya decided to seek vengeance—all men now fair game. Beautiful, she turned heads everywhere. She had a fling with her boss, entranced him. “Katya, marry me. I’ll make you rich. You’ll be treated like a queen.” “No thanks, Dmitri—I’ve had enough marriages… Let’s go to the seaside instead. I want Sonia to get some fresh air,” Katya winked. “Alright, my dear…” Sasha was simpler—helped around the flat, did her renovations, but never proposed—he was already married. Katya strung both along—no love, just distraction from her misery. She still yearned for Ilya, saw him in dreams, woke up in useless tears. Couldn’t let go of those memories. “How do you un-weld someone from your life? What did I do wrong? I was loyal, caring—never argued…” …Years went by. Katya’s life was split between Dmitri’s tender invites, Sasha’s handyman help. …Sonia was twenty when she decided to visit her father. Bought a train ticket, wondered how to address “the other woman.” Arrived in a new city. …Rang the bell. “You must be Sophia,” an interesting woman opened the door. “Mum is much prettier…” Sonia thought. “Ksenia, right?” Sonia guessed. “Yes, come in. Your dad’s not home but will be soon,” Ksenia led her to the kitchen. “How are you? How’s your mum?” Ksenia fussed, “Tea, coffee?” “Ksenia, how did you manage to steal my dad away? He loved my mum—I know that for sure,” Sonia looked her straight in the eye. “Sophia, life’s unpredictable. Love has no guarantees. Sometimes passion sweeps in and one meeting changes everything. Fate intervenes. Sometimes, you just have to change partners in the dance. It can’t be explained,” Ksenia slumped into a chair. “But can’t you just stop? Think of your duty to family…” Sonia couldn’t grasp Ksenia’s reasoning, glaring at the woman she loathed. “You can’t, child,” Ksenia replied simply. “Thank you for your honesty,” Sonia refused the coffee. “Sophia, want some cheeky advice? A man is like a postage stamp—the more you spit on him, the better he sticks. And in general, you need to be steel one day, velvet the next… By the way, your dad and I had a big row.” “Thanks for the tip. Should I wait for Dad?” Sonia asked anxiously. “I’m not sure. He’s been living in a hotel this week. Here’s the address,” Ksenia scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Sonia was relieved—now she could talk to her dad alone. “Goodbye, thanks for the coffee,” she left quickly. She found the hotel, knocked on his door. Ilya was happy—if a bit embarrassed—to see his daughter. “I was planning on returning today—after the row and all…” “That’s your business, Dad. I just wanted to see you,” Sonia carefully took her father’s hand. “How’s your mum?” Ilya asked. “All’s well. We’ve gotten used to life without you.” They spent a warm evening in the hotel room—talking, laughing, shedding quiet tears. “Dad, do you love Ksenia?” Sonia suddenly asked. “Very much. I’m sorry, darling,” Ilya answered surely. “Got it. I need to run—my train’s soon,” Sonia gathered her things. “Come by, Sonia—we’re family, after all,” Ilya’s eyes dropped. “Of course… see you soon,” Sonia left. …Returning home, she decided to follow Ksenia’s advice: Don’t love, don’t treasure, don’t believe empty men’s words. Brush them off… …But three years later, the right man came along: Kirill. He was made for Sonia, sent by fate… She knew instantly, sensed it… When you meet your true love, nothing else even tempts you… Kirill wrapped his woman in his heart and never let go. He touched her soul in ways unseen. Sonia fell deeply, utterly, without conditions…
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