З життя
Сім’я переїхала з міста до віддаленого села.
В однієї родини з міста виникла думка поїхати до віддаленого українського села. Чоловік із жінкою вирушили в дорогу, забравши із собою стареньку матір. Вона була дуже старенькою, крихітною бабусею. Колись, багато років тому, вона жила в цьому батьківському будинку біля озера. Але коли стала слабкою, донька забрала її до міста. Бабуся їла вже зовсім мало, ноги погано тримали, все забувала. І ось донька з чоловіком вирішили, що їй залишилося недовго жити. Самі вони вже були пенсіонерами і вирішили, що буде краще поховати матір на рідній землі, поруч із близькими. Їй вже майже 90 років, вона ледь дихає. Вони були готові потерпіти сільські незручності, адже це ненадовго – так планували чоловік і жінка. Також вони вважали, що це позбавить їх турбот з похороном.
Дорога до села була важка, проте бабуся все стійко витримала. Жителів там було небагато, найближчий магазин за 3 км, і вибір товарів там невеликий. Так і почали жити. Чоловік ловив рибу, жінка зробила грядки, збирала ягоди та гриби в лісі, трави для чаю. Підновили стару баньку й човен.
Спочатку бабуся сиділа біля віконця, одягала окуляри і дивилася на траву у дворі, на озеро, на жовті латаття. Згодом, знайшовши старі валянки та взявши палицю, почала виходити на ґанок. Їй у гості став захажувати кіт, який лягав на коліна. Так вони могли сидіти разом довго: бабуся гладила кота маленькою рукою, а він тихенько лежав на її худеньких ніжках. Сонце гріло їх, пташки літали, метелики порхали, на озері качки крякали, а навколо – тиша…
З часом бабуся почала по подвір’ю ходити: валянки великі, на голові хусточка, окуляри на носі, сама маленька, на палицю спирається і дрібними кроками рухається. Одного разу дісталася до озера, а там качки просять частування. Донька на валянки галоші натягнула, щоб не намокли, і бабуся щодня почала ходити до озера з шматочками хліба, годувати качок з каченятами. Вони прямо з руки крихти їли, а бабуся усміхалася, щаслива. Іноді донька катала її в човні по озеру, давала вудку потримати. Бабуся зловить одну-дві рибинки і пригощає кота.
Так пройшло літо, прийшла осінь та зима, а бабуся й далі, тепло одягнена, виходила у двір і навіть ганок від снігу мітлою підмітала. З лопатою їй було не впоратися, а з мітлою виходило. І з котом по засніженому подвір’ю потихеньку гуляла. Їсти стала краще, апетит з’явився, чай любила з звіробоєм, брусницю з толокном, кашу пшоняну. І баню любила, коли гаряче. Донька її намилює, а бабуся рум’яніє від тепла, молодшає – справжня красуня! І так рік за роком…
Діти виявилися неправі у своїх підрахунках. Бабуся в селі ще шість років прожила. Всі ці шість років, доброзичливо усміхаючись світу навколо, потихеньку, у великих валянках, дрібними кроками ходила по подвір’ю, спираючись на палицю. А куди поспішати? До потойбічного світу завжди встигнеш, від цього нікуди не подінешся.
Краще радіти життю: дивитися на озеро, на траву, годувати з руки качок, гладити кота, випити кухоль чаю з малиновим варенням. Насолоджуватися життям і не думати про погане. І творити добро…
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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