З життя
Сёстры восьми років зустрічаються з хірургом: не близнючки, але разом.
Дівчата сиділи перед хірургом. Їм було по вісім років і вони були сестрами. Не близнюками, ні. Високий і лисий хірург насупився. Розмова мала бути дуже важкою і серйозною. Він попросив їхніх батьків вийти і дати йому п’ять хвилин. Йому дуже хотілося поговорити і пояснити. Хоча… Що тут можна пояснити?
Те, що ймовірність позитивного результату близька до нуля? Розповісти щось про марність життя? Про те, що всі там будемо? Восьмирічній дитині?!
Він намагався підібрати слова і підсвідомо відтягував початок розмови.
– А чого це ви обидві лисі?
Запитав він у сестричок і інстинктивно провів по своїй лисині.
– А це я збривала волосся на підтримку сестри.
Відповіла одна дівчинка і стиснула своєю лівою долонькою праву руку сестри.
– Ти її дуже любиш?
Продовжив хірург.
– Дуже.
Відповіла дівчина.
– Ви, дядько лікар, не хвилюйтеся. Я сама дуже хочу поділитися з нею своєю печінкою. Мене ніхто не вмовляв.
Як тільки вона захворіла, я вирішила це.
Зроблю все, щоб вона видужала.
Губи хірурга звело судомою.
– Трохи раніше б.
Пробурмотів він майже сам.
– Що ви сказали, дядьку?
Хором запитали сестрички.
– Я кажу.
Знайшовся хірург.
– Я кажу, а що найбільше ви любите?
І вони почали говорити.
Хірург з болем усередині дивився на зблякле обличчя хворої дівчинки. Обличчя, яке порожевішало від добрих спогадів.
– Ох, раніше б.
Повторював він сам собі.
А діти перелічували.
– Насамперед, як одужаємо.
Вона зможе гратися з нашим улюбленим котом Левком.
Як тільки мені стане легше, ми з сестрою підемо в зоопарк подивитися на великих голубів і ховрахів.
– Любите тварин?
Тягнув час хірург.
– Дуже.
Хором відповіли сестрички.
– Удома тільки кіт Левко.
Ми маму просили, щоб дозволила принести кошеня, яке у нас у під’їзді живе, але…
Але вона не дозволяє. Каже, що сестрі поки що не можна.
– Правильно каже.
Зітхнув лікар і прийняв рішення.
– Ви ось що. Не хвилюйтеся. Зроблю все, що зможу. Але розумієте…
Хірург зам’явся.
– Тут така справа. Я не чарівник. На превеликий мій жаль.
– Дядьку лікарю.
Підвелася дівчина, хвора на рак, і підійшла до хірурга.
– Дядьку лікарю. Ви не бійтеся. Я смерті не боюся. У мене все в житті є. І батьки хороші, і сестра, і кіт Левко. Вони всі мене дуже люблять. А значить, завжди будуть пам’ятати, а той, кого пам’ятають, ніколи не помре. Правильно?
Хірург задихнувся. Він намагався проштовхнути слова через горло. Відкашлявся і погладив дитину по голові.
– Покличте мені ще раз батьків.
Сказав він виходять дівчинкам.
Розмова була важкою. Після підписання всіх необхідних документів він кивнув їм, і вони пішли до дверей ходою одразу страшно постарілих людей.
Мама дівчат намагалася стримати ридання. Не можна, щоб діти бачили.
– А знаєте що?
Озвався він до них.
Батьки дівчат озирнулися.
– Знаєте що.
Повторив хірург.
– Принесіть їм сьогодні те кошеня, яке вони просили. Який живе під сходами.
– Брудний, блохастий. Щоб перед операцією вони захворіли?
Заперечила жінка.
Хірург підвівся і підійшов до них впритул. Він подивився на матір і промовив тихо.
– Ви не розумієте, що це може бути її остання радість? Мені треба пояснювати такі прості речі? Купіть його. Обробіть від бліх. Я не знаю. Робіть що хочете, в кінці кінців.
Він відвернувся і сів за стіл.
Батьки вийшли.
Через кілька днів дівчат поклали в лікарню і почали готувати до серйозної операції з пересадки частини печінки.
Хірург довго стояв перед дверима палати, перш ніж увійти.
Він не вірив у бога і завжди писав це слово з маленької букви, тому що… Тому що той, хто бачив стільки страждань і смертей, як він, перестає вірити в щось хороше.
А тепер він стояв перед дверима і намагався згадати слова якоїсь молитви. Мама з ним у дитинстві розучувала.
Його губи беззвучно рухались, але… Жодне слово не спадало на думку.
Він штовхнув двері і увійшов.
– Дядько лікар!
Хором радісно закричали дівчатка, і камінь упав з його душі.
– Дядько лікар! Це ви попросили маму?
Запитала одна із сестричок.
– Ні, ні.
Відповів він.
– Це вона сама. Звичайно, сама.
Сказав він, присідаючи на краєчок ліжка.
Дівчата потяглися до нього і торкнулися його руки.
– Дядько лікар. Ви дуже хороший.
Сказала одна, а друга.
Підтримала.
– Дякуємо вам.
Він схлипнув і вискочив із палати. Промчав коридором і, влетівши до свого кабінету, став витирати сльози, що котилися щоками, але тут…
Тут раптом…
Хтось поруч почав аплодувати.
Він з подивом озирнувся. Стояли лікарі відділення і медсестри. Вони мовчки аплодували.
Здивування на обличчі хірурга говорило саме за себе.
– Безнадійний випадок, колега.
Сказав найстарший хірург.
– Ніхто, крім вас, не наважився. І я, старий пес, злякався. Не хотів перед пенсією. Не хотів так піти.
– Я вас розумію.
Відповів йому хірург.
– А ось я себе ні.
Заперечив йому найстарший хірург, після чого простягнув уперед свої руки. Вони не тремтіли.
– Зробіть мені честь, колега.
Сказав він лікарю.
– Візьміть у команду. Не дайте мені так піти і потім шкодувати до самого кінця. Гаразд?
– Гаразд.
Посміхнувся хірург. І всі знову аплодували.
Перед наркозом хвора дівчина покликала хірурга. Той підійшов і нахилився.
– Дякую вам за котика.
Сказала вона і додала.
– Я назвала його Надія.
– Кішечка?
Запитав лікар.
– Ні, котик.
Відповіла дівчинка і розсміялася ледь чутним сміхом.
– У нього там такі маленькі яєчка.
Операція була дуже довгою і важкою. Я не стану перераховувати всі труднощі, що виникли. Скажу лише, що маленьке серце хворої дитини запускали двічі.
– Третій раз вона не витримає.
Сказав хірург, асистувавши йому старому лікарю.
– Третій раз буде останнім.
І третій раз стався.
Маленьке серце смикнулося і стало.
Всі заквапилися і почали робити необхідні процедури, а старий хірург відійшов до стіни і сів.
Він тримався за своє серце, а його губи шепотіли.
– Ні. Ні за що. Це мій останній бій, і мені вирішувати.
Серце дівчинки раптом запрацювало.
– Шиємо, ммммать вашу!
Закричав хірург, і всі кинулися до столу та інструментів.
Коли все скінчилося. І дівчат стали вивозити з операційної. Хірург раптом помітив.
– Колего. Колего!
Покликав він старого хірурга, що притулився до стінки.
Але той мовчав.
Хірург підійшов і заглянув йому в очі. Потім стягнув з голови ковпак.
– Ах, ти господи.
Сказав він.
– Як же так?
Потім зазначив.
– Героїчно пішов. Віддав усе до кінця.
Коли він вийшов до їхніх батьків, які чергували в коридорі. Вони схопилися і кинулися до нього.
– Тихо, тихо.
Сказав він, піднявши вгору руки.
– Операція пройшла вдало, але це все, що я можу сказати.
Сподіватимемося на добре.
Через рік. Мама дівчат зателефонувала лікарю і попросила.
– Лікарю. Не могли б ви зробити нам таку послугу?
Дівчата дуже хочуть, щоб ви з нами поїхали в зоопарк. Ви могли б?
Хірург погодився.
Маленькі йшли проходом, тримаючись за його руки. Вони говорили і усміхалися. Вони розповідали йому про все. І про те, як живуть. І про те, який страшний пустун Надія.
А хірург йшов, слухав їх і посміхався. У нього в голові раптом зазвучали ті давно забуті слова його мами. Яка вчила його молитви.
Літери складалися в слова, слова в рядки.
І його губи самі шепотіли.
– Що?
Запитали хором сестрички.
– Я кажу.
Усміхнувся хірург.
– Я кажу. Ви обидві дуже сміливі дівчинки. Тримайтеся одна за одну. І тоді вам нічого не страшно.
Дівчата притулилися до нього і обняли. А перед його очима стояв. Найстарший хірург. Який тоді віддав своє життя. Він стояв і усміхався.
Ось і вся історія.
І я не знаю, про що вона.
Про любов сестер? Про рішучість лікаря звалити на себе те, що інші не можуть?
Про старого хірурга, який вирішив піти тихо, але не завадити порятунку життів дітей?
Що тут важливіше?
Як вирішити?
Як?
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Never Fully Forgotten Every day, Prokhor commuted home from work—first the London Underground, then the bus, until finally arriving at his flat. The journey took over an hour each way. His car spent more time parked than driven, as morning and evening traffic in London was so dreadful that taking the tube was much quicker. About two years ago, his family life changed—he and his wife quietly separated. Their daughter, who was seventeen at the time, stayed with her mother. Prokhor wasn’t one for loud arguments—he’d always disliked drama. He noticed his wife had changed for the worse; she grew irritable without reason, disappeared for hours, sometimes coming home late, always claiming she’d been with a friend. One day, Prokhor asked: “Where do you go so late? Most wives are home by this hour.” “None of your business. Those ‘normal wives’ are hens. I’m different—clever and sociable. Being home all the time suffocates me. And I’m not a country bumpkin like you. You were born that way and never changed.” “Then why did you marry a country boy?” “I chose the lesser of two evils,” she snapped, refusing to elaborate. After filing for divorce, she kicked Prokhor out of their flat, so he rented a place instead. He’d gotten used to it, wasn’t in a rush to remarry, but kept his options open. Prokhor travelled by tube, never wasting time, scrolling through his phone just like everyone else. He browsed the usual news, laughed at jokes, watched short clips—until an image made him stop and go back. He peered closer at the advert: “Folk Healer Mary—herbal remedies.” Prokhor stared into the eyes of his first love, gazing out from his mobile. An unrequited, hopeless first love—impossible to forget. He remembered the girl well from their school days. She was a bit eccentric, but beautiful. He nearly missed his stop, hurried off the train, walked home instead of waiting for a bus—he was driven by sudden nostalgia. 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At first, she didn’t react, but at the end of Year 9, he asked: “Let me walk you home from school?” Mary looked at him seriously and quietly replied so no one else could hear: “I’m promised, Prokhor. It’s tradition.” He was disappointed, but didn’t understand the tradition, nor who “they” were. Later, he found out Mary was raised by her Old Believer grandparents—her parents had died long ago. Mary was an excellent student, never wore jewellery. Her classmates whispered behind her back, but Mary never cared and held herself with dignity. She grew more beautiful every year. By Year 10, she was striking. The boys admired her quietly, but never teased. After graduation, everyone scattered. Prokhor left for London to attend university. He knew only that Mary had married—never came home in holidays, went off to work on summer crews. Mary married her betrothed and moved to a rural area, living as a farmer’s wife, raising cattle and hay, running the household. She had a son—none of their classmates saw her again. “So that’s what Mary does,” thought Prokhor, sitting in the lounge. “She heals with herbs. She’s even more beautiful now.” He barely slept that night. At work, memories wouldn’t leave him—Mary’s beauty lingered in his mind. First love really does stir the heart. It never, ever fades. For days, he wandered in a haze, until he couldn’t help himself—he messaged her. “Hi, Mary.” “Good health to you,” she replied, unchanged in this. “What’s on your mind, or is something troubling you?” “Mary, it’s Prokhor—your old classmate. Remember, we used to sit together at school. I saw you online and wanted to write.” “Yes, I remember you, Prokhor. You were the best of the boys in class.” “Mary, your phone’s here—can I call?” “You may. I’ll answer.” That evening, he rang her. They talked, caught up on each other’s lives. “I live and work in London,” he explained. “You’d better tell me about yourself, Mary. Big family? Is your husband good to you? Where are you now?” “I live in my old house—the one I walked to school from. I came back after my husband died. A bear in the woods… And Grandfather passed long ago.” “I’m so sorry, Mary, I never knew…” “That’s alright, it was years ago. I’m at peace about it now. We don’t know about each other’s lives, do we? And you’re only calling as a friend, not looking for herbs? I sometimes advise…” “Just as a friend. I don’t need herbs. I saw you online and nostalgia hit me. I miss our village—mum’s been gone for years.” They talked of this and that, remembered old classmates, and said goodbye. Then silence—work, home, and after a week, Prokhor grew lonely and called Mary again. “Hello, Mary.” “Good health, Prokhor! Missing me, or are you unwell?” “Missed you, Mary. Please don’t be cross, but may I visit you?” he asked, quietly but hopefully, his heart racing. “Come along,” she said, unexpectedly. “Come whenever you wish.” “I’ve got holiday next week,” he said, delighted. “That’s great—come! You know the address.” He sensed she was smiling. He spent the week preparing, buying gifts for Mary, anxious—wondering if she’d changed, or if she was the same. After a week, he set off from London for his childhood village. Six hours on the road, but he didn’t mind—he loved a long drive. He was surprised by the changes when he arrived—new houses, a bustling town centre. He pulled over near a shop. “Wow, I thought our village was like so many others—run down. But it’s thriving!” he said aloud, looking around. “We’re not just a village—it’s a proper borough now,” said an elderly man proudly. “Been that way a while. You mustn’t have visited in years.” “Years, mate. Years,” replied Prokhor. “We’ve got a good mayor—cares about the place. That’s why the old village has blossomed.” Mary waited for Prokhor in the garden—he’d rung her as he approached the borough. Soon, as his car turned into the lane, Mary’s heart thumped wildly. Nobody ever knew she’d secretly loved Prokhor since schooldays. She’d kept it hidden; if he hadn’t come back, it would have remained buried forever. Their reunion was joyful; they talked for hours in the gazebo. The timber house had aged, but was still warm and inviting. “Mary, I’ve come to see you for a reason,” he said, and she looked at him seriously, a little afraid. “I’m listening—what is it?” she asked, tense. “I’ve loved you my whole life. Won’t you answer my love now?” he said, at last. Mary jumped up and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Prokhor—I’ve loved you since childhood, too!” Prokhor spent his holiday with Mary, promising as he left: “I’ll sort everything at work, go remote, and return. I’m never leaving here again. I was born here—here’s where I belong!” he laughed.
Completely letting go was impossible Every evening, Peter heads home from his job in London by Tube, then hops on...