З життя
Сусідка вимагає знищити мої троянди через алергію
Ця дивна історія, наче сон, де реалізм переплітається з несподіваними поворотами, почалася зовсім мирно. Ми з чоловіком купили хатинку в селі під Києвом багато років тому, але завжди відкладали її облаштування — то робота, то клопоти. Навідувалися туди раз на місяць: то дах підлатати, то замок замінити, і щоразу відчували, що на тлі охайних, квітучих городів наших сусідів наша ділянка виглядає справжньою пусткою.
Особливо це підкреслювала наша сусідка Ганна Миколаївна, жінка років шістдесяти, з вічно незадоволеним виразом обличчя. Вона любила казати, ніби жартома, але з прихованою злістю: «Оце дачу собі купили, а живете в ній, як ті перельоти. Дивитися на ваш пустир — очі болять».
Ми мовчали. Але коли я пішла на пенсію, а чоловік узяв довгу відпустку, вирішили — годі тягнути, треба наводити лад.
Хата виявилася в непоганому стані — стіни підфарбували, вікна вимили. А от ділянку довелося буквально відкопувати з-під сміття: десятки тачок сухих гілок, прогнилого листя, іржавих відрів та іншого непотребу. Працювали, аж піт очі заливав. І раптом у мені прокинулася мрія. Я захотіла не просто порядок, а справжню красу.
— Давай,— сказав чоловік,— посадимо троянди вздовж доріжки і біля південної стіни. Уяви, як гарно буде дивитися на них із ганку?
Ідея здалася мені чарівною. Поїхали в розплідник, вибрали саджанці різних сортів, з любов’ю висадили. Хвилювалася — чи приймуться? Адже ніколи раніше квітами не займалася. Та все пішло як по воді. Троянди вкоренилися, пішли в ріст, випустили бутончики.
Я почала частіше приїжджати на дачу, а на початку літа і взагалі перебралася туди. Вперше за багато років відчула себе по-справжньому счастною. Тиша, природа, улюблена справа. Не могла надивитися на зелені кущики, на пухнаті бутони. Все йшло добре… поки мої троянди не помітила Ганна Миколаївна.
Вона завітала несподівано — вперше за роки. Зайшла, оглянулася, усміхнулася:
— Ну, нарешті ділянку в порядок привели. А то дивитися було боляче.
— Так, часу тепер більше,— відповіла я стримано.
— А це що? — вказала вона на кущі.
— Троянди,— з гордістю сказала я.
— Прибери. Зараз,— пролунав холодний наказ.
Я остовпіла. Підумала, може, порушила якісь правила — посадка не там чи не те. Але все виявилося простіше.
— В мене, між іншим, алергія на троянди,— заявила Ганна Миколаївна.— Чхаю від них, очі сльозотяться. Ти що, мене в труну бажаєш загнати?
— Вибачте, але вони ж на моїй землі. Вас туди ніхто не тягне.
— А повітря? Пилок? Гадаєш, він кордонів знає? До мене все долітає. Не збираюся мучитися через твої квіти!
— Та це моя земля. Я нікому не заважаю.
— Заважаєш! — підвищила голос вона.— Прибирай. Інакше скаргу напишу. І не одну.
Скандал вийшВона пішла, грюкнувши хвірткою, а я залишилася серед своїх троянд — згадуючи, як бабуся казала, що найкраща помста за зло — залишатися щасливою.
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