З життя
The Man in the Suit Stopped by the Market Stall.
The man in the suit paused by the market stall. His gaze was cool yet composed, fixed upon the rowdy young lad. Around them, the crowd held its breath. No one had dared to intervene before, but his presence shifted the air entirely.
“Enough,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Put the bucket down.”
The troublemaker, startled for a moment, burst into laughter.
“And who might you be, mister fancy tie? Come to buy eggs, or play the hero?”
The man didnt flinch. Instead of answering straight away, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and drew out a leather wallet. He opened it slowly, took out a few thick banknotes, and placed them on the table before the old woman, who was still wiping her tears with the corner of her shawl.
“Mother,” he said respectfully, “Ill buy all your eggseven the broken ones. Your labour shouldnt be mocked.”
The crowd murmured. Some nodded approvingly, others shook their heads in disbelief.
The troublemaker, however, wasnt impressed.
“Ha! Think flashing your money makes you the big man here? I decide what happens in this market!”
He stepped forward threateningly, but the man in the suit met him with a single stride and, without raising his voice, said,
“One more move and youll regret it.”
There was a certainty in his eyes that disarmed the lad. For a second, the bully hesitatedthen, unwilling to lose face before the onlookers, he raised his hand to shove the bucket again.
In a swift motion, the man caught his wrist and squeezed. Not roughly, but enough to stop him.
“I said leave it be,” he repeated.
“Ow!” the lad yelped. “Let go, you madman!”
The crowd erupted in louder whispers. Some even clapped, relieved that someone had finally put the tyrant in his place.
The man released him and, with the same quiet authority, added,
“Walk away. And dont lay a finger on this womanor anyone else hereagain.”
The lad, red-faced with shame and fury, glanced around. The crowd no longer seemed indifferentnow they watched him with scorn and quiet satisfaction that hed been cornered at last. Feeling alone and unsupported, he muttered curses under his breath and slunk off between the stalls.
The market exhaled in relief.
The old woman, still trembling, approached the stranger.
“My boy I dont know who you are, but the Lord sent you to me today. Ive no power, no voiceand folk were too afraid”
Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they were tears of gratitude.
The man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“No need for tears, mother. The world must learn to respect the toil and hardship of humble folk. Ill do more than just buy your eggs.”
He turned to the crowd:
“Good people, we cannot stay silent when we see injustice! Any one of us could be in this womans place. Today its hertomorrow, it might be another. If we stand together, no bully will rule this market again.”
The crowd broke into applause. Some drew near the old woman, offering her coins, a loaf of bread, a handful of fruit. Others clasped her hands and murmured words of comfort.
The man paid for every eggeven the shattered onesand gave her far more than they were worth.
“Take this, mother. For medicine, for food. And dont weep anymore.”
She knelt, trying to kiss his hand, but he lifted her gently and said,
“Thank not me, but the Lord. I only did what was right.”
Then he took a calling card from his pocket and handed it to her.
“If anyone troubles you again, ring this number. Ill see youre looked after.”
The crowd slowly dispersed, but the talk lingered. The whole market buzzed about “the man in the suit” who had put the troublemaker in his place. The story passed from lip to lip, and for the first time in years, folk felt they had the right to say “no” to wrong.
The old woman walked home with slow steps, but her heart was lighter. Under her arm, she carried a sack filled with gifts from the crowd, and in her heart, she held endless gratitude. Her ailing husband waited, and now she could bring him not just bread and medicine, but news that kindness and justice still lived in the world.
That evening, in their modest cottage on the village edge, she told him everything. His weary eyes brightened as he listened.
“You see, wife,” he said, “the Lord does not forsake us. He sends good folk in times of trial.”
And for the first time in many months, hope warmed their home again.
As for the man in the suit, none knew exactly who he was. Some said he was a solicitor, others a merchant from the capital. But to all in the market, he remained “the stranger who set things right.”
And so, on an ordinary market day, the life of a poor old woman changed. Beyond the coins shed received, shed gained the respect of her neighbours and the proof she was not alone. And her tale, passed from mouth to mouth, stirred others to speak against wrongs, too.
“Oh, You Drive Me Mad!… I Eat Wrong, I Dress Wrong, I Do Everything Wrong!”—Pavel’s Voice Broke Into a Shout. “You Can’t Do Anything Right!… Can’t Even Earn a Decent Living… And You’re No Help Around the House, Ever!”—Marina Sobbed, “…And There Are No Children…” She Whispered. Belka, the Ten-Year-Old Ginger-and-White Cat, Watched Silently from Atop the Cupboard as Another Family “Tragedy” Unfolded. She Knew, Even Felt, That Mum and Dad Loved Each Other Dearly—So Why Say Such Hurtful Things? Mum Ran Off Crying, Dad Chain-Smoked by the Window, and Belka Thought to Herself: “What This Home Needs Is Happiness, And Happiness Means Kids… Somehow, We Need to Find Children…” Belka Herself Couldn’t Have Kittens—She’d Been Neutered Long Ago. As for Mum, The Doctors Said It Was Possible, But Something Never Quite Worked Out… The Next Morning, After Mum and Dad Left for Work, Belka Squeezed Out the Window and Went to See Her Neighbour, Whiskers, for Advice. “Why On Earth Would You Want Kids?” Sniffed Whiskers. “Ours Always Come Over—Hide From Them If You Can! They Smear My Muzzle With Lipstick Or Squeeze Me ‘Til I Can’t Breathe!” Belka Sighed, “We Need Proper Children… But Where On Earth Do We Get Them?” “Well… That Stray Molly on the Street Just Had Five… Take Your Pick…” Whiskers Shrugged. On Her Own Daring, Belka Tiptoed Balcony to Balcony Down to the Street, Squeezed Through The Bars of a Basement Window, and Called Out, “Molly, Could You Come Here for Just a Moment?” From Deep Within the Cellar Came the Desperate Squeaking of Kittens. Belka Cautiously Approached. Underneath the Heater, Five Blind, Mismatched Kittens Searched The Air, Wailing Hungrily. Molly Hadn’t Been There for At Least Three Days. The Babies Were Starving… Feeling She Might Cry, Belka Carefully Carried Each Kitten to the Entrance of Her Building. Lying Beside the Screeching, Hungry Bunch, She Waited Anxiously for Mum and Dad to Come Home. When Pavel and Marina Returned from Work, They Were Astonished—There Was Belka, Never Before Out Alone, Being Nursed by Five Noisy Kittens. “How on Earth Did This Happen?” Pavel Stammered. “It’s a Miracle…” Whispered Marina. They Scooped Up Belka and the Kittens and Rushed Inside. As Pavel Watched Their Purring Cat in a Box Full of Babies, He Asked, “So… What Are We Going To Do With Them?” “I’ll Hand-Feed Them… When They’re Grown, We’ll Find Them Homes… I’ll Call My Friends,” Whispered Marina. Three Months Later, Still Stunned By The Miracle, Marina Sat Stroking Her Feline Clan, Repeating to Herself, “This Can’t Be Real… This Can’t Happen…” And Soon After, She and Pavel Wept for Joy, Laughing and Embracing, “I’m So Glad We Finished Building This House!” “Yes! Perfect for a Child to Play Outside!” “And the Kittens Can All Run Around!” “There’s Room for Everyone!” “I Love You!” “Oh, I Love You Even More!” Wise Old Belka Wiped Away a Tear—Life Was Finally Coming Together…
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Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: “Why hasn’t your husband written or called?” “No word, Vera—not after nine days, not after forty,” Lyuda would joke, adjusting her work apron over her broad waist. “So he’s gone off the rails, or worse, then,” her neighbour nodded sympathetically. “Well, wait and see. Have the police said anything?” “Everyone’s silent, Vera—quiet as fish in that sea of his.” “Life, eh… fate.” That conversation weighed heavy on Lyudmila as she swept the autumn leaves from her doorstep in the dreary fall of 1988. Three years into her well-earned retirement, she’d had to take up work as a council cleaner to make ends meet. Life had always been simple—she and her husband, both dutiful workers, had raised a son, no scandal, no sorrow. Then Igor went on a seaside holiday and never returned. She’d phoned every hospital, every police station, even the morgue. Her son, stationed with the military, helped with inquiries—it was discovered Igor checked out of his hotel but never boarded the train home. Lyudmila wanted to go search for her husband, but her son insisted he’d handle it. Weeks passed, and she kept herself busy to stifle her fears. Then, as suddenly as he’d vanished, Igor reappeared—no suitcase, just the same navy suit and a weary silence. As she fussed to feed him and her son, the truth unravelled: Igor had been living with another woman by the sea, seeking “freedom.” The shock, the ache of betrayal—Lyudmila couldn’t bear it. Igor, shamed and lost, tried to return weeks later, but Lyudmila stood firm. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the pain of not knowing, of years shared and suddenly made strange. She swept her pathway, watching leaves collect and blow away, knowing sometimes those who hurt us most have already gone with the wind. (Original Title Adapted for English Culture: Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: The Disappearance, the Heartbreak, and the Road Swept Clean)
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