З життя
У них всегда были гости, і всі завжди п’ють, а їжі нема.
Вдома були гості. Гості у них були майже завжди.
– Все п’ють, п’ють, пляшок повно, а їжі зовсім немає. Хоч би шматок хліба знайти… але на столі одні недопалки й порожня консервна банка, – Льоня ще раз уважно оглянув стіл, але нічого їстівного не знайшов.
– Добре, мамо, я пішов, – сказав хлопчик і почав повільно натягувати свої порвані черевики.
Він ще сподівався, що мама все-таки зупинить його, скаже:
– Куди ж ти, синочку, не поївши, та й холодно на вулиці. Сиди вдома. Зараз я наварю кашу, а гостей прожену та підлогу помию.
Він завжди чекав від мами ласкавого слова, але вона не любила говорити ласкаво. Слова, які вона говорила, були схожі на колючки, від яких Льоні хотілося згорнутися й сховатися.
Цього разу він вирішив піти назавжди. Льоні було шість років, і він вважав себе цілком дорослим. На початок потрібно здобути гроші і купити булочку, може навіть дві булочки… Його шлунок бурчав і вимагав їжі.
Як здобути гроші Льоня не знав, але, проходячи повз торгові кіоски, побачив, що з-під снігу стирчить порожня пляшка. Він згадав, що пляшки можна здати, і тоді в нього будуть гроші. Хлопчик поклав пляшку в кишеню, потім знайшов зім’ятий пакет біля зупинки. Він ще пів дня збирав пляшки.
Пляшок було вже багато, вони весело дзвеніли в пакеті. Льоня вже уявляв собі, як купить м’яку духмяну булочку з маком або з родзинками, а може навіть з глазур’ю, але потім подумав, що на булочку з глазур’ю пляшок може не вистачити, і вирішив для певності ще пошукати.
Він забрів на вокзал. На платформі приміських поїздів, де в очікуванні електричок чоловіки п’ють пиво, Льоня поставив важкий пакет поряд з кіоском, а сам побіг за щойно залишеною пляшкою. Поки він бігав, якийсь брудний і злий чоловік забрав його пляшки. Льоня попросив чоловіка повернути йому пакет, але злий чоловік подивився на нього так грізно, що хлоцю довелося повернутися і піти.
Мрія про булочку зникла, як міраж.
– Збирати пляшки нелегко, – подумав Льоня і знову побрів засніженими вулицями.
Сніг був мокрим і липким. Ноги у хлопчака промокли і змерзли. Стало зовсім темно. Він не пам’ятав, як забрів у під’їзд, впав на сходовій площадці, підсунувся ближче до батареї і занурився в гарячий сон.
Прокинувшись, він подумав, що все ще продовжує спати, бо було тепло, спокійно і затишно, а ще пахло чимось смачним, смачним!
До кімнати, де він спав, зайшла жінка. Вона була красива, красива і так ласкаво дивилася на нього.
– Ну що, хлопчику, – запитала вона, – обігрівся? Виспався? Давай снідати. Бо я йду вночі, а ти, як цуценя якесь, в під’їзді спиш. Взяла тебе і принесла додому.
– Це тепер мій дім? – ще не вірячи в своє щастя, запитав Льоня.
– Якщо в тебе немає дому, то буде твоїм, – відповіла жінка.
Далі все було схоже на казку. Незнайома тітка годувала його, піклувалася, купувала новий одяг. Поступово Льоня розповів їй усе про своє життя з мамою.
У доброї тітки було казкове ім’я, Лілія. Насправді ім’я було звичайне, але Льоня ще зовсім мало жив на світі і почув це ім’я вперше. Він вирішив, що тільки у доброї феї може бути таке чудове і гарне ім’я.
– А хочеш, я стану твоєю мамою? – запитала вона якось, обійнявши його і міцно пригорнувши до себе, як це роблять справжні, люблячі матері.
Він, звичайно, хотів, але…
Щасливе життя закінчилося несподівано швидко. Через тиждень за ним прийшла мама.
Мама була майже твереза і сильно кричала на жінку, що прихистила його, – Мене поки ще не позбавили материнства, і в мене на сина всі права.
Коли вона вела Льоню, з неба падали сніжинки, і йому здавалося, що дім, де залишалася така хороша тітка, схожий на білий замок, вкритий чарівними сніжинками.
Далі життя стало зовсім поганим. Мама пила. Льоня втікав з дому. Він ночував на вокзалах, збирав пляшки, купував хліб. Ні з ким не знайомився, ні в кого нічого не просив.
Згодом його маму все ж позбавили материнства, а його відправили до дитячого будинку.
Найтрагічнішим для нього було те, що він ніяк не міг згадати, де знаходиться той дім, який виглядав як білий замок, в якому жила добра жінка з казковим ім’ям.
Минуло три роки.
Льоня жив у дитячому будинку. Він був замкненим і мовчазним хлопчиком. Його улюбленим заняттям було усамітнитися і малювати. Причому, малював він завжди одну й ту ж картину – білий дім і падаючі з неба сніжинки.
Одного разу в дитячий будинок приїхала журналістка. Вихователька водила її по всіх кімнатах і знайомила з дітьми. Вони підійшли до Льоні.
– Льоня – хороший, цікавий хлопчик, але в нього проблеми адаптації в дитячому колективі. До сих пір проблеми, хоча він у нас вже три роки. Ми працюємо над тим, щоб влаштувати хлопчика в сім’ю, – пояснила вона журналістці.
– Давай знайомитися, мене звати Лілія, – запропонувала журналістка Льоні.
Хлопчик стрепенувся і заговорив! Заговорив цілком несподівано для всіх! Замкнений і мовчазний хлопчик з упоєнням розповідав їй про іншу добру тітку Лілію. Здавалося, що його душа відтає з кожною новою фразою. Очі у хлопчика блищали, на щоках виступив рум’янець. Вихователька з подивом спостерігала за його перетворенням.
Ім’я Лілія виявилося золотим ключиком до серця дитини.
Журналістка Лілія не змогла стриматися і розплакалася, слухаючи історію Льониного життя. Вона пообіцяла йому надрукувати про нього в місцевій газеті і, можливо, та добра тітка прочитає газету і дізнається, що Льоня чекає зустрічі з нею.
Вона дотримала свого слова. І сталося диво.
Та жінка не підписувала газету, але у неї був день народження, і колеги на роботі подарували їй квіти, а оскільки на вулиці була зима, квіти загорнули ще й у газету.
Вдома, розгортаючи квіти, вона звернула увагу на заголовок невеликої статті “Добра жінка Лілія, Вас шукає хлопчик Льоня. Відгукніться!”
Вона прочитала статтю і зрозуміла, що це її чекає той самий хлопчик, якого одного разу вона принесла зі сходової площадки і хотіла усиновити.
Льоня одразу впізнав її. Він кинувся до неї. Вони обійнялися. Плакали всі: і Льоня, і Лілія, і вихователі, присутні на зустрічі.
– Я так чекав на тебе, – сказав хлопчик.
Його насилу вдалося вмовити відпустити тітку Лілю додому. Вона не може забрати його одразу, попереду процедура усиновлення, але вона пообіцяла щодня навідувати його.
P.S: А далі у Льоні почалося нормальне і щасливе життя.
Зараз йому вже 26 років. Він закінчив технологічний інститут. Збирається одружитися на хорошій дівчині. Веселий, комунікабельний хлопець, він дуже любить свою маму Лілю, якій завдячує всім.
Потім вже, коли він став дорослим, вона йому розповіла, що чоловік пішов від неї через її бездітність. Вона почувалася нещасною і нікому непотрібною. Саме в цей момент вона знайшла його на сходовій площадці і зігріла своєю любов’ю.
Після того, як його забрала мати, Лілія з жалем думала, – Значить не доля.
І була нескінченно щаслива, коли знову знайшла його в дитячому будинку.
Леонід спробував дізнатися про долю своєї справжньої матері. Він з’ясував, що квартиру в місті вони орендували. Мати багато років тому поїхала в невідомому напрямку з чоловіком, що звільнився з ув’язнення. Далі шукати він не став. Навіщо?
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Is the Orchid Really to Blame? “Polly, take this orchid or I’m throwing it out,” Kate said, carelessly picking up the clear pot from the windowsill and handing it to me. “Thanks, Kate! But what’s wrong with this orchid?” I was surprised. After all, three more gorgeous, well-tended orchids stood in her window. “It was a wedding gift for my son. And you know how that all ended,” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Denis got divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—I bet it was a serious reason. Denis adored Tanya,” I said gently, not wanting to reopen a fresh wound. “I’ll tell you the full story one day, Polly. For now, it’s just too much,” Kate said, getting a bit teary. I brought the “banished” and “rejected” orchid home. My husband looked sympathetically at the wilting plant. “Why do you want that poor thing? There’s no life in it. Even I can see that. Don’t waste your time,” he insisted. “I want to revive it. Give it some love and care. You’ll see—soon you’ll be impressed by this orchid!” I replied, determined to breathe life back into the drooping flower. He winked playfully: “Who ever turns down a bit of love?” A week later, Kate called: “Polly, can I come over? I can’t keep this bottled up anymore. I want to tell you everything about Denis’s failed marriage.” “Of course, Kate. I’m here whenever you need me,” I assured her—remembering how she’d supported me through two rocky marriages of my own… After all, we’d been friends for years. Kate arrived within the hour, settled in the kitchen, and for hours, over a glass of dry wine, a mug of coffee, and some dark chocolate, she shared the whole, tangled tale. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such things. Denis and Tanya were together for seven years. Denis left Annie—who I adored, by the way—for Tanya, who was just stunning. He was absolutely besotted, following her around like a lovesick puppy. Tanya looked like a model—men couldn’t help but stare. But for all those years, they never had a child. I figured Denis wanted everything by the book—get married, then have kids. Denis is private, and we never pried. Finally, Denis told us: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. I’m throwing a huge wedding—no expense spared.’ He was thirty. We were thrilled that he’d finally settle down. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be postponed twice—once Denis got sick, then I was held up at work. It felt odd, but Denis was glowing with happiness—I didn’t say anything. Denis even wanted to have a church wedding with Father Christopher, but the priest was called back to his home parish. Nothing was going smoothly. It seemed like the world was warning us… The wedding was spectacular, noisy, extravagant. Here—look at the wedding photo. You see that orchid? Glorious, in full bloom. Its leaves stood tall like soldiers. And now? Just limp rags remain of it. …Denis and Tanya planned their honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was barred from leaving the country—something about an unpaid fine. Denis swatted away these troubles like flies. …But then Denis got seriously ill. Ended up in hospital, things looked grim. Doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited for a week, then bluntly told him: ‘Sorry, but I can’t handle being married to an invalid. I’m filing for divorce.’ Polly, imagine my son—bedridden—hearing that. But he only said: ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight you.’ So they divorced. But Denis got better—thanks to a wonderful doctor named Peter. And Peter had a lovely 20-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis turned up his nose: ‘She’s just a slip of a girl—not even pretty.’ ‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve already had a model for a wife…Better to be happy drinking water together than sipping honey in sorrow.’ …Time passed. Mary totally fell for Denis—called all the time, trailed after him everywhere. So we tried nudging them together—day at the park, barbecue, campfire. Denis looked miserable, barely noticing Mary’s devotion. I told my husband: ‘It’s hopeless. Denis is still obsessed with Tanya. She’s a thorn in his heart.’ …Three or four months later—ding dong! It’s Denis, holding that infamous orchid. ‘Here you go, Mum—remnants of past happiness. Do as you like with it—I’m done with it.’ I took it reluctantly and basically ignored it, blaming the poor flower for my son’s heartbreak. One day, a neighbour says: ‘Kate, I saw Denis with that petite girl. His ex-wife was more glamorous, for sure.’ But then Denis announced, hand-in-hand with Mary: ‘Meet my wife—Mary. We got married quietly at the registry office, then Father Christopher married us in church. Mum, Dad, no big fuss this time! It’s forever now.’ I pulled him aside: ‘Denis, are you sure you love her? Is this for revenge against Tanya?’ ‘No, Mum. I’m over it. That woman is my past—I’m done even saying her name. Mary and I are right for each other.’ And that’s the tale, Polly. Kate finished her story, right down to the last detail. …Two years passed. Life swept us along. But the orchid? It flourished again—blooming beautifully after care and love. Flowers know how to say thank you. I met Kate at the hospital maternity ward: ‘Hi, mate! What brings you here?’ ‘Mary just had twins—being discharged today!’ Kate beamed. Denis and his dad hovered nearby, Denis clutching red roses. Out came exhausted but glowing Mary, with two sleeping bundles in tow. Then came my daughter, holding my own new granddaughter. Meanwhile, Tanya was begging Denis for forgiveness and a fresh start. …But glue a broken teacup, and no one really wants to drink from it…
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Raw Nerves: In This Family, Everyone Lived Their Own Separate Lives. Dad, Alexander, Had Not Just a Wife but a String of Lovers. Mum, Jenny, Turned a Blind Eye, but She Had Her Own Secret Romance with a Married Colleague. Their Two Sons Were Left to Fend for Themselves. Nobody Really Raised Them, So They Wasted Days Wandering Aimlessly. Jenny Claimed the School Was Responsible for Their Upbringing. On Sundays, the Family Would Gather in Silence Round the Kitchen Table, Wolf Down Lunch, and Disperse to Their Separate Interests. They Might Have Continued in Their Broken, Flawed but Comfortably Familiar Existence—Until Irreversible Tragedy Struck. When the Younger Son, Daniel, Was Twelve, Alexander First Took Him to the Garage as His Little Helper. While Daniel Curiously Inspected the Tools, Alexander Stepped Next Door to Chat with Fellow Car Enthusiasts. Suddenly, Black Smoke and Flames Billowed from Alexander’s Garage. (Later, It Would Emerge that Daniel Had Accidentally Knocked a Lit Blowtorch onto a Can of Petrol.) Nobody Understood What Had Happened. People Were Frozen, Panicking, as Fire Raged. Water Was Thrown Over Alexander, and He Bolted into the Inferno. In Moments, He Emerged, Carrying His Motionless Son, Daniel’s Body a Mass of Burns—Only His Face, Shielded by His Hands, Remained Unscathed; His Clothes Were Completely Burned Away. Someone Had Already Called the Fire Brigade and Ambulance. Daniel Was Rushed to Hospital—He Was Alive! He Was Taken Straight to Surgery. After Agonising Hours, the Surgeon Came Out to Daniel’s Parents and Said, “We’re Doing All We Can. Your Son Is in a Coma. His Chances Are One in a Million. Science Is Powerless. Only Extraordinary Willpower—and a Miracle—Can Save Him Now.” Desperate, Alexander and Jenny Raced to the Nearest Church—in a Torrential Downpour. Drenched and Sobbing, They Entered the Sanctuary for the First Time in Their Lives, Begging the Priest, Father George, for Help. “…How grave are your sins?” Father George asked. Alexander, sheepish, replied, “Not murderers, if that’s what you mean…” “But where is your love? Dead underfoot,” the priest reproached. “There’s more space between you than a fallen oak log. Pray to Saint Nicholas for your son’s health—pray fiercely! But remember, it’s God’s will…” At the icon, Alexander and Jenny knelt, weeping and praying passionately—swearing to cut all affairs, vowing to change their lives. The next morning, the phone rang. The doctor reported Daniel was out of his coma. Alexander and Jenny never left his bedside. Daniel whispered to his parents, “Mum, Dad, promise me you’ll stay together,” and, “When I have children, they’ll have your names…” His parents thought he was delirious—after all, he couldn’t even move his finger. But Daniel began to recover. The family’s energy and savings—and even their summer cottage—went into his treatment. The garage and car had burned to ashes, but the main thing was: Daniel was alive. The grandparents pitched in to help, and the family came together through the crisis. A year on, Daniel was in a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and look after himself. He befriended Mary, a girl his own age who’d also been burned in a fire—her face badly scarred after multiple operations, too shy to look in a mirror. Daniel was drawn to her kindness, wisdom, and vulnerability. The two became inseparably close, bonding over pain, recovery, and endless conversation. Time passed… Daniel and Mary celebrated a modest wedding. They had two beautiful children: daughter Alexandra, then three years later, son John. At last, the family could breathe easy. But the ordeal had left Alexander and Jenny drained. They decided to part ways, both craving peace and relief from each other. Jenny moved to stay with her sister in the suburbs, visiting Father George before leaving—he, now a confidant, urged her not to go for long; “A husband and wife are one.” Alexander remained alone in the empty flat, sons with families of their own. Visiting grandchildren was done separately, timings carefully coordinated to avoid crossing paths. And so, after all they’d suffered, every member of the family finally found their own, peculiar peace…
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