З життя
Залишений сестрою без засобів, він навчився щастю на вулиці
Сестра залишила його без копійки на вулиці, але він навчився бути щасливим
Інколи випадкова зустріч здатна перевернути свідомість. Змусити зупинитися, вдивитися, задуматися. Я вразлива людина, дуже важко переживаю чужий біль, і ця історія не відпускає мене досі. Вже декілька днів я не можу спати спокійно — думки повертаються до одного молодого чоловіка, з яким я зустрілася на вулиці неподалік від вокзалу у Львові.
Я прямувала у справах до подруги — звичайний день, звичайна міська суєта. Люди поспішали, машини гуділи, холодний вітер обвивав обличчя. Раптом мій погляд зачепила маленька фігурка. На перший погляд — наче дитина. Але, придивившись, я зрозуміла, що це дорослий хлопець, просто з дуже тендітною комплекцією і дивною ходою.
Він ніс у руках цуценя — маленьке, пухнасте, з мокрим носиком і добрими очима. Під пахвою тримав згорток старих газет, який раз у раз загрожував випасти. Його рухи були невпевненими, пальці — скув уті, обличчя — трішки перекошене. Я зрозуміла: у нього є особливості. Можливо, психічні, можливо, неврологічні. Але було в ньому щось настільки світле і чисте, що я не змогла пройти повз.
Поки я милувалася цуценям, хлопець впустив газети. Я одразу підбігла допомогти. Укладаючи їх у пакет зі своєї сумки, обережно запитала:
— Куди ти їх несеш?
Він відповів тихо:
— На пункт прийому. На корм собаці заробити.
Ці слова вдарили сильніше, ніж будь-яка ляпас.
Поки ми збирали газети, він розповів мені, що раніше жив з мамою. Після її смерті сестра продала їхню квартиру, забрала гроші й поїхала за кордон. Залишила його одного. Без документів, без підтримки, без грошей. Без шансу.
Він розповідав це без злоби. Просто як факт. Ніби йому це давно було зрозуміло, ніби він усе прийняв. Зараз він живе в гуртожитку для людей з інвалідністю, харчується як прийдеться, збирає макулатуру і здає пляшки, щоб купити корм своєму цуценяті. Його звати Льоша. А у собаки… не було імені.
Минув деякий час. І ось одного разу, у морозний вечір, я знову побачила Льошу. Він йшов вулицею, тримаючи цуценя — вже підрослого, міцного — на саморобному повідку. Цуценя впізнало мене і кинулося до мене, виляючи хвостом і весело підвохкуючи. Я дістала з сумки трохи їжі — собака накинулася на їжу з таким голодом, що у мене защеміло серце.
— Він у мене все їсть, — з гордістю сказав Льоша. — Але найбільше любить, коли я сам йому варю. Тільки от м’ясо рідко буває.
Ми заговорилися. Він розповів, як сильно прив’язався до пса. Що той — його єдиний друг, сенс життя, втіха і захист від самотності. Спить з ним під одним покривалом, ділиться останнім.
З особливою наївністю, з якоюсь дитячою надією у голосі Льоша сказав:
— А нещодавно ми зустріли собаку на вулиці. Вона була схожа на нього. Я подумав, можливо, це його мама. Цікаво, вони б впізнали одне одного?..
Мені стиснуло горло. Я ледве стримувалася, щоб не розридатися прямо там, на вулиці, посеред галасливого міста.
А потім він неочікувано запитав:
— А ви не хочете дати йому ім’я? Я не придумав. Увесь час називаю просто «песик».
Я кивнула.
— Нехай буде Промінчик. Тому що ви для нього — промінь світла.
Він обійняв собаку, подивився на мене широко розплющеними очима і прошепотів:
— Дякую… Це гарне ім’я. Тепер він мій Промінчик.
Я йшла додому з грудкою в горлі. У голові стукало: «Боже, як же несправедливий цей світ». У когось — десятки квартир, діаманти, машини. А хтось — живе в обшарпаній кімнаті і ділить останні крихти з цуценям. І все одно світиться щастям.
Я хочу допомогти Льоші, але у мене немає багатства. Я не можу змінити його життя повністю. Але тепер, щоразу, коли бачу його, я приношу щось: то їжу, то теплу куртку, то просто слова підтримки. І знаєте, що найнеймовірніше? Він завжди посміхається. Він дякує за кожну дрібницю, ніби це подарунок з небес.
Такі люди — нагадування нам, що щастя не в грошах, не в статусі, не в ідеальному домі. А у теплій руці. В відданому погляді. В доброму слові. У тому, щоби просто не бути наодинці.
Інколи мені хочеться закричати: «Люди! Прокиньтеся! Подивіться, скільки болю поруч!» Але розумію — крик не почують.
Отже, я просто буду робити те, що можу. Бо якщо хоча б один Промінчик і один Льоша будуть не голодні і не самотні — значить, я живу недаремно.
You’re Robbing My Son Blind—He Can’t Even Afford a Light Bulb! On Sunday morning, I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket while my husband drove over to his mother’s to “change some light bulbs.” But of course, the real reason for summoning her darling boy was something else entirely: “Son, have you forgotten it’s Igor’s birthday today?” My husband’s the generous type—his salary barely lasts a week. Thankfully, he still gives me cash for the bills and groceries, but the rest? He blows it all on new video games and whatever gadgets go with them. I don’t mind; better my man enjoys his hobbies than squanders his time (and money) in pubs or nightclubs. Besides, I once read that the first forty years of childhood are the hardest for any man. I’m not telling you this for sympathy, just so you understand why my husband always has empty pockets. I have no such problem—even manage to save. I often lend him money in emergencies, but when it’s for his mum, niece, or sister, I always say no. Naturally, I remembered Igor’s birthday. Last week, I bought his present myself. Before my husband set off, I handed it over and settled down to watch a film. I didn’t go—the mutual animosity between me and my in-laws made sure of that. They think I don’t love him, accuse me of being mean because I refuse to fund their expenses or mind my sister-in-law’s kids. Once, I watched them for an hour, but they picked them up half a day late, making me miss work—when I dared complain, his mum and sister called me shameless and rude. After that, any requests to babysit were met with a firm “no.” Didn’t bother me if my husband watched the kids—he enjoys their company. Not long after my husband left, he returned—with the whole family in tow, nieces and all. His mum barged in, coat still on, and declared: “We’ve decided that, for Igor’s birthday, he’ll get the tablet he wanted—two grand it cost. You owe me a thousand pounds for your share. Pay up.” I might have bought the lad a tablet—but nothing that expensive. Obviously, I refused to hand over any cash. That’s when my husband started guilt-tripping me for being stingy. I turned on the laptop and called Igor over. In five minutes, we picked and ordered a gadget he really wanted—job done. Thrilled, Igor dashed off to his mum, who’d been sulking in the hallway. My sister-in-law always had sticky fingers—nothing in our house was safe. My mother-in-law, meanwhile, ignored my thoughtful gesture and exploded with indignation: “No one asked for your help. You were meant to give money! You’re with my son, and he’s always skint, can’t even buy a lightbulb. Hand me a thousand pounds now—you know full well that money belongs to my boy!” She reached for my handbag on the nightstand. I glared at my husband and hissed, “You’ve got three minutes to get them out of here.” In less than three minutes, he’d grabbed his mother and chucked her and the lot of them out the door. So, yes, I’d rather my husband waste his wages on games than have his mother snatch every penny. At least he spends it on things that make him happy, not on those freeloaders. Sometimes, I genuinely think I’d have been better off marrying an orphan!
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