Where those old women? In heaven, likely...
Children - the people captious and observant. Adults are estimated strictly. Feel who kind and who - only pretends to be. And if who was pleasant to the child, then he also will consider this person, and will study in all depth, and will remember well.
Here and in my childhood three old women, absolutely different, but with equally kind eyes and tender words, to me turned were remembered. Having matured, I asked on their past, but it seemed to me then: all three were unfortunate. Understood another later: once they were so happy that memory of that happiness and warmed them for many years, and gave strength to live, and helped to keep kindness...
One was mother of my teacher of English. Its history such is. After Civil war of experts almost did not remain therefore engineers were appreciated worth its weight in gold. They were given certain apartments, paid salaries fantastic for those times and sent to improve skills abroad.
The young surname engineer Mikhaylov was sent too to study to England. From there it returned with the wife - the Englishwoman. They loved each other, and life smiled to them. But there passed several years, and the engineer was arrested and shot. And the young woman remained in others country with the little daughter on hands. Home it was not let from - for “ confidential “ works of the husband, from the apartment moved, selected property. But also did not touch.
As she grew up and learned the daughter and passed all blockade, One man`s guess is as good as another`s. Even in old age it kept “ not Soviet “ appearance. Direct, graceful, shortly short-haired, she came to the daughter`s lessons, listened as we, six-year-old small insects, squeeze out the English pronunciation. Corrected and smiled. For it was pleasure to hear even such native speech because this woman after execution of the husband REFUSED to SPEAK IN RUSSIAN.
Other old woman was the real lady. On the place of the big building, where “ work “ valorous cops from “ Streets of the broken lamps “ there was a two-storeyed lodge of the same police station earlier. Around big chestnut trees grew, and under chestnuts local grandmothers gathered on benches. Many grandmothers were “ being “ splinters of the rich bourgeois families which lodged in this area before World War I.
One of them for eyes was called “ maid of honor “ also said that she graduated Smolny from the institute. This lady was always smiling, friendly also in good mood. It had worn out shoes, stockings - sewn up - resewn up, a black suit - shabby - prevetkhiya. But on the head - a hat with a veil, on an elbow - a handbag, hands - in the gloves too patched. At the same time everything was such pure as - as if she washed every day all clothes.
To pension she worked as the teacher, endured blockade, and lived in the huge apartment on Kamennoostrovsky Avenue, in former privratnitsky at an entrance. The apartment kept spirit of luxury thanks to marble fireplaces and columns which in decades did not manage to break tens of residents which were constantly replacing each other. Neighbors poisoned “ maid of honor “ scoffed as could, knowing that earlier this APARTMENT BELONGED to IT. Here the rich man brought the young wife, here their happiness not for long lasted. From here took away her husband once, and in two decades - and the son. By the way, now the apartment took a former magnificent view, but “ maid of honor “ long ago died in privratnitsky.
I remember a name of the third granny - the woman Nyura. It with the husband and two sons arrived to Leningrad before war. From collective farm where life became intolerable, they moved to the city, on plant. In war sons went to army, and the husband - to a militia. Nobody returned, and the woman Nyura lived in their little room all blockade, and all lived and lived. Silent was, unsociable, in kitchen seldom happened, but talked to kids. And all was some warm.
Once the neigbour, passing by her room, heard crying. Was surprised and called others. When they came into the room, were surprised to poverty which reigned there: old case, iron bed, little table and stool, and all. And the woman Nyura cried so that she could not be calmed in any way. It turned out that some villain opened its shaky lock and carried away the most valuable that it had - a metal alarm clock and couple of almost new valenoks.
Was enough for the woman Nyura of pension - to pay for the room, to save up for a few firewood for an oven, and for remained - to BUY BREAD. Therefore there was no it in kitchen that could not be cooked. Neighbors raised money, bought it new valenoks, an alarm clock, a blanket, something else. But the woman Nyura not for long lived after that. It is visible, theft was the last straw which undermined it forces, or perhaps the faith in people failed.
Often I reflect why now there are a lot of angry and aggressive people revolted with everything that is seen openly saying that hate someone? They were not beaten by life as these women. Well, maybe, slightly on the head knocked, and it seemed to them that is very sick, and - it is unfair. Both took offense, and began to hate others. Also revenge for offense. And life of these women was broken by faceless state machinery as a useless thing. But they did not break, lived, storing memory of the past. Did not despair, did not damn, and - gave to people the kindness.
Where they now? From heaven, likely, look...