Rus Articles Journal

About what the old woman sang?

I Sat in park today. Weather was not as in autumn warm. Indian summer - speak in common people about such weather at the beginning of October. The mood was nasty. Today I quarreled with the darling. In soul various emotions stormed. Both rage, and grief, and for some reason tenderness. I tried to get rid all this and hearts for this reason I came to park. I like to sit outdoors: to observe passersby, autumn leaves that were turned in air.

Near me, on the next shop, the cheerful noisy company, the person seven was placed. Children, it is visible, came here to have a rest. They unceasingly chattered about some institute, discussed some mutual friends and all this, naturally, was followed by ringing explosions of laughter. On a path, hardly - hardly, quietly shuffling the feet, there was an old woman. Small such, shchuplenky. Despite +21 degrees Celsius the old woman was dressed in something like a mutton shubeyka, places leaky, but very clean and tidy. On the head of it the colorful kerchief, standing slippers was tied. The old woman`s handles similar to thin bird`s pads held a cane on which it leaned. Yes so that it seemed, that to lean it, except as on this stick, there is nobody.

Villages it on the next shop. Sat down, and somehow heaved very a deep sigh. Turned the eye in the sky and started singing the song Plaintive such. The company suddenly calmed down, listened, and then I heard: Yes, it`s no fun to be old. I am better in fifty years I will die, than here so Marasmus . And the grandmother continued to sing. The company zagorlanit again, and I tried to listen to what is sung by this old woman. Its thin voice shivered and was poured, reminding me a small streamlet. Oh, a pigeon you my, gray-winged mine, you fly native, do not break a kryla - the grandmother quietly sang. Its small hunched figure rocked in a melody step, and there was in this silhouette something mournful, something pathetic. On cheeks of the old woman tears swept, and she, smiling, continued to sing: Oh, I will treat for you, there will be near you, a pigeon you my, gray-winged mine . My heart missed a bit. I got up and sat down near the grandmother. She became silent, turned to me and somehow fatefully asked: You think too that it is marasmus? . I looked in her blue, some faded eyes, and answered: And I too now am ripe . In the opinion of the old woman pain was reflected. You Know, and I buried the husband " yesterday; - she told me. Heart jammed. Sixty eight years with it together lived, and the day before yesterday here he died - the old woman told. I began to listen to her story attentively.

Maria in 18 years married. To it there were 20. It, as they say, was the first guy on the village : handsome, merry fellow, Jack of all trades. In family life everything at them was argued, everything was got on. When Maria and Mischa waited for the firstborn, took away Mischa on war. She gave birth one. The son was born, Mischa named, in honor of his father. There passed six years. Mischa returned from war, and they began to live happily. Then and children went. Seven at them them was. And lived. Huge such family happy. Then children grew up, parted who where, the families were made. Also there were two of them: it yes it. Sixty eight years lived together. Breathed in unison

And yesterday here he died - the old woman told and, having smiled, looked at the sky. Oh, native you mine, oh my dear, it is heavy without you, take me with yourself - the old woman

quietly wailed What it with us, people, happened?! Why we became indifferent to others grief?! It is really so difficult to listen?! Some people have nobody to unburden the heart, and it is so heavy! Marasmus - this word a bell dinned in my ears