Rus Articles Journal

For what you abandoned us, My God?!.

For what you abandoned us, My God?! …

We will begin, as they say, with the beginning.

From a small case.

There was it at our house, in a children`s sandbox. By the way, our house - old-fashioned. But too not without highlight. White - as the liner - the ten-storey building, the downtown, two-level apartments. Spent the USSR such apartment - ringing awards, merits, and even threats, reaching the highest instances - heroes and heroines of time won. Glory and pride of the great power.

But life made the business. The power disgracefully failed. Heroes and heroines grew old, and that in general went to a better world. And their children - successors - jerked the abroad - began to sell the become empty parental nests. To two-level apartments “new“ one by one drove. And with all bezoglyadnost of favourites built personal paradise: beat out unnecessary walls and blocks, erected arches, winter gardens, were equipped with the shining toilet bowls.

Word! In our separately taken house - as well as in all dimensionless Russia - old life changed on the newcomer. Instead of the promised communism where everyone to everyone “the friend the companion and the brother“, was at a frantic pace erected - capitalism! As its multiwise analysts christened, “wild“ capitalism. That which with all bezoglyadnost sweeps away everything on the way than can: theft, fists, bribes, a bullet from - for a corner.

It came and to our sandbox.

Our sandbox - filled with grandsons of the former heroes and heroines whose children jerked to render habitable the abroad - reminded paradise. Where all - from a silk sand to lovingly sostruganny baryerchik - breathed tenderness of grandfathers - grandmothers for whom the native child was the last pleasure on the earth. And all these - boys - girls, color Panamanians, hats, bows, frills, buckets, machines, scoops, shovels and other a miracle - toys of import samples (gifts loving fathers and mothers) - from ten in the morning till a lunch pottered about in a sandbox. Dug. Carried. Molded “pasochka“, built locks. Chirped as if birds of paradise. With all unrestrainedness of the childhood indulging in creativity of life.

Happened, of course, that someone from them will not divide a toy or a small group of sand. And right there shout, even crying will begin. And right there! near not divided there is the grandfather`s figure - grandmothers. And - smiling - will listen to little egoists. And - smiling - will reconcile. Introducing the elementary truth in consciousness of kids: it is necessary to live - amicably. That truth what they introduced to own children. And to them it was introduced by parents. And to parents - their parents. In a word, what lasted from century to century in human life. And from what this life kept in human, all clear, limits eternally. What hurricanes and revolutions did not break it.

And grandsons - as if realizing omnipotence of this rule of life - wiped noses and tears, were reconciled and embraced. In a sandbox - to pleasure of all parties - the habitual world set in.

And the grandmother - the grandfather - smiling - came back to the company. Under trees. Where everyone was busy by the: someone knitted an infinite sweater, someone, fighting against a sclerosis, solved skanvorda, someone swallowed to Marinin, and the former nurse, an ordenonoska, in heavy time for the Homeland carried away from a battlefield the, consider, still as children`s handles, kind hundreds wounded and even the killed - selflessly read “Conversations good luck“. And the general with the major - on in common worked little table - battled in chess. With inspiration and furiously. As well as it is necessary the person who got used - for the sake of a victory - to give all the best to the bottom!

And all this together - color Panamanians, children`s creativity, a rustle of a low voice of some grandmother developing the recipe of family cake, the joke thrown by the major - all this together among unceasing sounds of the compressors, hammers, a mat and saws rushing from a window of the two-level apartment which underwent reorganization - was similar to the island. Mysterious island of true human life. And feeling its attractiveness, passersby - going on a path along the house - shortened the stride, smiled an involuntary smile. Arisen god knows in what blockages them the become lifeless souls long ago.

And suddenly …

Not - et!. Simple words not to tell about this phenomenon. Suddenly - as if from - under lands - on a path along the house arose - a tricycle! On red wide tires, the shining wheel, on a wheel a flasher, is sideways ringing … The bicycle flew and shone, the flasher blinked, the call was filled in … And the owner of it ve - whether - to - le - Pia! the boy of years of four, in the shining helmet similar to a helmet of the god of war Ares - having given in to a body forward - twisted in all can pedals, called, blinked and shouted, cutting space an aggressive look: “Postoroniya - is! I will crush - yu!.“

of the Grandmother - grandfathers looked, delightfully began to smile. “God of war!“ - the general confirmed general delight, precipitately substituting a pawn under blow of a mayorovsky horse.

And god, enjoying attention of people around, began to write out bends. One by one, one by one. Also it razzvenetsya so triumphantly that even sounds of the compressor which was blowing up walls of the two-level apartment as if suddenly choked with the irrelevance.

God was accompanied by the goddess. High. Thin. In red shoes from some Dior. In the person cold and a call. It is visible to a descent, a feature from features. Worked on the last curves of overseas production. Having mewed the boy several words in English, it went towards chess players. And the general, having guessed her intention, obligingly yorznut. It was pressed down. The goddess sat down. Having thrown a leg on a leg. The red shoe hung in mid-air. And grandmothers are heroines of the Soviet fronts and times - as if having bewitched - with some muffled feeling vozzritsya on this shoe. Such unattainable for the most courageous dreams of their youth confused with fights.

And children in a sandbox - it is bewitched watched bends of the god of war, having forgotten about the buckets, shovels, machines …

God, having sated with the made impression, dumped the speed of the racer, came off a saddle and went - to a sandbox. “On“! As if was going to take it by storm. Approached. Pe - re - Stu - drank through a baryerchik and … Nobody managed even to sigh as he kicked with one leg a sinenky bucket, another - in dust and ashes - swept already ready fortress … The boy wearing spectacles, pressing the machine, tried to jump aside, but god bent, got hands a heap of sand and sprinkled the four-eyes … with

“Madam!“ - a falsetto the general exclaimed. But the red shoe did not even shudder. Grandmothers - having flared up with panic - were thrown to a sandbox … But situation was saved by the major. The man and the fighter who left from an entrenchment. However, rather heavy already physically. But with surprising dexterity he the first flew in a sandbox and - having prudently jumped up to the opponent from a back - seized him up to armpits, squeezed as pincers and … The boy shouted, tried to hit the major with legs, but the old fighter, having linked him under sides, took out - forward hands as … shmyaknut some dirt in a bicycle saddle. Drove on a path. Right there returned and - red from rage - bellowed towards shoes, without any fruit jelly: “Clean up from here, rubbish!“

the World of a sandbox heatedly licked wounds. Children cried. Grandmothers cackled. The confused general collected the scattered toys. And the former nurse, the heroine of war, almost the child dragging wounded from a battlefield, did not move. The book “Conversations Good Luck“ - as if in a fright - crept on her knees. The woman mechanically, on a habit to rescue, picked up it. Pressed to itself. And it is unexpectedly terrible, protesting all pain of heart, howled: “My God - and - and!.“

The sandbox stood. Burst - silence. That silence what was succeeded to express only to the genius: “the people kept silence“. As if as the general - national soul - having felt prophetical sense of an event.

Epilog: On August 26, 2010 in a news line of the Internet on mail. ru flashed short information. “On a sandbox the shot in the head killed the three-year-old girl. Shot from the neighboring house. From the pneumatic gun“.

For what you abandoned us, My God?!.

Lidiya Latyeva