Revelations of the mother`s daughter
of Revelation are how to open the rusted knife blade the jar which is unexpectedly found in the depth of a case. To open with formation of uneven torn edges. Because you hurry from impatience. My usual option. And to throw out contents banks directly on a table or in ware. Yes in a plate, for example, to prepare then salad or some other dish. And it is possible on a garbage can at once, passing a garbage can. What to do with memoirs, everyone solves.
I like to touch them as Muslim beads. Though I have no beads, and I - orthodox.with
When to me it is bad or painful, I pray. At first I speak: “My God, help“. And then:“ Mother, mummy, forgive me, please, and help“. Or on the contrary. However, the sequence is unimportant. And it seems to me that mother nearby, but not somewhere for one thousand kilometers. Holds me by a hand or irons on the head. Hands at mother, such... There are not enough words. Not such, as at me. My others. And mother has real Mother`s hands. Kind, gentle. And when mother touches with palms me, it becomes easier. Always. For me mother at distance and in thoughts is similar the Saint, the Madonna. I lack it, and it lacks me.
A when we nearby... Day, two, ten. Dzin. The increasing irritation rings a hand bell. Nobody is capable to wound me as the loved one will wound. Nobody is capable to love me as mother loves. To love what is. Unvarnished. Any man.
Mother is proud of me. For it I the most beautiful and clever. And I in this love get warm, I straighten shoulders.
Distinctly I remember mother of years from two or three. I remember how we laughed. And as I before a fight argued with the girlfriend in a nursery of kindergarten whose mother the most beautiful. Naturally, washing. Mother had a charming, charming smile. Live and radiant. When eyes shine. And in corners of eyes hardly noticeable “goose pads“ of wrinkles are scattered. Why was? Yes it is also now. However, needs immediate restoration.
- Well that you, mother?!
- And eternally do not have money, and to you want to help, I save.Native washing
, and I am ungrateful. Guilty. From fault I go in bruises, since the childhood eternally.I Remember
how mother felt sorry for me. Pressed to itself and cried together with me, sentencing:“ At a cat will ache, at a dog will ache, at my daughter will heal“. And so with it it was together sweet to cry as soon as in the childhood happens. Right after tears there came the world and happiness. And now cry do not cry, nothing will change.
in my childhood me where - nibud was sent Every summer.“ Where - nibud“ ordinary was in the village or in a summer camp. I loved the village more, than camp. Because the village differed from camp in amount of freedom. And still liked to write from separation to parents, that is mother.
“Hi, dear mother, - I wrote, - I`m fine. Weather is good. I am not ill“. Was not enough for the bigger composition of the imagination.
I not in one letter, so it turned out, did not say hello to the father. Though it carefully kept subsequently all my letters.
Ya - the mother`s daughter! There are father`s children. And I percent on 90 - mother`s. Well, from the father inherited unless peevishness. I joke. Though in each joke, as they say, only a joke share.
of Times in a year as any Soviet woman, at mother had “the day“. The holiday was called and still in a calendar is designated as on March 8. This day we gave to mother gifts and did clear-out. I liked to give and did not like to clean up. From year to year our gifts did not differ in an ingenuity. We presented to mother flowers. The father - the Abkhazian mimosas which I zanyukhivat to death is more faithful before their transformation into a herbarium. My brother told the poem, solemnly standing on a stool:
“I came to mother
With a congratulation and flowers today.
These poppies, these ugly faces (of course roses, but the brother did not utter z or this sound, still a riddle) did not love camomile
I, and did not tear a mimozha
Ya, did not buy, I drew them“.
Lies. Mother received the flowers drawn with a water color or cut out from color paper and pasted on a cardboard as a present usually from me. In the childhood I not bad drew. One more the talent unrealized subsequently which is genetically inherited from the father. Perhaps, I will add to the father of percent.
Mother read me books and told fairy tales for the night, sang lullabies. By 5 years mother taught me to read. And I fell in love with this business.we told
With mother on any subjects. I remember when to me was years 10, she decided to educate me in questions of sex. But the word then it was not yet. Or it was, but I did not know about it. Was born in the USSR. Well mother also asked me, it is bashful and guilty smiling:
- And you know, than men and women when they want the child are engaged?
- I Know, - without batting an eyelid, I answered. And further pronounced the unprintable word from six letters... I remember how my answer threw mother in shock. And what? The word from six letters was not considered shameful among children of our yard. And we told jokes with it and with one not less popular word from three letters. And did not come to my mind that the words which are so often pronounced by domestic friends are abusive.
- You dishonor me, - mother declared. Having instantly forgotten what wanted to tell me couple of minutes ago about.
However, in the childhood I dishonored mother quite often. Opened more widely than a mitten of companies from surprise, put out the tongue for offense, with pleasure it was picked by a little finger a nose (very relaksiruyushchy occupation). And not my bad education, but a children`s spontaneity was fault to all, perhaps.
the Children`s spontaneity smoothly developed into teenage distrustfulness and shyness. Once I understood that mother can be trusted not always.
of Years in the 13th my peers began to seek to mature quicker. But to be and seem - absolutely different concepts. To be adults in their understanding meant not to submit to the real adults, that is parents and teachers. It was fashionable to shirk school and to use foul language, to smoke secretly on an attic or at a dark entrance near a wastebasket, to spit out through clenched teeth, to humiliate those who are weaker. And to kiss. The coolest girls of our class were on friendly terms with boys. That is “went with boys“ as spoke then. I told about one such fashionable little girl in secret shirking school and receiving the two to mother. The girl was called Olya, and she had the most beautiful legs in our class. Therefore, she wore the shortest skirts in combination with the real Adidas sneakers and cooperative leggings. And business was not in envy. Business was in an assessment. Or in a self-assessment which could go down, do not tell I the truth. What - what, and the confidence was not enough for me both then and now.
For control on algebra I received the four. Mother undersigned for the diary, attentively studying its contents, and unexpectedly asked:“ And what was received by Olya on mathematics? Probably, perfectly. Heard that she very much likes to solve the equations“. I am surprised why I was not guarded by the mother`s statement? I as on spirit answered that this girl skipped a lesson with the boy. And the equations to it does not care. Generally, put the schoolmate at full scale, though not intentionally. As they say: “Word not a sparrow...“
my Mother works as the doctor. Still. And she is a good doctor, sincere and human, though works not in soul, and the general therapy. When wants, mother will fascinate anyone. I hope that adopted at it this valuable quality. And so, to mother it happened, parents of my schoolmates came to reception. As it became clear, mother with patients not only said about diseases.
Next day, after visit by Oliny mother of policlinic, our class declared to me boycott. And then, in five years after that case, on viewing of the movie “Effigy“, I cried, remembering myself of that time.
I do not remember who told:“ What will not kill me will make me stronger“. Boycott of a class did not kill me. It was unpleasant, heavy. Yes. But I became more adult. Is more hardy. This ability was useful to me later when the new big city which came to conquer from running start refused to fall to my legs. To speak in any case, he did not believe and to my tears. The truth - the truth.
A then with firmness of the tin tell-tale transferred boycott and even deserved respect of our hooligans called by kontorshchik in an award. One more popular word of the post-Perestroika period. But “punks“ are lovelier to me just. And so, the punks in number of two most terrible kontorshchik of a class, took me under the aegis. And, probably, from their acquiescence I appeared as the class monitor. Now - that I understand whose support mayors and deputies get. My term of the head was short - an educational quarter. In total - the head from me any. There is not enough impudence and charisma. But nevertheless it was my first success after a failure.mother I tried not to tell
A after that story everything. Of course, not always it turned out. In this sense I in mother - emotional very much, impressionable.7
did not tell
to mother and about the sufferings from the first love. My love called Alyosha. Lesh was the best pupil on mathematics and just attractive boy with a birthmark at a lip as at the naval cadet Kharatyan. My favourite boy was on friendly terms with Olya, with that girl whom I unintentionally or all - intentionally, at the subconscious level, put. At the sight of Lesha I lost a speech power, and I shook knees. And once I fainted. As the prim young lady, it - god. Alyosha put between pages of my notebook a dead mouse. I opened... the love passed
In four long school years. Alyosha grew up in the pimply young man with the smoked voice. And I began to turn from an ugly duckling in quite myself a nice swan.to
to me so plainly also knows nothing Of mother`s school love except that it was unfortunate too. Mother designated the feelings in a word - “did not pull!“ . In it we with it were solidary. There are such men to whom it is necessary to grow. I the first love outgrew subsequently. And the father appeared to mother on a shoulder, though on the whole head was higher than it.8
a love subject, I cannot but tell of passion to travel which I caught from mother. In youth the mother was fond of tourism, conquering mountains, the rivers and the seas. When slightly - slightly grew up, I adored listening to it “useless notes“, preferring them to fairy tales. mother took
After the termination of the first academic year at school me to the Black Sea. Actually, this travel also became a starting point of my further wanderings. Therefore I remember it in the smallest details.I Remember
how for the first time flew on the plane, with delight observing in a cloud window. Clouds were similar to cotton candy. There was a wish to dive into them, to bury with the head. That it became sweet and soft at the same time.
Then the plane failed in an air hole. The stomach rose to a throat. And, to own shame, it was necessary to use a paper bag.
When landing stuffed up ears. It was sick and terrible from unusual feelings. I roared in three streams, having at all forgotten both about the sea, and about cotton wool. But mother told me: “Look!“ I looked in a window and saw a lot of brilliant water. Water was not black, and is bright - blue color. The show bewitched.
At the sea. Besides the sea. From street automatic machines directly in a glass for real kopeks aerated water with syrup flew and without. In graceful bowls on long legs served the ice cream strewed with shavings of chocolate and the fried walnuts to cafe. At the edges of pedestrian streets the wild apricots and a cherry plum aiming to fall down to you the head or directly in a mouth grew. In the amusement park it was possible to sweep on “Ferris wheel“ or to hire a catamaran. To gorge on cotton candy, fragrant churchkhela or baklava with honey and a nut. And to go to a summer platform under the open sky on a concert of fashionable capital group of the TV in the evening.
On the beach so much sand that it was possible to bury or build in it figures and the whole fortresses with powerful walls and turrets was. Special pleasure - to dig the trench conducting from fortress to the sea. And to observe how during inflow water completely fills it.
the sea had a surprising salty taste. It smelled of freedom and dream.
From that trip I began to dream to return at the sea. It began me to dream. I woke up from shriek of a seagull or alien call of a dolphin. Jumped from a bed and ran barefoot to the shelf with the cockleshell brought from the sea. The cockleshell smelled of seaweed. And if to be put to its sink by an ear, it was possible to hear whisper of waves.
A several years later after a trip to the Black Sea mother brought me to the big northern city which forever took control of my heart. There too was a lot of water and smelled of freedom and dream. And then I decided that when I finally grow up and I will mature, I will live in this city.
In the childhood I was a frail child. Thin legs, handles - sticks, foolish thin braids with bows. Yes, years to seven mother braided to me braids. Every morning. And I dreamed of a hairdress. As at adult. Pergidrolny blondes with chemistry seemed to me is unreal beautiful. Soon my dream came true in the most unexpected way.I rang out with
In the first class in hospital with spinal fracture for two months. And it was necessary to leave braids. Forever. Directly on a hospital bed I was cut by mother. For the next ten years my hairdress became “sessun“. “A fashionable hairstyle of the real Frenchwomen“ as mother called it.“ Sosun“, with an accent on the letter “at“ as my fun-loving uncle called result of work of the hairdresser. Or “a hairstyle under cherry“ in option of one more witty person - my grandfather.
Yes, hair grew subsequently and began to curl slightly. Besides in my curly mother. In the blonde I was recoloured by means of hydrogen peroxide in the 10th class. What then regretted about. Because to restore the hair color it appeared it is almost impossible. And the great phrase “Be afraid of execution of the desires“ opened for itself much later. However, this opening me so what did not teach to. Still I suffer the blonde.
my Mother - the brunette. Curly brunette. All life. Or almost all. Apart from that case when dear mother made highlighting on my wedding, wishing to correspond to a hair color to the bride and, probably, being going to strike the groom`s parents. Made vain attempts.Once it already struck with
the future husband, my father, black hair color. In youth mother was similar to the beautiful Gipsy. And the father liked the movie “Eseniya“. About Roma, naturally. And about love. And so, when the father saw mother similar to Eseniya, for new year on a visit at friends, he at first quailed and was afraid to approach it. Therefore flirted only with mother`s girlfriends all New Year`s Eve. And then, when mother left, came round and ran to catch up with her. My destiny, that is further birth was that`s when predetermined. Romantically, truth?
It is strange when I ask the father as he got acquainted with mother, the father for some reason remembers the mother`s autumn cold boots stuck with an insulating tape in which it was that night. Also these boots were given it!
Mother my, by the way, professorial daughter, acquaintance to whom very much flattered the father at the time of his youth. Here in the movie “Moscow Does Not Trust Tears“ there is an episode about professorial daughters - as they say, the cap fits. And in a mother`s family of professorial daughters was not two, as in the movie, and three. Also there lived the mother`s family not in Moscow, and though in the capital of the republic, but in the town provincial. They lived by local standards well. Sausage and sausages for lunch were found in the refrigerator and to have a rest every year went to the main sea of our country. Only clothes younger daughters, one of whom - my mother, wore for their elder sister. So mother was not spoiled by dresses at the time of the youth, and depriveon it is also offended.
That is why she wanted to dress up me. To buy beautiful clothes if you live not in Moscow and you have no acquaintances “on base“, in the Soviet country it was problematic. Therefore each new thing which was got (yes, then the word was considered magic “got“) or sewed from fabric which was “got“, it was appreciated worth its weight in gold. By whom it was appreciated? Me and mother, naturally. I remember all the dresses. Also could write about them the separate story. But the speech not about that.
Though. Stop. For a minute. I should be silent and sing the ode to a final dress from gold brocade. Behind fabric and behind wonderful Lemonti shoes went to Moscow. It now I know that there is “Prada“ and sung in series about Sex and the City “Jimmy Chu“. However, I cannot still afford them.Chu`s
! Long, in a floor, the ball dress created a furor of a peacock, no, I take above, heat - birds in a hen house. Most cozy I felt in it houses in front of the mirror. And after midnight fast got rid of a fantastic dress as the Cinderella from shoes. But it was worth it. My word upon it.
the Period of transformation me from an ugly duckling in quite nice swan had on “dashing“ as they are considered to be now, 90 - e. The mother`s profession of the doctor and a father`s profession of the worker unexpectedly ceased to be quoted. And in other words, to parents for months began to detain a salary. The father preferred to lie, owing to philosophical mentality, according to ancient Russian tradition, on the furnace, that is on a sofa and to ask an eternal question of all homebrew philosophers:“ What to do, and who is guilty“? And mother put the diploma in a pocket and went to trade to Moscow. Real act of the Soviet intellectual. She traded in tonometers on the bridge near the Cherkizovsky market. On wind and a frost. Stood, having pressed treasured devices to a breast, and shivered with cold and fear. The registration was not, licenses for trade too. No rights existed. And near mother stood and shivered the teacher of institute selling pants and tights, the teacher of kindergarten and the employee of some scientific research institute. In “monkey house“ militiamen took away all in the act, that is with goods. Kept night and released, previously having entered malicious criminals in the database of the computer and having promised to report in the place of the main work. It was a shame, and, above all it is offensive though cry. Not from good life came to, in the name of God, bridge. And not for this purpose the bridge was under construction to water it with tears. I felt sorry for mother, but selfishly did not understand what her was then. Did not understand until once mother did not take me in one of the trips to trade.
Ya stood on the market with a cap in hand. In a hand a tonometer. And nobody wanted to buy it. Passersby passed indifferently by. Sometimes asked to measure pressure and went further, having forgotten to tell “thanks“. A tonometer not bread, it is possible to do without it. However, some do also without bread.mother bought by
On the money earned with heavy work to us with the brother food, toys and sometimes the Polish dresses.
the Enterprising intellectuals began to go to Poland. But mother did not decide on Poland. The mother was never the abroad. At the time of “Iron Curtain“ the abroad seemed terrible and inaccessible, especially from the capital of our small republic. However, when “curtain“ was slightly opened, the fear did not disappear.
For me the abroad of years with 16 became inaccessible secret dream. I examined pictures in the first glossy magazines taken to esteem from the wealthy girlfriend and dreamed of Paris. All of us then dreamed of Paris. Somehow it was also not accepted to dream of another aloud.
I here when 10 years later, I bought a bus tour, and it was - in the treasured capital of the world. I called to mother by the cell phone. Called, sitting on the steps of Montmartre conducting to Sakra Kerr and shouted her in a tube how I am happy. And mother shouted to me in reply that it is happy too.
Mother still was not in Paris, and it has no international passport. But I still want to show it “the Paris“. Though in 5 years which passed from my first and only visit to France managed to forget it. Here we will also remember together. And still we will take my husband and the son.
Yes, I am mother now. And just now began to understand all these fears: and suddenly the child will get sick or something happens, I will not endure it.
I Gave birth together with mother. Not with the husband as many arrive presently. Could not differently and mother differently could not. Arrived from other city to take me by a hand. Though I deceive. From pain I become awfully harmful and I do not allow to touch myself. Mother sat on a stool in several meters from me and listened as I managed to expand a stock of obscene words since my childhood. And she did not shame me. For the first time. And prayed. Prayed with all violent love of the maternal heart. I know it. Felt. Also was born her prayers very beautiful butuz, and I became the happiest mother on light.
P. S. It will be possible not to put I a fat end at the end? And dots I will not be. I do not like these fat points and, to tell the truth, it is impossible to me to write the terminations. I will put, perhaps, the mathematical character similar to the eight, at the end of the story. It, as well as maternal love, is infinite.