Rus Articles Journal

The daughter of the real man, or When blossoms buddleya? Part 1

When to me was presented by buddlea seeds - the hardy, tall flower similar to a dry lilac, I also remembered this history. It was told to me by my grandmother - imperious, even despotic woman who very strictly treated people, did not suffer also a shadow of objections, but fed invariable geniality for the woman, thin, sharp on language, living in the neighboring house.

When presented me buddlea seeds - the hardy, tall flower similar to a dry lilac, I also remembered this history...

A new century and the new millennium began for me not on January 1, 2001, and on March 26, 1999. This warm day buried mine 80 - the summer grandmother, the father`s mother - imperious, even despotic woman, with the hands bent from work.

We were not especially close to it, the spirit of a protest, but was too strong then in me, I distinctly understood that the childhood left and will not return any more. It left, having dissolved in a special smell of the grandmother`s house - naphthalene and dry herbs. All summer the grandmother killed mattresses and blankets, shifted carpets naphthalene, and on huge newspaper sheets at her dried for winter of basilicas, rosemary and mint. This mixed smell floated in open windows and gave feeling of reliability. Time mattresses are killed, carpets are rolled up and greens for the future dry - mean, to the next winter to be!

“That not the hostess who is not able to work with wool and the test!“ - the grandmother rendered the verdict. In her lips it was the laconic and ruthless sentence! Any woman more or less will cope with all the rest, and here wool and dough are a step for the elite! The highest praise a live and best epitaph to the late woman at the grandmother was: “Hostess!“ or “The hostess was! “

left mother, other grandmother, two grandfathers, the uncle before, but this grandmother was the last from the senior generation, its last embodiment traditional and unshakable as the ancient temple.

And I see it before myself: ogruznevshy, an ischerna - swarty. Hands on a lap. Brown, similar to bark of an old tree. These hands she took care, fed, obstiryvat and sheathed a huge family. Surprisingly dexterously and the fingers which carefully this swelled, crumpled were able to wash the newborn baby, cooked festive and funeral pilaf in huge cauldrons, cooked soap, did cheese and is accurate, a stitch behind a stitch spread an intricate pattern on new pillows and cloths.

When said to it that now everything is on sale and in vain it spoils the eyes and does not give rest to the exhausted hands, she only waved away:

- Ý - e! Unless you understand? You think, I have nothing to do, and I have so a rest. Both washing mother, and the grandmother a stitch behind a stitch the thoughts, the alarms put in a pattern the pleasures. Here look, - it moved to me a cloth corner with the unbent embroidered petal. - You see, the petal scarlet is unbent. What does it mean? That nearby other same petal, only blue as if will give a hand to scarlet will lay down. It is a cloth for pleasure, in the holiday on a table to lay it.

- And it? - I gave a hand to the blue embroidered her sleeveless jacket.

- Blue color - color of wisdom and rest, beseems extreme old age, and gold stars on a collar - means what should be spoken with the sky already more often, than with people.

Also the speech which I could listen with delight to hours flew.

- The embroidery helped to take out alarm for left on war, in the sea, for those from whom long there were no messages, for those who in the foreign land. A needle the woman the heart, pain stuck in fabric, hope, love.

The grandmother badly spoke in Russian, never took the book, only occasionally old volume wrapped in pure white fabric in hand. “It, - she said and stroke-oared pig-iron gentle matter, - Bogina the book“. I laughed at the amusing name, and she frowned and installed the book into place, by all means higher, on the top of a case. “So, - she said, - evil spirits never to the house will arrive. Will see Bogina the book above, will feel garlic under a floor board - will think and will pass by“. (Oh, it was the tradition too! Under a polovichok at an entrance door the papered garlic glove was by all means put!)

Also salt, dry seeds of a grass of a burial ground and an other delicacy of the national imagination belonged to means of mass defeat of evil spirits.

Grandmother`s neighbors were accurately divided into two unequal camps: those who respected the grandmother (such there was majority), and those who were afraid of her. It it is strict, it is even despotic, treated both those, and others, did not suffer also a shadow of objections, but fed invariable geniality for the woman, thin, sharp on language, living in the neighboring house.

I remember this woman. Narrow in a bone, flat-bosomed, it did not fit in any way into canons of east female beauty where the acting stone on a wrist is already a sign to an illness or bad life. If at recently married girl the stone on a wrist acted, the grandmother tut-tutted and lamented: “Wai - Wai - Wai! Life of the poor girl in a marriage unsweetened. To the bad place got!“ (About me she in general spoke: “A board since the childhood! And in whom only such was born!“ - also tried to overfeed to a dump.)

Besides, the neigbour that wore glasses that too was not especially welcomed in the woman, and did not dye gray easy hair as if was proud of their whiteness.

She lived in the one-room apartment on the first floor. Before a window of its kitchen the huge bush of a buddlea - a dry lilac, a melliferous herb grew. In July over heavy brushes clouds bees flew. Then all bush seemed dymchato - violet, angry the buzzing cloud! Even aroma over it seemed gray. I liked to look at it in a haze when air ringed from heat and all other flowers powerlessly hung. The blue only melted flew from the sky and smoked a gray cloud buddleya and inertly the blued starched sheets fluttered.

Only to this neigbour, the grandmother used other definition is perfect: “Daughter of the real man“.

- She is a courageous woman, - somehow the grandmother mentioned once. - Not everyone will be solved on what was made by her.

Be continued.