Memory casket. Crazy my star where you conduct me? Part 2Lilac twilight lay on granite plates, iron crosses and marble angels. History of human vanity passed before me in a stone, gold inscriptions, skillful notches and fresh flowers in marble ballot boxes. The vanity divided people during lifetime, divides also after death. Graves of poor people decorated zarzhavlenny steles, the faded photos and easy blue flowers which the first cover the spring earth.
- You pass, please.
The woman pushed a low door. We appeared in a small wooden shed. In the right corner from a door the washstand with a round pocket mirror was fitted. In the center there was a board table covered with an oilcloth. Behind a curtain the bed and the small refrigerator hid. Everything was silent, pure and orphaned.
- To you not terribly here? - I did not keep.
- Got used, - the woman answered and stretched me a narrow palm. - I Vera am called. And you?
- Lille, - I was called one of the names (as soon as I was not called!) . - Belief, and how on a middle name?
- Just Vera. If not you … Thanks. How you were only not frightened?.
- Generally I live quietly, a sin to complain, - she continued and put a teapot on the rangette. - Now I will treat you with tea with jam from paradise apples. You love?
I not really loved this jam, but how it was possible to refuse?
- Or perhaps you want to eat? I have a fried potato with mushrooms. Mushrooms good, in the market took. Eat, please.
Generally, in a few minutes I had already supper potato with mushrooms. Over a cup of tea we already knew about each other everything. I absolutely forgot that it is necessary to me in hotel. It seemed, we with Vera know each other long ago.
Of Vera`s apartment deception relatives took control, from work reduced, the common-law husband threw long ago, children never were. Promykavshis several months on others corners, she settled the watchman on a cemetery and lived right there in a witness mark.
- Well, so it was so fated, - Vera in response to my indignant okh and akh smiled. - Means, bigger did not deserve.
I, of course, could not agree with it. Those years blind humility destiny seemed to me it is similar to idiocy.
We spoke all night long. Naughty my star decided to give me a farewell gift in this city. Tomorrow I had to leave it, and a nacreous station watch already began for me a countdown. In 16 - 00 I had to get on the train and to say goodbye to S. No`s city this night in cemeterial a witness mark was night of my inspiration.
Sudden glory Goode and Susanin`s Robin played with me a bad joke. Speakers of antiquity could envy me! In a poor situation, in an environment of graves and dusty wreaths I painted before the unfamiliar woman amusing stories from the life, discussed movies, read verses, shared culinary recipes, told about our city, about our sea, the best, most magic sea on light!
Dead men have one enviable quality. They never interrupt. The belief was live, but the close neighbourhood with this silent public taught her to restraint. It he is attentive and grateful listened to me, gasped, threw up the hands, generally, was an ideal listener. Most of all it interested a ceremony of “sweet tea“ at courtship when I told about our customs. I immediately showed it an accurate watershed in a glass between syrup at the bottom and tea leaves above.
- Here, - I said, - if the girl is agreed to be given, then only then mix two of these liquids and drink sweet tea. It means “yes“. If “no“ or “have to think“, then drink from above bitter tea leaves and leave.
The belief looked at me as on the conjurer. In her gray eyes admiration stiffened.
The dawn already covered our silent monastery. And here only I remembered hotel! To reach, the benefit, was short. The belief volunteered to spend me.
The person on duty long suspiciously peered into us, then long grumbled, then sighed and let. I said goodbye to Vera and went to gather. Adventurous my fire with calm smoldered.
In 15 - 00 I was at the station. Farther everything as usual. Dusty structure, tired conductor, special carriage smell. Having thrown a bag under the shelf, I sat down at a window. Hours punched at a quarter to four; in a window the small figure with a pale face and a blue kerchief on the head seemed. Belief! I jumped out of the car.
- It to you! - confusedly it began. - A little bit mushrooms pies to the road and here …
She stretched me a small notebook in a brown cover.
- What is it?
- you so interestingly tell. It seemed to me that you could write. And here I still the girl wrote down favourite verses, the thoughts. Perhaps it is useful to you sometime.
- Well, no that you!
- Believe, it will be pleasant to me if you need it and you remember me. And here still.
It took out from a blue package a flowerpot with a tiny rose. I did not see such small roses yet.
- Take from me for memory. You will not regret. It not from a cemetery, no! I grew up it. When it blossoms, spirits it is not necessary. Take, please.
- Oh, thanks, well you. To me awkwardly somehow.
- The train departs! Seeing off a request to leave cars! - the conductor proclaimed.
The belief smiled and helped me to rise by a step. For a long time she waved to me a hand, and its narrow palm reminded a birdie.
The train gathered speed and carried away me from S.`s city forever. Neighbors in a compartment spread out food on a table and offered me sausage sandwich. I refused, left in a corridor and opened the book. From it smelled of mice and dampness. Close, maidenly handwriting in it wrote down verses. They then were not known to me. The faded ink strengthened their charm.
There the beginning of the end where old letters are read,
Where relics to us, - that to remember proximity, - are necessary.
I turned the page:
There the beginning of the end where, without having pulled out pain yesterday`s,
We, wishing rest, friendly day was spent.
There the beginning of the end where wishing to remain deafs,
For the first time the grief was stopped up by us with shout by the stranger.
There the beginning of the end where, on former looking portraits,
B them find heat, and do not find heat in themselves.
But it is a pity - I do not know such recipe According to which it is possible for
as things, love to guard.
Then nearly twenty pages were empty. Then lines followed:
Ah, a willow, a willow, my willow,
do not fade you, a willow, wait a moment!
Where disappeared my belief -
remained a cross on a breast.
Then there were records about some people, cinema, weather, drawings on fields. The last record was: “It is more difficult to worry unfulfilled, than unrealizable“. And several empty pages are farther.
I slammed the book and looked out in a window. Wind blew up blue curtains. The train rushed along an embankment. Behind it steppe herbs waved. Stars burned in the sky, and my soul aspired to them. Being put to bed, I glanced in a blue package. With a rose everything was normal...
- How went, the daughter? - the father asked.
- Everything is good, - I answered. - By the way, you do not know whose it is verses?
And I read it lines from the book, more than sure that he will not answer.
- Simonov and Akhmadullina, - smoothly blurted out my father - the physicist. - And what?
Having felt an easy prick of vanity, I murmured: “Thanks. Just like that asked“, and went to place a rose. To it attracted North - east window. When on a rose appeared faintly - cream buds, spirits, really, were not necessary. The belief was right! The smell in the room impregnated things and pursued on the street! From it it was cheerful at heart and the head was slightly turned. And Verina a book did not smell of mice any more.
A rose long life was released. I had then many roses - standard, poliantovy, trudging. But any of them did not smell so stridently, so inexpressibly perfectly.
“It is more difficult to worry unfulfilled than unrealizable“. These words haunted me. I thought of them with vague feeling of alarm. Perhaps because they bewitched incomprehensibility. Or perhaps because the measure of grief was not defined for me yet and the pleasure of life was huge. So let at anybody of us will not be unfulfilled! And unrealizable, it is also unrealizable. You should not long for it.
Life swept promptly. Fragmentary, cruel, our only life carried away in distant distances S.`s city with three of its sights, crazy, wonderful my youth and the cemeterial watchman Vera the who the first noticed that I can string words on a string of memory …