Boris Ekimov - "Speak, Mom, Speak..." stories

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Pair of autumn shoes

So far we have gathered in this Baltic region and fought ten times. Alexey himself didn’t think long. At the office they suggested to him: will you go with your wife? Tourist for two? Baltic cities: Vilnius, Riga, Tallinn. He thought back and forth and decided: “It was not. Let's go." Autumn. Few things to do. And for once they offered: for the first time in my life and, perhaps, the last. At least look at the white light. In general, I agreed.

And when I came home, Olga reared.

- Or have you gone crazy? Doesn't your soul hurt about housekeeping? The potatoes were not dug, the straw was not brought. You don't think about firewood. And who are the children with? Who to throw the cattle at? Soon they will produce grain. Let's pass and stay with this.

My wife knew how to sing, just listen to her. But then the children rushed in all at once, especially the eldest daughter, considered the bride. She had her own interest: her mother would not return empty-handed, but would bring something. And in the Baltics, stores are no match for us. Have you heard about this? And Olga gave up.

We dug potatoes for two evenings. Alexey brought straw and sawed wood - so that he could go with peace of mind.

Women from all over the farm came running to Olga. They oohed and ahhed, they judged and sneered, they vied with each other to order this and that: children's, women's, and anything else they had trouble with. Olga only managed to take notes. I took the notebook from the guys and wrote it down in it, so that at least I could pay off the money later and not forget who gave what.

Only Alexei’s mother, Martinovna, lived as usual. From morning to night, to the best of my ability, I fussed about the housework. In the evening I sat outside the yard, on a bench. Early she went to her side room, got ready for bed and fell asleep.

Photo: c24news.ru

And on her, on her there was all hope. Olga said this:

- Mom, I rely on you.

And it was true: my daughter will be taken to a boarding school, remember her, but what a demand from the guys.

“Go with God,” Martinovna said.

She was not very old; she had only received a pension for six years. But years are different. She raised five children. All my life in collective farm work.

The widow's scarf on her head, the severe wrinkles, the dimmed light in her eyes - she has outlived her usefulness.

- Are yours coming? - they asked her.

“They’re coming...” answered Martinovna. - Such life has come. We lived a century for chicken pie... - And she fell silent.

We got together. Go. On the last evening, as she was getting ready to go to bed, Olga, having come to her senses, asked Martinovna:

- Mom, what should I bring you? Maybe a scarf?

“I have these scarves...” Martinovna grinned. - From every funeral. To death.

At funerals, scarves were now handed out to old women; this became a fashion.

“Well, okay, we’ll see,” the daughter-in-law waved her hand.

Martinovna thought for a minute and said quietly:

- Why on your feet... If only now, by autumn.

The daughter-in-law no longer listened to her. The son heard and promised:

- We'll see, mom.

Martinovna sighed. Her feet ached and asked for good shoes: not eternal rubber galoshes and boots, but something else, more comfortable. She had been thinking about it the last few days, but was afraid to ask. She wanted some kind of shoes that were warm, flexible, and attractive in appearance.

It’s funny to say, but the last nights she dreamed of trophy boots that her father and mother gave her when she got married. That was a long time ago, and in times of famine they exchanged boots for potatoes. But I remembered: yellow leather, with hooks and laces, so nimble on the feet. I wore them a few times and took care of them. Then the boots floated away into the wrong hands. Now this is the night we dreamed about. We dreamed about it, and in the dream my legs ached less.

Everything was going well for Alexey and Olga. We arrived safely. There was no point in being scared: the plane, the plane. And the plane is even more convenient: one or two and you’re there. And it's okay.

It was a good group: our own people, collective farmers, only from other regions. We arrived, checked into a hotel, food - everything was as it should be. And of course, excursions. From morning till night. And shopping - please. The stores in both Vilnius and Riga are not our match. The women were just going crazy. And the men drink more beer. At least fill yourself up with beer in the Baltics.

And the days flew by unseen, one after another. We lived in Vilnius, then in Riga, and came to Tallinn. Here Olga ran for a day or two and was tired. The money has run out, and, to tell the truth, they have already accumulated everything: two suitcases and a pile of boxes. It is still unknown how to leave with such luggage. They won't accept you on the plane.

There was just a little time left before departure. And they already began to think about home, about children, about household chores. It was here that Alexey remembered his mother’s request.

“Mother asked for something for her feet.” Autumn. Need to take.

“I’ll go to the station with the auction,” Olga promised. - I’ll buy galoshes.

“Galoshes...” Alexei was offended for his mother. “I got it for myself,” he pointed to the suitcases. - And mothers wear galoshes.

- How old is she? – Olga asked. – Maybe she should wear high shoes?

- Well, not high... but you can still pick up something better than galoshes. After all...

“Go and buy it,” Olga waved her hand. - And my little feet are buzzing. Take your wallet and go.

“And I’ll go,” said Alexey. - I'll buy it. I'll choose you even better.

Tallinn. 1968 Photo: visualhistory.livejournal.com

The time was not late, the shops were open. Alexey went into one and the other. I walked near the shelves, looked closely, but could not choose anything. I wanted them to be good for my legs, and yet my mother is not young. So that it’s softer and warmer - by autumn. And look better. He remembered his mother and changed his mind. How she lived... After all, apart from tweets and rubber boots, she had never sewn anything on. I wanted to please her. So that she puts it on and people are jealous. Let’s go to the store to buy bread, they’ll immediately notice. Oohs and ahs. “My son brought it,” the mother will say. Alexey even laughed when he imagined it.

In one of the stores, he decided to consult the saleswoman. Usually he was afraid of saleswomen, but now he made up his mind.

“I would like something for my mother,” he asked. - Shoes for autumn.

- The galoshes are in that department over there.

“I’m not asking for galoshes,” Alexei took offense. -What are you all doing with these galoshes? You yourself, I suppose...” he glanced sideways at the saleswoman’s legs.

The saleswoman grinned, looked Alexei from head to toe, and an evil light flashed in her eyes.

– Do you need shoes for autumn? – she sang affectionately. - Decent, huh?

- Certainly.

The saleswoman bent down, rummaged under the counter and put out yellow leather shoes, a toy - not shoes. Neat buttons on the side, fur inside, and the leather was so made, so soft... Not shoes - a sweet dream.

“Wow...” said Alexey. - And how much?

The saleswoman was waiting for this question. She saw right through Alexei: by his clothes, by his face. She understood him immediately and now spoke clearly:

- Sixty rubles.

Alexey gasped. His eyes widened and his mouth opened. He seems to be used to the crazy prices. We bought boots for our daughter and Olga. But those are knee-length boots. And here the cat cried skins.

“Wow,” said Alexey.

“I told you right away: the galoshes are in another department,” the saleswoman muttered with such a frank grin that you wanted to take this shoe yes...

Alexei was showered with heat from head to toe. He pulled out his wallet and prayed to God: if only there was enough, if only there was enough... His hands were shaking, his mouth was dry. The saleswoman looked straight at him.

“Forty-five, forty-six... Three rubles and rubles... Not enough,” flashed through my head, and then I remembered: there is a cache, hidden from my wife. He pulled it out and sighed: “Thank God!”

He paid, took the shoes without looking, and only breathed freely on the street. He walked away from the store a little, glanced over his shoulder: they weren’t looking, and opened the box. Here, in the sunlight, the boots seemed even better: the silky fur inside was a warm cave, the smooth, shiny leather was a toy, and nothing more.

Alexey involuntarily looked at his shoes and grinned, thinking that he should somehow put on some shoes too.

At the hotel, Olga, seeing the shoes, immediately started wailing:

- Foolish, foolish! Or did you drink?! That's right, drunk! How did your head figure it out?! “She immediately sensed the price, but still asked: “How much?”

Alexey answered.

Olga began to cry.

- Fool. The last money. At least your head would think, will your mother wear them? Yes, for that kind of money. Daughter bride... I wanted her...

Olga cried, wailed, and meanwhile she took one shoe and tried to stick her foot into it. But what about her thirty-ninth? And my daughter’s little leg won’t fit – she took after her mother. In annoyance, she threw her shoe on the floor and said in her hearts:

- Go, let the money roll around. Tell me they don't fit.

Alexey usually listened to his wife, and now he understood that she was right. Whatever you say, for a mother... In a word, it’s a little expensive. He now understood that he had gotten excited, that the saleswoman was to blame. He understood everything, but he couldn’t go to the store again and ask for money back. Cut him, kill him, skin him alive - he couldn’t.

Olga lamented, cried and remembered:

- Verka ordered it, Dianova. I didn’t even think about taking it for her. And her leg is small, we’ll sell it.

And everything calmed down. Everything went as usual. Tallinn, excursions, then a plane - and home.

We arrived at the farm at night. But they didn’t sleep at home. Of course, both the children and the mother were waiting for them. The tights have started. The eldest daughter was trying on new clothes, the kids were gnawing on candy and gingerbread. Martinovna rejoiced with everyone together. Olga brought her a scarf, black with roses. Inexpensive scarf, but attractive.

My daughter was rummaging through the bundles and suitcases and spotted shoes, the same yellow ones. She took them out of the box, and in the electric light the shoes shone—you couldn’t take your eyes off them.

- For whom is this? – asked the daughter.

Olga laughed badly:

- My son bought this for his mother. For sixty rubles. Chose.

Photo: om1.ru

Martinovna did not seem to hear the outright ridicule. As if spellbound, she stood up, walked over, and took the yellow shoes in her dark hands. I stroked the top, the sole, and then tried it on. The boots were just right. Martinovna walked around the room so easily, as if her new shoes themselves carried her from the table to the threshold and back.

Olga looked on silently, Alexei froze, and the children fell silent.

Martinovna took off her shoes, put them on the table, dropped her head and began to cry.

“Granny, well, granny...” the granddaughter rushed to her. – What are you... Look how pretty they are.

Alexey also came up and said:

- Mom, don't.

But Martinovna cried, and who was to blame for her tears... A long, awkward life? Or maybe those trophy boots, with hooks and laces, from your youth? Or these?

Alexey couldn’t stand it, he went out onto the porch and lit a cigarette. Olga jumped out after him. Having puffed on a cigarette and swallowed the lump in his throat, Alexey said:

“Don’t you dare take it from her.”

“What am I really talking about?” Olga whispered. There were tears in her eyes.

[ad01]

Boris Ekimov - “Speak, Mom, Speak...” [stories]

“Speak, mother, speak...”

In the mornings the mobile phone now rang. The black box came to life: the light came on in it, cheerful music sang and the daughter’s voice announced, as if she were nearby:

- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions or suggestions? Amazing! Then I kiss you. Be, be!

The box was rotten and silent. Old Katerina marveled at her and could not get used to it. This seems like a small thing - a matchbox. No wires. He lays there and lies there, and suddenly his daughter’s voice begins to play and light up:

- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Have you thought about going? Look... Any questions? Kiss. Be, be!

But the city where my daughter lives is one and a half hundred miles away. And not always easy, especially in bad weather.

But this year the autumn has been long and warm. Near the farm, on the surrounding mounds, the grass turned red, and the poplar and willow fields near the Don stood green, and in the courtyards pears and cherries grew green like summer, although by time it was high time for them to burn out with a red and crimson quiet fire.

The bird's flight took a long time. The goose slowly went south, calling somewhere in the foggy, stormy sky a quiet ong-ong... ong-ong...

But what can we say about the bird, if Grandma Katerina, a withered, hunchbacked old woman, but still an agile old woman, could not get ready to leave.

“I throw it with my mind, I won’t throw it…” she complained to her neighbor. - Should I go or not?.. Or maybe it will stay warm? They are talking on the radio: the weather has completely broken down. Now the fast has begun, but the magpies have not come to the yard. It's warm and warm. Back and forth... Christmas and Epiphany. And then it’s time to think about seedlings. There’s no point in going there and getting tights.

The neighbor just sighed: it was still so far away from spring, from seedlings.

But old Katerina, rather convincing herself, took out another argument from her bosom - a mobile phone.

- Mobile! — she proudly repeated the words of the city grandson. - One word - mobile. He pressed the button, and immediately - Maria. Pressed another - Kolya. Who do you want to feel sorry for? Why shouldn't we live? - she asked. - Why leave? Throw away the house, the farm...

This was not the first conversation. I talked with the children, with the neighbor, but more often with myself.

In recent years, she went to spend the winter with her daughter in the city. Age is one thing: it’s difficult to light the stove every day and carry water from the well. Through mud and ice. You will fall and hurt yourself. And who will lift it?

The farmstead, which until recently was populous, with the death of the collective farm, dispersed, moved away, died out. Only old people and drunks remained. And they don’t carry bread, not to mention the rest. It's hard for an old person to spend the winter. So she left to join her people.

But it’s not easy to part with a farm, with a nest. What to do with small animals: Tuzik, cat and chickens? Shove it around people?.. And my heart aches about the house. The drunkards will climb in and the last saucepans will be stuck.

And it’s not too much fun to settle into new corners in old age. Even though they are our own children, the walls are foreign and life is completely different. Guest and look around.

So I was thinking: should I go, should I not go?.. And then they brought a phone for help - a mobile phone. They explained for a long time about the buttons: which ones to press and which ones not to touch. Usually my daughter called from the city in the morning.

Cheerful music will begin to sing, and the light will flash in the box. At first, it seemed to old Katerina that her daughter’s face would appear there, as if on a small television. Only a voice was announced, distant and not for long:

- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be, be.

Before you know it, the light has already gone out, the box has fallen silent.

In the first days, old Katerina only marveled at such a miracle. Previously, on the farm there was a telephone in the collective farm office. Everything is familiar there: wires, a big black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone floated away with the collective farm. Now there is “mobile”. And then thank God.

- Mother! Do you hear me?! Alive and healthy? Well done. Kiss.

Before you even have time to open your mouth, the box has already gone out.

“What kind of passion is this?” the old woman grumbled. - Not a telephone, waxwing. He crowed: be it... So be it. And here…

And here, that is, in the life of the farmstead, the old man’s life, there was a lot of things that I wanted to talk about.

- Mom, can you hear me?

- I hear, I hear... Is that you, daughter? And the voice doesn’t seem to be yours, it’s somehow hoarse. Are you sick? Look, dress warmly. Otherwise, you are urban - fashionable, tie a down scarf. And don't let them look. Health is more valuable. Because I just had a dream, such a bad one. Why? It seems like there is some cattle in our yard. Alive. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What kind of passion is this? And why would that be?

“Mom,” came a stern voice from the phone. - Talk to the point, and not about goat faces. We explained to you: the tariff.

“Forgive me for Christ’s sake,” the old woman came to her senses. They really warned her when the phone was delivered that it was expensive and she needed to talk briefly about the most important thing.

But what is the most important thing in life? Especially among old people... And in fact, I saw such passion at night: a horse’s tail and a scary goat’s face.

So think about it, what is this for? Probably not good.

Another day passed again, followed by another. The old woman’s life went on as usual: get up, tidy up, release the chickens; feed and water your small living creatures and even have something to peck at yourself. And then he’ll go and hook things up. It’s not for nothing that they say: even though the house is small, you are not told to sit.

A spacious farmstead that once fed a large family: a vegetable garden, a potato garden, and levada. Sheds, cubbyholes, chicken coop. Summer kitchen-mazanka, cellar with exit. Pletnevaya town, fence. Earth that needs to be dug little by little while it’s warm. And cut firewood, cutting it wide with a hand saw. Coal has become expensive these days and you can’t buy it.

Little by little the day dragged on, cloudy and warm. Ong-ong... ong-ong... - was sometimes heard. This goose went south, flock after flock. They flew away to return in the spring. But on the ground, on the farm, it was cemetery-like quiet. Having left, people did not return here either in the spring or in the summer. And therefore, rare houses and farmsteads seemed to crawl apart like crustaceans, shunning each other.

Another day has passed. And in the morning it was slightly frosty. Trees, bushes and dry grass stood in a light layer of frost - white fluffy frost. Old Katerina, going out into the courtyard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she should have looked down at her feet. She walked and walked, stumbled, fell, hitting a rhizome painfully.

The day started off awkwardly and just didn't go well.

As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and began to sing.

- Hello, my daughter, hello. Just one title: alive. “I’m so upset now,” she complained. “It was either the leg playing along, or maybe the slime.” Where, where...” she got annoyed. - In the courtyard. I went to open the gate at night. And there, near the gate, there is a black pear. Do you love her. She's sweet. I’ll make you compote from it. Otherwise I would have liquidated it long ago. Near this pear tree...

“Mom,” a distant voice came through the phone, “be more specific about what happened, and not about a sweet pear.”

- And that’s what I’m telling you. There, the root crawled out of the ground like a snake. But I walked and didn’t look. Yes, there’s also a stupid-faced cat poking around under your feet. This root... Letos Volodya asked how many times: take it away for Christ’s sake. He's on the move. Chernomyaska...

- Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black meat. Don't forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't you break anything?

“It seems like it didn’t break,” the old woman understood everything. — I’m adding a cabbage leaf.

That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to explain the rest to myself: “What hurts, what doesn’t hurt... Everything hurts, every bone. Such a life is behind..."

And, driving away bitter thoughts, the old woman went about her usual activities in the yard and in the house. But I tried to huddle more under the roof so as not to fall. And then she sat down near the spinning wheel. A fluffy tow, a woolen thread, the measured rotation of the wheel of an ancient self-spinner. And thoughts, like a thread, stretch and stretch. And outside the window it’s an autumn day, like twilight. And it seems chilly. It would be necessary to heat it, but the firewood is tight. Suddenly we really have to spend the winter.

At the right time, I turned on the radio, waiting for words about the weather. But after a short silence, the soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:

- Do your bones hurt?..

These heartfelt words were so fitting and appropriate that the answer came naturally:

- They hurt, my daughter...

“Are your arms and legs aching?” a kind voice asked, as if guessing and knowing fate.

- There’s no way to save me... We were young, we didn’t smell it. In milkmaids and pig farms. And no shoes. And then they got into rubber boots, in winter and summer. So they force me...

“Your back hurts...” a female voice cooed softly, as if bewitching.

- My daughter will get sick... For centuries she carried chuvals and wahli with straw on her hump. How not to get sick... Such is life...

Life really was not easy: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.

The gentle voice from the loudspeaker spoke and spoke, and then fell silent.