"Mad Evdokia"
Vladimir Shevchuk
Airplane or the sky beckons
Let all those who fly and students take off.
There are those who can fly and those who cannot. We, those who can, are called airplanes (we called ourselves that, “we fly ourselves”), the rest, those who don’t fly, are called differently, I don’t even know what, I wasn’t interested. The only purpose of non-flying ones (as you should have guessed, I come from airplanes, i.e. flying) is to feed us and take care of our well-being, for which we sometimes lift them into the air. We are superior. Damn, I'm really talking. I wanted to tell you how I learned to fly, but moved on to glorifying those who fly. So, memories. —————— — TeTe, why don’t you fly? Lord, how many people have asked me this question. And now my own mind began to terrorize me. - I'm studying! I'm studying! I'm studying! — the words were spoken out loud, and the rest of the planes turned around at my exclamation and shook their heads sadly. - Everything is fine TeTe. Calm down. — eSeH21 thought that I had another nightmare. “I’m fine,” waving the flaps, I ran along the runway. The night air was soothing, flowing around me from all sides. The stars beckoned, and the moon created a double on the asphalt chasing me. What a beautiful night. How I love the night. Peace and quiet. You can’t hear the roar of turbines or the whistle of tearing space. I run away to the edge of the runway, and then I rush around like crazy, running over to the neighboring ones and scaring away the unwary flightless ones. They either cursed me or encouraged me, and I moved on. I just left, but didn't take off. I was afraid to take off, although everyone thought that this is all I do at night, and not just rush around the runways like a madman. I was simply afraid, but for the sake of reason I came up with more convincing (or less humiliating reasons). I told everyone, including myself, that if I fly during the day, I will be uncontrollably drawn towards the sun, and unable to stop, I am drawn into it and melt, and therefore I fly at night. And no one knew that my nozzles were still sealed. No, they certainly weren’t solid, otherwise how could I release jets of hot air, but they weren’t hollow either. A flight was needed so that the jets and fire could destroy the adhesions. Usually, during the night, I spent so much fuel that in the morning, the flightless tankers were whispering and arguing about how far I was flying. And I laughed quietly or cried, depending on my mood and the weather. 02/26/99 // 23:03:04 —- The day crept up unnoticed. Just now, the east only brightened a little, and now a piece of the sun has already appeared. TeTe drove into the hangar and dozed off, indulging in dreams about future flights. —— — Te.., tell me how to make a loop — I opened the side window. HeeH stood next to me and waited with bated breath for detailed instructions. “Damn, I, who had never flown, instructed everyone in the art of flying. I told you how to overcome fear, accelerate, take off, and blow out nozzles. I told everything, and therefore everyone considered me the ace of aces, although they had never seen me fly. They thought that I was hiding some special flight secrets, but no one had yet managed to catch up with me at night. They were jealous of me. Fools. Damn, what fools they are, and yet there is no one to ask for advice. The station computers from which I learned to extract data could not help me. It all came down to the words (Help yourself). Okay, at least I can help someone.” And I started the instructions, in a loop. HeeH, having listened to my last word, rolled out of the hangar, he began warming up in the middle of the briefing. I closed my eyes, and everyone watched with bated breath, his dead loop, it was crooked, but many did not know how to make such a thing. And so they congratulated each other in a whisper on the new secret they had received from me. —- Night was falling on the field. TeTe started the engines and rolled out of the hangar. And again the night wind, and again reflections, blown out of the still dormant consciousness, are carried through space. Some planes climbed out of the hangars to follow him with their gaze. TeTe passed by faster than many could fly. He passed the end of the lane, entered the highway, and rushed along it. —- No one can stop my crazy trip. It’s night, everyone is sleeping, both flying and non-flying. Almost all. Suddenly, a tanker (one of the non-flying ones) drove onto the highway in front of me. Idiot. The fire rushed through the nozzle, melting the partitions. The flaps rose to a vertical position, and I suddenly took off from the ground. The melted tanker was still dying in the middle of the highway, but I was already far, high up. —————— I am a flyer and I fly. I fly faster and more beautiful than everyone else, and they dream with bated breath of watching my flights. But I appear among them only occasionally. For me, in the world there are only: the air rushing with wings, the wind playing with clouds, and the sun, moon and stars that illuminate my path. No one will stop my flight as long as I believe that I can fly. And I believe. That's why I fly.
Mad Evdokia - Anatoly Aleksin
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Sometimes, the further the road of life goes, the more With great surprise, the two walking side by side remember the beginning of the journey. The lights of the past disappear somewhere around the bend... In order for events at a distance to seem the same, feelings must remain the same.
Where did Nadyusha and I take that fatal turn? Now that misfortune has forced me to look back, I seem to have seen it. And if Nadya ever returns...
I mentally prepare myself for that conversation all the time. This, I think, has not yet become a disease, but it has become my insomnia, my persistence. At night I conduct a dialogue in which we both participate: Nadya and I. The plot of the dialogue is always the same: this is our life with her.
If the past is remembered “in general,” it is probably dead or simply has no value. Only the details recreate the picture. Sometimes unexpected, once seeming funny, they acquire significance over the years.
This is what is happening to me now.
But why did everything that I now remember take so long to reveal itself?
I have to restore the scattered parts. Perhaps, when they come together, they will create something whole?
Nadya and I worked in a design office on the same floor, but at different ends of the corridor. When we met, we said “hello!” to each other, without giving names, because we didn’t know them.
When they decided to move me and the drawing board into Nadya’s room, some of her colleagues protested: “You won’t be able to squeeze in like that!”
“One less person, one more...” the representative of the management began to convince.
- It depends on what kind of person! - said Nadyusha.
Then, emerging from behind my drawing board, as if from behind the screen of a puppet theater, I deliberately met Nadya’s eyes and smiled, so that she would believe that I was a good person. For the same purpose, I once invited her to a concert of a famous singer.
- Let's go... I sing too! - she said. And she added: “True, there is one difficulty: I have a runny nose and cough.” They really don’t like such spectators.
But it was there, in the Great Hall of the Conservatory, that I fell in love with her. During two surgeries, Nadya heroically tried not to cough or sneeze. And when the famous singer began to be called for an encore, she whispered:
-You don’t have a scarf? Mine is absolutely soaked. I really didn’t expect such vigorous activity from my little nose!
She resembled a child who, in the presence of guests, plunging her parents into horror, could tell about all her intentions and reveal any family secrets.
“Sweet childish spontaneity...” - they say about such people. Nadya's spontaneity was never “nice”—she was amazing.
Conquering... Her synonym was honesty. I didn’t dare tell her that I write fantastic stories that no one publishes! Moreover, as I found out in a roundabout way, she did not like this genre:
- There is so much fantasy in realistic works!.. And when I told Nadyusha that I dreamed of marrying her, she replied:
- Just keep in mind that I have a dowry: a heart defect and a ban on having children.
- There is so much childishness in you! — I joked, confused.
“Over the years it can become unnatural and disgusting,” answered
Nadia. — Imagine an elderly lady with a pink bow in her hair!
- But it’s possible, in the end, without...
“No, you can’t,” she interrupted. - Imagine what kind of daughter you and I would have!
From then on, having a daughter became our main desire. Future parents usually dream of sons, but we were expecting a daughter.
“I see... Forbidden fruit!” - friends said. These exclamations were not only banal, but also inaccurate. Nadyusha, to say the least, did not listen to the doctors’ prohibitions - she simply forgot about them. And only the eyes, which, due to the swelling of the eyelids, seemed to become smaller and narrower in the morning, reminded that there was still a heart defect.
— Almost all women are blessed with pregnancy. Who did you marry? Nadyusha said, looking at herself in the mirror in the morning.
Others dreamed of sons. And we were waiting for Olenka. And she was born. “She couldn’t do otherwise,” Nadyusha wrote to me in her first note after there were three of us on earth. “I was kept in the hospital for six months. Could she deceive my and your expectations? Thanks her!"
I think it all started with this phrase. This phrase also built a bridge on that terrible day that separated Nadyusha and me. A bridge sixteen years and two months long...
* * *
It was Sunday. The radio started broadcasting “Good Morning!”
Nadya, along with the potatoes she was peeling, moved closer to the receiver.
“I don’t sing myself, so at least I’ll listen to others sing,” she said.
- Aren’t you already... eating? - I was surprised.
“Didn’t you notice?”
“I somehow... Please don’t be angry.”
“On the contrary, I’m proud: leaving the stage unnoticed is an art.”
Nadya loved to make fun of herself. I knew that only good and smart people were capable of this.
Cheerful voices, female and male, alternately, as if running from the radio into our room, wished that the morning would be clear and good for everyone.
There was a knock on the door.
“The call doesn’t work,” said Nadyusha. — Are the plugs burned out?
As soon as I touched the lock, they screamed on the other side of the door:
- Is Olya at home?
On the threshold I saw Evdokia Savelyevna, our Olenka’s class teacher, and two of Olenka’s classmates - Lyusya and Borya.
- Borya grew up on our mountain! - Olenka joked once.
She often and easily switched to rhymes.
Borya was the tallest in the class and always blocked something or someone with himself. And here he wanted Evdokia Savelyevna to shield him from me, and therefore he bent down unnaturally.
Anatoly Aleksin - Mad Evdokia
Anatoly Aleksin
Mad Evdokia
Sometimes, the further the road of life goes, the more surprised the two walking next to each other remember the beginning of the journey. The lights of the past disappear somewhere around the bend... In order for events at a distance to seem the same, feelings must remain the same.
Where did Nadyusha and I take that fatal turn? Now that misfortune has forced me to look back, I seem to have seen it. And if Nadya ever returns...
I mentally prepare myself for that conversation all the time. This, I think, has not yet become a disease, but it has become my insomnia, my persistence. At night I conduct a dialogue in which we both participate: Nadya and I. The plot of the dialogue is always the same: this is our life with her.
If the past is remembered “in general,” it is probably dead or simply has no value. Only the details recreate the picture. Sometimes unexpected, once seeming funny, they acquire significance over the years.
This is what is happening to me now.
But why did everything that I now remember take so long to reveal itself?
I have to restore the scattered parts. Perhaps, when they come together, they will create something whole?
Nadya and I worked in a design office on the same floor, but at different ends of the corridor. When we met, we said “hello!” to each other, without giving names, because we didn’t know them.
When they decided to move me and the drawing board into Nadya’s room, some of her colleagues protested: “You won’t be able to squeeze in like that!”
“One less person, one more...” the representative of the management began to convince.
- It depends on what kind of person! - said Nadyusha.
Then, emerging from behind my drawing board, as if from behind the screen of a puppet theater, I deliberately met Nadya’s eyes and smiled, so that she would believe that I was a good person. For the same purpose, I once invited her to a concert of a famous singer.
- Let's go... I sing too! - she said. And she added: “True, there is one difficulty: I have a runny nose and cough.” They really don’t like such spectators.
But it was there, in the Great Hall of the Conservatory, that I fell in love with her. During two surgeries, Nadya heroically tried not to cough or sneeze. And when the famous singer began to be called for an encore, she whispered:
-You don’t have a scarf? Mine is absolutely soaked. I really didn’t expect such vigorous activity from my little nose!
She resembled a child who, in the presence of guests, plunging her parents into horror, could tell about all her intentions and reveal any family secrets.
“Sweet childish spontaneity...” - they say about such people. Nadya's spontaneity was never “nice”—she was amazing.
Conquering... Her synonym was honesty. I didn’t dare tell her that I write fantastic stories that no one publishes! Moreover, as I found out in a roundabout way, she did not like this genre:
- There is so much fantasy in realistic works!.. And when I told Nadyusha that I dreamed of marrying her, she replied:
- Just keep in mind that I have a dowry: a heart defect and a ban on having children.
- There is so much childishness in you! — I joked, confused.
“Over the years it can become unnatural and disgusting,” answered
Nadia. — Imagine an elderly lady with a pink bow in her hair!
- But it’s possible, in the end, without...
“No, you can’t,” she interrupted. - Imagine what kind of daughter you and I would have!
From then on, having a daughter became our main desire. Future parents usually dream of sons, but we were expecting a daughter.
“I see... Forbidden fruit!” - friends said. These exclamations were not only banal, but also inaccurate. Nadyusha, to say the least, did not listen to the doctors’ prohibitions - she simply forgot about them. And only the eyes, which, due to the swelling of the eyelids, seemed to become smaller and narrower in the morning, reminded that there was still a heart defect.
— Almost all women are blessed with pregnancy. Who did you marry? Nadyusha said, looking at herself in the mirror in the morning.
Others dreamed of sons. And we were waiting for Olenka. And she was born. “She couldn’t do otherwise,” Nadyusha wrote to me in her first note after there were three of us on earth. “I was kept in the hospital for six months. Could she deceive my and your expectations? Thanks her!"
I think it all started with this phrase. This phrase also built a bridge on that terrible day that separated Nadyusha and me. A bridge sixteen years and two months long...
* * *
It was Sunday. The radio started broadcasting “Good Morning!”
Nadya, along with the potatoes she was peeling, moved closer to the receiver.
“I don’t sing myself, so at least I’ll listen to others sing,” she said.
- Aren’t you already... eating? - I was surprised.
“Didn’t you notice?”
“I somehow... Please don’t be angry.”
“On the contrary, I’m proud: leaving the stage unnoticed is an art.”
Nadya loved to make fun of herself. I knew that only good and smart people were capable of this.
Cheerful voices, female and male, alternately, as if running from the radio into our room, wished that the morning would be clear and good for everyone.
There was a knock on the door.
“The call doesn’t work,” said Nadyusha. — Are the plugs burned out?
As soon as I touched the lock, they screamed on the other side of the door:
- Is Olya at home?
On the threshold I saw Evdokia Savelyevna, our Olenka’s class teacher, and two of Olenka’s classmates - Lyusya and Borya.
- Borya grew up on our mountain! - Olenka joked once.
She often and easily switched to rhymes.
Borya was the tallest in the class and always blocked something or someone with himself. And here he wanted Evdokia Savelyevna to shield him from me, and therefore he bent down unnaturally.
Fragile Lucy was also hiding behind the bulky but very mobile figure of her class teacher.
Evdokia Savelyevna was wearing trousers, an old-fashioned hat with drooping brims and a backpack on her back.
- Is Olya at home? - she repeated.
- No.
- She didn’t come back?!
- No.
- How... no?! What are you saying?
- She left with you. Going on a hike.
- This is true. This. certainly so. But last night she disappeared somewhere.
I felt that Nadya was standing behind me. She didn't say a word. But I felt that she was behind me. - And Olenka wasn’t there last night? I asked in a half whisper, half shout.
They were silent. This was the answer that made Nadya say behind my back:
- Where is she now?
I didn't recognize Nadya's voice. I didn’t catch the intonations that were familiar to me.
The difficult ability to look at the events of her own life from the outside, and a calm sense of humor always helped Nadya keep herself and me from joyful or sad hysteria.
“Would you lend me your sense of humor,” I once asked her.
- Do I have... humor? Funny! - she said. - But save your own. It helps to soften extreme human manifestations.
“These manifestations are always very dangerous,” she said another time. —
Because they tear a person away from people and make him lonely.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
- So, the one who explained is to blame! We often present what we have been thinking about for years, as if our interlocutor was thinking along with us. And we’re still surprised: why doesn’t he understand us perfectly!..
I loved it when Nadyusha explained something to me: she did it easily, without being pushy. “If she taught at school, everyone would be an excellent student,” I thought.
- So explain to me... About the harm, as you said, of “extreme human manifestations”!
“Or rather, about their tactlessness,” she said. - This is just very clear.
For example... When you rejoice too violently, it wouldn’t hurt to catch yourself in time and think that it’s time for someone to cry. And while reveling in one’s own grief, it doesn’t hurt to think that someone is having a holiday in their soul, which may not happen again. We must take people into account!
And for the first time, Nadya cheated on herself. Her anxiety knew no bounds and could not spare those around her.
- Where is she... now? - Nadyusha repeated.
Shocked by her condition, I shouted:
“Olya just couldn’t stand it.” Everything has a limit!
I said this because it was they, those three still standing outside the threshold, who were the cause of our daughter’s frequent suffering and tears.
- It's morning now. But she’s not there! She's not there... Where is she?! Where is she?.. Nadya asked me.
She herself taught me to ask difficult questions more often than to answer them. So I helplessly repeated the same ridiculous phrase:
- Don’t worry, please, Nadenka. Don't worry!
And those three were still outside the threshold. “The culprits... the main culprits of what happened!” - I repeated mentally.
I didn't know what exactly happened. And the unknown, as always in such cases, was the most terrible thing.
A huge hat with drooping brim hid Evdokia Savelyevna’s face.
Lyusya was still hiding behind the class teacher, and Borya was studying the stone tiles under his feet.
“Mad Evdokia” by Anatoly Aleksin
The easiest thing would be to exchange the “pros” for “cons” - collectivism was the basis of Soviet ideology, individualism was the basis of modern ideology... But in reality, everything is far from so simple. Therefore, despite the decades that have passed since the publication of the story, the question raised by the author is not at all outdated. What, ultimately, is more important - the individual or the team, your own success or good relationships with others, your personal “I” or our common “We”? In the mid-seventies of the last century - under the most developed socialism, a high school girl lived in an ordinary Moscow family. The only child in the family, moreover, a late child, long-awaited - and, as is usually the case, accustomed to the world revolving around her. Fortunately or unfortunately, the girl turns out to be a talented artist - so much so that her works are shown on television. So it is not surprising that our heroine looks down on those around her: her classmates are “mediocre” for her, as are her class teacher’s former students, accomplished adults; the class teacher herself, after whom the story is named, bears a contemptuous nickname : “mad Evdokia.” It may seem that in front of us is a conscience-forgotten, presumptuous, “star-struck” egoist, but don’t rush - in fact, everything is not so simple. Let's start with the fact that the working day of a Soviet schoolchild was longer than the working day of an adult - after serving five or six lessons, the child was obliged to do homework for almost each of them. Let's add to this two foreign languages - English, studied at school, along with everyone else, and Italian, studied independently. And classes in an art studio - not every adult can cope with the load that falls on our girl. So the mentioned contempt actually takes place, but in the same way, during the Great French Revolution, the working bourgeoisie looked at the idle aristocrats with contempt. The misdeeds committed by the heroine turn out to be not so terrible - who among us in our youth did not sin with something similar, receiving well-deserved “splashes” from life and those around us. I forgot my classmate with her drawings on the street, unable to take her to some important meeting. Wanting to protect the said classmate from unfair attacks, she told others about her difficult family situation. I didn’t notice the boy in love... As for the last thing, then, as they say, God himself commanded. However, all of the above is not a reason to unconditionally justify the heroine - not only for an adult, but also for a teenage girl who has no life experience and is taking her first steps, the mentioned offenses are quite serious. Again, fortunately or unfortunately, our girl got a somewhat unique class teacher. Let's start with the fact that the lady is unsettled in her personal life - no husband, no family, no children. The lady dresses tastelessly - she can easily pull a skirt over her trousers, wears stupid wide-brimmed hats that don’t suit her at all. In the eyes of the girl artist, this looks downright funny - for which the class teacher received her contemptuous nickname. Usually, class teachers, teachers, and even more so, parents scold negligent students, bringing down well-deserved thunder and lightning on the heads of the unfortunate ones. Which (let us pay attention to this point) forces careless students to act like hooligans, wanting to gain recognition in the eyes of, if not their parents and teachers, then their classmates. We agree that putting a live sparrow or frog in a teacher’s bag, setting fire to carbide at the door of the teacher’s room, enjoying the commotion that arises is much simpler, easier and more interesting than learning to solve math problems or conjugate suffixes. As for “crazy Evdokia,” she will find encouraging words even for the most inveterate loser or hooligan, being, quite according to Dale Carnegie, “frank in her assessment and generous in praise”:
“Kolya Belkin just recently couldn’t draw a straight line, but now he has straight C’s in geometry and drawing. The math teacher suggests that in the future he could achieve a B. This is a joyful event for all of us...”
Flattered hooligans and poor students, having stopped flying airplanes in class and cutting up desks with knives, began to study together, directing their energy to more constructive goals. Let us pay special attention to the words: “a joyful event for all of us.” In addition to moral support for the weak and lagging behind, “mad Evdokia” tries to ensure that her students spend as much time as possible together. Joint excursions - trips to museums and exhibitions, pioneer and school events, amateur performances... Frequent meetings with former students, ordinary Soviet people - someone became a cook in a factory canteen, someone rose from a simple driver to the head of a bus fleet ... A characteristic point is that among the former students of “mad Evdokia” there are no bright personalities: scientists, actors, writers - there are only and exclusively “ordinary Soviet people.” Bright personalities are either deliberately not invited to meetings - or they, like the heroine, are seriously offended by the former class teacher. Well, the girl, with her busy schedule, willy-nilly has to choose: a trip to the cinema, a museum with the class, a meeting with a former classmate - or another drawing lesson in an art studio. Needless to say, she will choose - with the full support of her parents. Without wanting to, the girl “breaks away from the team”, setting off on her own. “Mad Evdokia” is openly angry - one of her students turns out to be “unreached”, but she cannot do anything. While attendance at classes in Soviet schools was mandatory, extracurricular activities were entirely voluntary. But the most important thing is that the heroine is systematically erased. Forced to ignore school excursions and meetings with former classmates, she would gladly play in amateur performances - only the main and interesting roles go to the aforementioned losers and hooligans, the “mediocrities” so beloved by “mad Evdokia.” The class publishes a wall newspaper - she, a student of the art studio, is not involved in the work at all - but the mentioned friend is involved, even if she is able to draw, then only headlines. Summoning “mad Evdokia,” the school director demanded an explanation: why is your student’s work shown on TV, but I, the director, have no idea about it? And he ordered a personal exhibition for the girl. The exhibition took place - but not personal, but general, collective, for the whole class. The girl, like the rest of her classmates, was asked to do only two jobs. In a word, our heroine turns out to be very offended by the class teacher. And, being offended, she decides to do what losers and hooligans usually do - seriously misbehave, in order to thereby declare herself and receive recognition. During a trip to partisan places with her class, she managed to guess the route that a certain guy took to escape German patrols. She should have told the class teacher and the kids about her guess - but in this case, the victory would be counted not to her, but to the class. The girl desperately wants to say: “I” and not “We,” and therefore, without informing anyone about her guess, she decides to walk the route on her own, independently receiving the prize waiting at the end. The story ends, but not with a scandal followed by a confession, as the heroine was counting on, but with a tragedy. Often critics point to a simple oversight on the part of the teacher - when arranging the class for the night, “mad Evdokia” did not conduct a roll call. Let's not forget that the story was written in 1976 - there are no mobile phones yet, and pay phones are not available everywhere, being practically absent in rural areas. Even if she wants, our girl cannot call home and warn her parents. In reality, the conflict lies much deeper. “There is not a single hooligan or bandit among my students,” the class teacher proudly declares, thereby effectively excluding our girl from among her students. And, almost immediately, he adds: “He who wants to be the first in everything is doomed to loneliness.” By and large, the heroine of the story, if she is to blame, is that she was born smart and talented. Thus, without wanting it, she is faced with a choice: to develop this talent by fate or God (whichever you like best), going against the team, or to become one of the countless other “gray mice”. You can’t do both - as Kozma Prutkov said, “you can’t embrace the immensity,” and therefore, willy-nilly, discarding the unimportant, you will have to focus on the main thing. The choice that not only our girl, but also an adult, experienced person will make in this situation is quite obvious. In addition, regardless of how smart and talented (or, on the contrary, stupid and mediocre) this or that person turns out to be, each of us has a desire to say: “I” and not “We”, to be proud not only of common achievements, but also by myself personally. Any attempt to replace the personal “I” with the general “We” is invariably doomed to failure - remember the school bullies who misbehave in order to be noticed. That's it.
Aleksin Anatoly Georgievich - Mad Evdokia
Anatoly Aleksin
Mad Evdokia
Sometimes, the further the road of life goes, the more surprised the two walking next to each other remember the beginning of the journey. The lights of the past disappear somewhere around the bend... In order for events at a distance to seem the same, feelings must remain the same.
Where did Nadyusha and I take that fatal turn? Now that misfortune has forced me to look back, I seem to have seen it. And if Nadya ever returns...
I mentally prepare myself for that conversation all the time. This, I think, has not yet become a disease, but it has become my insomnia, my persistence. At night I conduct a dialogue in which we both participate: Nadya and I. The plot of the dialogue is always the same: this is our life with her.
If the past is remembered “in general,” it is probably dead or simply has no value. Only the details recreate the picture. Sometimes unexpected, once seeming funny, they acquire significance over the years.
This is what is happening to me now.
But why did everything that I now remember take so long to reveal itself?
I have to restore the scattered parts. Perhaps, when they come together, they will create something whole?
Nadya and I worked in a design office on the same floor, but at different ends of the corridor. When we met, we said “hello!” to each other, without giving names, because we didn’t know them.
When they decided to move me and the drawing board into Nadya’s room, some of her colleagues protested: “You won’t be able to squeeze in like that!”
“One less person, one more...” the representative of the management began to convince.
- It depends on what kind of person! - said Nadyusha.
Then, emerging from behind my drawing board, as if from behind the screen of a puppet theater, I deliberately met Nadya’s eyes and smiled, so that she would believe that I was a good person. For the same purpose, I once invited her to a concert of a famous singer.
- Let's go... I sing too! - she said. And she added: “True, there is one difficulty: I have a runny nose and cough.” They really don’t like such spectators.
But it was there, in the Great Hall of the Conservatory, that I fell in love with her. During two surgeries, Nadya heroically tried not to cough or sneeze. And when the famous singer began to be called for an encore, she whispered:
-You don’t have a scarf? Mine is absolutely soaked. I really didn’t expect such vigorous activity from my little nose!
She resembled a child who, in the presence of guests, plunging her parents into horror, could tell about all her intentions and reveal any family secrets.
“Sweet childish spontaneity...” - they say about such people. Nadya's spontaneity was never “nice”—she was amazing.
Conquering... Her synonym was honesty. I didn’t dare tell her that I write fantastic stories that no one publishes! Moreover, as I found out in a roundabout way, she did not like this genre:
– So much fantasy in realistic works!..
And when I told Nadyusha that I dreamed of marrying her, she replied:
- Just keep in mind that I have a dowry: a heart defect and a ban on having children.
– There is so much childishness in you! – I joked confusedly.
“Over the years it can become unnatural and disgusting,” Nadya answered. – Imagine an elderly lady with a pink bow in her hair!
- But in the end, it’s possible without...
“No, you can’t,” she interrupted. – Imagine what kind of daughter you and I would have!
From then on, having a daughter became our main desire. Future parents usually dream of sons, but we were expecting a daughter.
“I see... Forbidden fruit!” - friends said. These exclamations were not only banal, but also inaccurate. Nadyusha, to say the least, did not listen to the doctors’ prohibitions - she simply forgot about them. And only the eyes, which, due to the swelling of the eyelids, seemed to become smaller and narrower in the morning, reminded that there was still a heart defect.
– Almost all women are blessed with pregnancy. Who did you marry? - Nadyusha said, looking at herself in the mirror in the morning.
Others dreamed of sons. And we were waiting for Olenka. And she was born.
“She couldn’t do otherwise,” Nadyusha wrote to me in her first note after there were three of us on earth. “I was kept in the hospital for six months. Could she deceive my and your expectations? Thanks her!"
I think it all started with this phrase. This phrase also built a bridge on that terrible day that separated Nadyusha and me. A bridge sixteen years and two months long...
* * *
It was Sunday. The radio started broadcasting “Good Morning!”
Nadya, along with the potatoes she was peeling, moved closer to the receiver.
“I don’t sing myself, so at least I’ll listen to others sing,” she said.
- Aren’t you already... eating? – I was surprised.
-Didn’t you notice?
– I somehow... Please don’t be angry.
– On the contrary, I’m proud: leaving the stage unnoticed is an art.
Nadya loved to make fun of herself. I knew that only good and smart people were capable of this.
Cheerful voices, female and male, alternately, as if running from the radio into our room, wished that the morning would be clear and good for everyone.
There was a knock on the door.
“The call doesn’t work,” said Nadyusha. - Are the plugs burned out?
As soon as I touched the lock, they screamed on the other side of the door:
- Is Olya at home?
On the threshold I saw Evdokia Savelyevna, our Olenka’s class teacher, and two of Olenka’s classmates - Lyusya and Borya.
– Borya grew up on our mountain! – Olenka joked once.
She often and easily switched to rhymes.
Borya was the tallest in the class and always blocked something or someone with himself. And here he wanted Evdokia Savelyevna to shield him from me, and therefore he bent down unnaturally.
End of introductory fragment.
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