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MUTTER P. 1 P. 2 P. 3 P. 4 P. 5	Mutter The story For what they Russia so?.  A.Averchenko. 1 Mother washing has died terribly. All has begun with an ordinary nasty flu. Business like the habitual. pochihala, has coughed, has become moist, as illness demands that, has rested in bed — business on the amendment has moved. Yes already, it is possible to tell, there was mother on feet, to dawdle on the house was accepted, simple, but infinite efforts to celebrate on two-room, city type to apartment. Yes here the trouble, liked our Anna Nikolaevna perelechivatsja, liked pills to swallow with a stock, mixtures to drink and all grindings to use without a measure. It seemed to it and it was thought, that the more strongly it will knock down hvor tablets, the longer hvor that mean not vozvernyotsja. I tried — and time and again, and not two — to convince her of the return, explained, that-de tablets — entirely chemistry and, correcting one in an organism, will cripple in passing another. Yes unless the woman, besides is elderly, you will overpersuade? Here Anna Nikolaevna also drank-swallowed bitter pills handfuls and eventually zaglotnula that ill-fated tablet which became last drop, has exhaust all patienced tired to resist an organism. And the medicine has got to it under a hand — as the doctor then explained, — it is probable, harmless, daily: can, analginum, can, pyramidon any. Mother very soon, already in half an hour has felt suddenly, has felt — the wrong is inside created. She more plainly could not explain to herself — that. Neither pains like special, nor burnings, an itch, but as she has had time to tell in detail still Ljube — my sister and the daughter, — Anna Nikolaevna inside, under heart has felt, something alien, terrible, hot. That was the Death germ. Mother, having been frightened, has laid down and has begun to struggle with the thoughts, with the usual, chronic suspiciousness. And I see, how it lays on armour-clad, with the grid pressed through nearly to a floor to a cot, dressed, was wrapped up in a quilt, from above a coat still piled up. A room — narrow, flattened, uncomfortable, close. For quickly serejushchim a window — mother lays to it a head, to a door feet — dank March day is melancholy comes to an end-dies. Silently in empty apartment, only behind a wall, on kitchen doldonit constantly switched on radio. — My God, My God, — whispers mother, muffling up and muffling up in covers. She did not believe in the God, but remembered its name in vain, as well as many of us, non-believers, on the habit which has taken roots since the childhood. — My God, My God, — she whispers, — when it will come to an end? There will be a rest sometime or not?. Mother defies. It quite often to a place and out of place ljapala, sentenced: yes the death supposedly is better than so to suffer! Yes be gone it all propadom — better to die!. And here now, having felt suddenly noxious breath of Eternity, was frightened, has begun to miss. She tries to think of the daily: it is necessary still soup for a supper to weld... Today on the TV ballet in the evening — that pleasure... Where it Katka has got lost?. On a trouble so all has coincided, so all was arranged by Destiny, that mother in these fatal hours and days has appeared in loneliness. If — as the doctor already then, besides, explained to us, after — the same first evening urgently to deliver our Anna Nikolaevnu in a clinic, that, very much even is possible, Angela Tmy would be possible to pull out it from tenacious claws. But in that and a thingummy, that the Destiny already paints in advance and predetermines a human way. It seems to us: a chain of accidents, ridiculous coincidence of events, here if in another way all... This naivety in us, chelovekah, is ineradicable. More shortly so all has coincided. Ljuba, anywhere not going to till the summer, has flown away on target under the three-day permit to Alma-Ata. Was guilty to refuse: free of charge to be winded by the plane in exotic Asian capital. Yes Ljuba also could not assume, as all will turn back. Irinka, oldest daughter Ljuby, has only just married in a hurry — thanks God, eighteen was made even — and has got over to the mother-in-law, in the next area. I lived by then in general at the other end of the world. So at home these tragical days for our family there was one Katka — younger grand daughter Anna Nikolaevny. More correctly, at home this revolving object just also was not: disappeared in the morning, appeared at midnight («CHyo to you, women? Waters to have a drink? On faster, I have!.»), and one night also has not appeared at all — at the girl-friend spent the night. Without mother — lafa. When Ljuba, got tired, but happy, with filled bags in hands, for the third day has become hollow home, she has understood not at once an essence of the matter. From a threshold has cried vigorously: — Well chyo you, mums? I knock, I knock, and you do not hear, whether chyo? Here has got tired as a dog... It has dumped purchases on a bench in a corridor, has thrown off a coat. — Mamka, yes you houses or are not present? From a small room groan was distributed. — Has again fallen ill, — vorchnula Ljuba, has removed zaljapannye boots, has squeezed feet in tapki, has passed on a corridor, torknula a door in a room. Also it was terrified. She first has not learnt mother. In a pillow the yellow person of the unfamiliar old woman has sunk. Its eyes hardly razlepilis, through dregs and sick slime hardly providnelis the tired pupils which have been swept off, the dried up lips hardly have moved: — Lju … ba... plo... ho... M... Not... Ljuba for a minute has grown dumb. Has then thrown up the hands, ojknula, there and then, in a moment, has shed tears. — Mamka, yes you chyo? Mamka! She has begun to fuss, has begun to wash, wipe, give to drink to Anna Nikolaevnu, not forgetting thus to abuse on a habit this "padlu" and "shalashovku" Katku, absolutely beaten off both from hands and from the house. Mothers from participation and care polegchalo. It has started, has revived, has started to talk, cry and be stung. However, plainly she and could not explain — that is ill it. With eyes the trouble has happened — light in them has grown dim, the fog in them has risen. And more: inside all burns down, is direct under a skin — on all body. As if murashki kusachie under a skin have got and — urine is not present, as all itches... At Ljuby heart has broken. In a moment sgrebla mother in an armful, has dressed-has put and potartala in hospital. To go it was necessary about kilometre. Have halfway overcome, when — and went already by school — mother has complained: — Ljub, stand it, at me in boots sand, it is direct all feet burn. Ljuba has not understood, has gone crazy even. — Mums, well what sand? Snow still lays. — Well I feel, — mother has begun to cry. — sand. Sand! I can not go. Ljuba wished to shout, but has fallen silent: the delirium, whether that, has begun? Has brought mother to a bench in a school court yard, has set, has removed from her foot of boots, has turned, has shaken — can, and the truth, sand what foolishly there has got? Anything is not present. — Well, you see? Mother continued to cry and rub zapuhshie eyes a scarf. — I do not know, but feet burn... All burns!. I do not know, I will not say lies, and Ljuba have not remembered, — looked or not our Anna Nikolaevna those minutes at school, whether have thrown though a sight at a building where it is so much years as she was expressed, suffered, drumming in hard heads of rural blockheads strict German language. Whether it felt, what in last, in most naiposledny the time sees this big-eyed three-storyed building which has exhausted from it all juice? («This school from me has drunk all blood!») In a polyclinic our regional, as usual, ljud the patient, ljud the sick crowded densely-densely, on a corridor and will not pass — was, to that, Monday. On Ljubu in registry have shouted: you till a dinner dryhli! There is no already a record to the doctor, is not present and will not be! Ljuba, usually shy with office people, this time has not receded — has raised a howl nearly in a voice: mother dies, you though look at it! In registry, fortunately, it has appeared vrachiha, has heard, has asked again: who, who? Anna Nikolaevna Klushina? It appears, our mother knew well, studied at it. The mother have there and then picked up and — in an office. Have examined, have probed, have listened and, not hesitating at all, on a stretcher have rushed through a court yard in a hospital. Ljuba kept up, too run, near to a stretcher, rumpling in a coat armful, boots, shaljushonku materiny (it for speed of business did not begin to dress); ran, stumbling about the frozen potholes of a hospital court yard, and all it was looked-peered in person Anna Nikolaevny... Before porch Ljuba has stumbled strong, has dropped one boot for now lifted, hospital attendants have dragged a stretcher inside, the door has slapped, sister on duty puleneprobivaemo has risen on a way: a bottom-z-zja! Through ten minutes Ljube have taken out ostatnjuju clothes of mother and have pleased: in the evening, and is better tomorrow morning it is possible to bring transfer. In the afternoon Ljube it was not necessary to miss and grieve especially: while has taken a nap from road it is sensitive, then general cleaning has started, then with this "padloj" Katkoj understood seriously — business has reached squeals, ora and howling, and there and on job in the third change it is necessary to run skipping. At job — Ljuba persisted in sortirovshchitsej coal on a cut — too especially you will not be changed mind. And calmed Ljubu that have resolved transfer: means, affairs not too with mother are bad. Oh, and transfer? CHyo to drag? Ljuba specially was late after change, has waited stolovskih, has elicited-has implored at them a milk bottle, a roll fresh and to steam of cutlets. By the trip bus has reached in village, has rushed to hospital. The presentiment pressed a breast, dried a throat. The sister on duty has this time appeared the acquaintance. Ljuba has risen: you look, and in chamber will pass... But that has taken aback: — Oh, Ljuba, your mother in area have taken away at night. Oh, it is bad to it! At Ljuby feet have given away. pososala validolchiku, has recovered the breath — has departed on autostation. In Abakan, in regional hospital, it managed to break to mother. In chamber — cots ten. neujut, a stench, groans. Our mother, how much we with Any remembered ourselves, never, never got to hospital, was always treated at home, itself. And here the sad deformed life the God spodobil it to spend last days in typically vile hospital foul place. However, when Ljuba has squeezed into chamber doors, Anna Nikolaevna was still live, and the doctor — rolled up grey-haired djadka with a beard and in points — zabormotal something soothing: a pier, still it is possible to hope, all happens, all efforts are made... Ljuba with melancholy and pity looked. Eyes of mother have been closed, screwed strong up, and a mouth, on the contrary, is slightly opened, as if silent groan of a flour has fallen asleep in him. The predatory flexible wire of a dropper has stuck to a bend of a hand and, appear, extends from mother last juice. Ljuba has understood — she suffers from an inescapable pain, has called: — Mum... Mum! Its eyelids have trembled, have moved, but have not opened. Ljuba has sobbed violently. It vytolkali away. In corridor Ljubu the severe wrinkled nurse has picked up, has dragged to the doctor. Tired djadka, wiping glasses with concentration and persistently looking aside, has murmured: — You it... If relatives where... It is necessary to give telegrammes... I will assure. Ljuba has understood — all. On a hospital porch it has noticed a greedy pharynx of an urn through tears, wished to pour out in it package contents — all the day is dragged, — but has thought suddenly: who now yes milk throws out meat cutlets? Has sat down on the nearest bench, choking with tears and vshlipami, has begun to chew, push in itself precious meal... Mother suffered even three days. The damned tablet, having got in oversaturated chemistry an organism, has closed any chain. Chemical reaction has flashed. Mother has started to burn from within. Languages of a chemical flame broke outside, acting on a skin dark ominous stains. For short instants coming up from unconsciousness during a life, mother there and then, having choked with a terrible pain, again failed in darkness. Its heart eventually has not sustained, has stopped — a painful shock. Such painful end you will not wish also the enemy. Similar agonal tortures it is worthy unless the sinner from sinners, kain from kainov, and that... For what the Lord has punished death such Anna Nikolaevnu Klushinu, my mother?. But it is not clearer, why the life at it has developed such heavy and painful why the God has awarded with its such sad destiny? For mother washing has died terribly, but even more terribly she lived... 2 My mother, Anna Nikolaevna Klushina, tormently was born akkurat a year later after October revolution, in the heat of revolution. Having existed on this white, and is more correct — black light of 70 years, she has died tormently in the spring of 1989, akkurat in the heat of new revolution. Thus, the present and original my mother, Anna Nikolaevna Klushina, in effect, never and never — any denyochka — did not see a life. Its parents and big brothers lived on at least memoirs on the past. We, its children and grandsons, live nevertheless hope of the future. Its destiny has left on economic and political experiments. In it and — a pain. Before me — an old is foggy-black photo on a dense immortal cardboard. On cardboard edge, from the person, ottisnuto firmenno some medals and words nenashenskim a font — «САВINEТ РОRТRАIТ», and on the back, already in Russian, — «Ivan Petrovicha Gorbunova. nerchinsk». Here to you and a province! On all photoshirt wide zavitushechnym handwriting with what presently any more does not write, possibly, anybody, the black ink similar to ink, is from top to down traced: «For kind memory ot brothers Klushinyh: 1 — Paul 15 lt 2 — Sergey 12 lt 3 — Alexander 10 lt 4 — Michael 8 lt 5 — Victor 5 lt 6 — Vadim 3 lt 7 — Alexey 2 lt Iюля 23 days 1915 » On a photo face sheet — a short flight of stairs: seven brothers stand a rank, and everyone following bratelnik rovnyohonko on a head below the previous. These are mine djadja. From them I know and until now, thanks God, well Vadim Nikolaevicha, yes I remember uncle Mishu — saw I it last time during immemorial times when to me was only six godkov. In a photo of this historical there is no still my mother, and also does not suffice already and two her brothers who have died in infancy. There are no also parents. Together with children they for some reason have not acted in film. Their photographs are made everyone separately and, possibly, in the same day. To then measures, a campaign in a photographer's studio (whether so it then was called?) — event not from private soldiers. The father of family, Sergey Nikolaevich, on a half-length portrait, a handsome man the man — in a standing collar, free satiny (whether that?) a tie, in a frock coat. A hair parting, as well as at me, its grandson, on the left side, in eyes it is slightly appreciable Siberian raskosinka. Its spouse, Sofia Pavlovna, is removed in all growth. In dark, free breed a long dress, from under a hem the left boot, but it not from a coquetry is exposed: it is felt — the photographer has ordered and to lean the elbows on a support with a flowers basket, and to expose a boot tip. Sofia Pavlovna rather, as well as is necessary to mother of the big family, polnovata, in a sight and pressure before terrible convex zrakom an objective, and insuperable natural good nature. My God, and years to both of them — both to Sergey Nikolaevichu, and Sofia Pavlovne — no more than on forty. I already stay at the given age. I look at photos, I am looked-peer and it is ready to kick: to what I was criminally uninteresting, indifferent, silly. No, mutter much to me told about the family, about the childhood, but so a long time when I still went in short panties. Maturing, becoming is more senior, I became also all thick-skinned, all tverdokamennee and napyshchennee. To me memoirs of mother became already uninteresting, I ran them, waved away from Anna Nikolaevny's stories-memoirs. Terribly especially to recollect last during lifetime of mother voyage home. I have brought the wife — to show it the Penates, and it, in turn, to show to Penates and relatives. We have stayed for a while in New Village practically nothing — days ten. And for these ten days I have talked to mother seriously, alone, on-synovi no more than several minutes. All kazalos-was thought: good, it will be was in time — that on the river it is necessary to hurry, at cinema treasured novoselskie corners the wife to show. We are laid-roll somehow with the wife on a bed (that!) after a dinner, we listen to Villi Tokarev — Katka has got the reel with illicit then still records. In the field of a stomach pleasant weight is felt, in a head tumanchik easy from hundred fifty scarce liquids, to think and move laziness. For the next day to us already to depart. On kitchen the ware tinkles — mother strives. Little girls of the house are not present. Ljuba — on change. Well why to me during that moment not to be stirred up, not to go on kitchen, not to smile, not priobnjat the mother for shoulders and not to tell: — Well, what, mutter? How at you? What?. It was not stirred up, has not gone. Painful apathy at times seizes me and transforms me into a weak-willed bag of meat and bones. Moreover it poluchilos somehow-left so, that the wife with mother common language have found, remained are indifferent the friend to the friend — and that so nicely we could be talked-communicate three together... However, I stroke the synovju conscience, I try to be justified and therefore I lose a thread of memoirs, I skip from time to time and on epoch, as if the stung calf on steppe. So, what I can draw in imagination from last life of my close ancestors, mine rodovy? How I can present their life, their daily occurrence, their live faces, the figures, all surrounding them then the world? Something nevertheless has sunk down in memory from vospominatelnyh stories of mother. Certainly, I could type now more paints on a palette and try to outline-paint a fictional cloth in the spirit of those our novelists-epikov who like to picture country history through history of one family. And what tulupno-clumsy, pseudo-thick, ostensibly primordially Russian writes these chubby narrations, osoblivo the first volumes where it is a question of great-grandfathers and grandfathers. Where there Leskovu-Stebnitskomu, Melnikovu-Pechersky or Mum's-Siberian! Yes that language. What remarkable silishchu imagination our Heroes of Sotsrealistichesky Work show in the epopees, convicting mustiness of a former, pre-October life. And blinking lampadki to you will describe, and rustle prusakov under hanging on a wall turned yellow (it is indispensable — turned yellow and is indispensable — faded) photos. And even the smell telezhnoj ointments, tar and a grease candle is smelt by our novelists and tastefully put in these smells of the reader a nose: on, njuhni, milaj, our shameful kondovoj olden time... I think, the reader should trust and concern more it more validly. I hope, to the reader it is not too difficult to imagine prosperous transbaikalian small town Nerchinsk of the end of the last century without the invented detailed descriptions. A city of merchants, zolotopromyshlennikov, handicraftsmen and exiled politkatorzhan. By the way, this small town also has grown from a jail, and then almost two centuries were and at all capital of Nerchinsk penal servitude, prisons and which mines have visited both Decembrists, and populists, and social democrats — rebels of all colours. On one of streets of Nerchinsk the solid house, the big house — in twelve rooms rose. At the house — a spacious court yard with outdoor constructions and cellars, an extensive and magnificent garden to the Siberian measures. The living creatures at manor kept: ten cows, pigs, geese, hens. But the most important and valuable: three exit three — black horses, dappled and bay; yes plus two trotters for daily "American" — an easy char-a-banc on two wheels. And more there was zaimka versts in fifteen from Nerchinsk where grew up a rye, an oats, grechihu... So veins my great-grandfather Sergey Innokentevich Klushin. Just or injust ways it has acquired this prosperity — I do not know and to know I do not want. More correctly, I know only, that today and under our present conditions to the fair person trudnyohonko to provide adequately themselves and the close members of household, in those days hard-working, sober and fairly clever people, as a rule, lived on-ljudski, in poverty did not vegetate. Narodili Sergey Innokentevich with supruzhnitsej. Belief Ivanovnoj, three daughters yes the son. Dshcherej gave birth then for this purpose only to marry them successfully. This enterprise safely was possible to Sergey Innokentevichu and its wife: Avdotya, the oldest daughter, the former officer of imperial guards — a handsome man and the rich man has married off at them. Tatyana have given out for the director of city mail — the official respected, representative. Maria left osmnadtsati years for the son of the local millionaire-zolotopromyshlennika. Anything surprising in such safe device of daughters Klushinyh was not and is not present — all three were famous prigozhestju, mind and obedience. Nice, magnificent and respectful son Sergey, that is — my grandfather, Sergey Nikolaevich Klushin grew also. The father it, seeing in the unique offspring all hopes on continuation of family business, syzmalstva kept a tight rein on it, drilled and learnt-brought up. Under this educational program Sergey, having reached youthful years, has got to rich shop of merchant Zibelmana the salesman. The skilled dealer the Jew about which thickness of a wallet the most improbable hearings flitted on a city, learnt Sergey to all subtleties of mutual relations with money. Study moved ahead sporo as there were unforeseen mutual relations at the young salesman with Rahilju — vostroglazoj, burning shamelessness and temperament the only heir of the owner. Sergey Klushin has flashed, has lost a head, has thumped a cap ozem and has declared: «I Marry!» Moisej Abramych Zibelman, possibly, was and wish to catch in sons-in-law of such business and provided guy, but Sergey Innokentevich Klushin, from its part, has reared: «That-o-o? On zhidovke parhatoj to marry? Yes I will better strangle you, hristoprodavets you nasty!» Sergey Innokentevich the nationalist, the chauvinist or judofobom, naturally, was not, but, as well as the majority of radical Russian Siberians, was brought up in strict belief, concepts defined had and to break them considered for sacrilege. The anger of the father had a real embodiment for Sergey: through rather short time it has appeared the husband until then Sofia Pavlovny Sazhinoj completely not familiar to it, daughters prosperous spravnogo from podgorodnogo villages Kulakovo — such peasants then new owners of the country will call the peasant "fists" and will start to exterminate ruthlessly. Contrary to logic and a sensible current of events, Sergey and Sofia's marriage has appeared naischastlivejshim. Sergey has quickly forgotten maslenoglazuju hot Rahil and has fallen in love without memory with the young wife. And that! The girl of that cost: it is clever, lovely, tender, and hozjajushkoj it has appeared — on all hands. And, as I already mentioned, a fruit, and is more correct — fruits of their concordant matrimonial love were seven healthy sons and the clear head the daughter. Here it would be possible to paint it is put more brightly, more vividly as twenty lived-were marvellously Klushiny almost — while the world has not gone mad from mind. To present only to themselves as there passed in a family the big holidays — a Christmas, the Pancake week, Easter... Sofia Pavlovna covered tables in the big hall — and skill to prepare-fry-soar she was famous. All also was going to rodova: Sergey Innokentevich with the spouse, daughters with husbands and children (in each family not less than three children), and at Sergey Nikolaevicha with Sofia Pavlovnoj grew up one behind another sons. The person thirty — is less for a table had not a seat. And in everyday life Sofia Pavlovne with the cook had to prepare kazhdodnevno eaters on fifteen, the blessing to cook then was from what. To put it briefly, from loneliness in such family you will not start missing. I will add still a stroke: almost all Klushiny played musical instruments and on holidays arranged the present house concert — in an orchestra guitars, balalaikas, an accordion sounded... Lived Klushiny before revolution as it is accepted to speak, in a big way. Sergey Nikolaevich served as the inspector on tap of sites on gold mines. It was much wound on transbaikalian backwoods, gave all the best, but and incomes had solid, the prosperity in the house of the father increased. When the revolution big fire has come to Nerchinsk when the power in Transbaikalia zahapali «great beggars» and inhabitants of local jails, house Klushinyh among other strong houses has settled very quickly, has tilted and has started to collapse. Sergey Nikolaevich has there and then lost service — was swept up, has begun to fuss, has started to cling to that, another, the fifth, the tenth. However, to it did not carry. When the family has started to live in misery already seriously, Sergey Nikolaevich has decided to jump out of difficulties here such makarom: naskryob the last denzhonki on susekam, has sold that remains still valuable of barahla, podzanjal at friends — has developed fair on those times kapitalets. At any not local profiteers my grandfather has bought by the gross the big lot krupitchatoj torments — most as its sellers-businessmen have assured, the highest quality. In a summer kitchen, leaving an end face on street, Klushiny have cut through an input, have fitted a signboard «Russian tea» and were going to meet visitors-visitors. Has put first tritely. Sofia Pavlovna with Belief Ivanovnoj cooked wonderful shangi, pretzels, pies; sons — who could, by turns dexterously heated the furnace, got mixed up the dough, inflated samovars. Sergey Nikolaevich rubbed hands in an anticipation, that at the very least, and will live hard times, vydjuzhat. For what to that to grieve, to whom to eat than live? As suddenly all has failed: on the third bag «Russian tea» has died — in all other bags instead of vysshesortnoj krupchatki any vile mix from bran, a dust and a rye waste was found out under the top white layer... Sergey Nikolaevich thought, thought and has decided a new way of struggle against poverty: it has been decided to rent iron from houses roof, from barns, to rivet from it scarce buckets, troughs, basins and it is favourable to sell. But whether iron was not that grade, whether skill did not suffice, only there was a house without a roof, and a family without money. In general, the raged social elements have crumpled Sergey Nikolaevicha, and by 1921 from former well-being of family Klushinyh there were pity remains. The economy has gone in razor, in raspyl. The normal life has come to an end. Absolutely short, punktirno I look through through thickness of years of destiny of all Klushinyh. Sergey Innokentevich was ridiculously killed in the beginning 1918 as if it would not be desirable it to contemplate full decline of the house. It went in sledge, has fallen asleep, has fallen under redock, the horse has jerked also a hoof sadanula the old man in a forehead — a print of a horseshoe and remained on high to a forehead of the dead man. Belief Ivanovna potuzhila, potuzhila yes soon has silently died away and has hastened after the husband in a monastery of eternal rest. Sergey Nikolaevich still almost two ten years tried to get out of compulsory need. To the Lord to the God, probably, has bothered to observe its vain trepyhanija, and in 1937 It has given it to sticky paws enkavedeshnikov. To the Family have soon informed, that-de Sergey Nikolaevich has safely died in prison of a city of Nerchinsk from heart attack. At that time many prisoners liked to die of heart attacks. Sofia Pavlovna has gone through the spouse more than for 10 years and has finished the Earth days on hands of the daughter, Anna, already after war, during the stay of their joint life at station Karymsky near Chita. Under a life curtain this busy tireless woman, "mother-heroine", was broke at last under weight of life, oravnodushilas — sat or the saw in litres tea vprikusku on pair with the old woman the girl-friend laid for days on end without movement. To Anna Sofia Pavlovna exhausted at job put for a supper a liquid soup or the potato welded in a uniform, as if at all having forgotten the culinary talent. Sofia Pavlovna badly also died: hard, painfully, pytochno — from a gullet cancer. Now — sons. Paul, 1900 year of a birth, has had time to finish real school, that is — an average educational institution with a bias in mathematics and natural sciences. Further to study revolution has not given. He was at war in guerrillas, besides — for red, strangely enough. Then worked in artel of gold diggers, has soon gone to mine, the beginnings strong to drink, spilsja very soon and completely — to death. Following, Sergey, too has managed to have time to be disaccustomed in real, was at war — and too on the party of "beggars". After the civil served in Nerchinsk a military registration and enlistment office. In 1941 — it is mobilised and was missing. Alexander, not having studied up, has gone to plough in mine zabojshchikom, earned enormous pennies to the Soviet measures and has died from acquired in mine silikoza, not having lived and to fifty. Michael was allocated among brothers with strongly pronounced gift of the actor. It could so to represent acquaintances, threw out such hilarious kolentsa on a scene, that him and called in village — the Actor. I remember uncle Mishu on a scene. It was in district Zaigraevo, in rural club. There was any amateur performance. And here I — and me five-six — remember of years, how with the advent of uncle Mishi because of side scenes of halls blows up a laughter and an applause. I, choking with delight, am screamed-am filled in together with all and is proud I look at neighbours: he/she is my, my uncle Misha! Whom he played, in what play, I, by itself, now do not know, but brightly I remember: uncle Misha of the coward represented; it costs a back to auditorium, is silent, all is motionless, and only extensive hemispheres under trouser-legs shiver, shake. The hall — goes for a drive... And so, Michael too remained the half-educated person, has moved in the hard worker (slesaril, shoferil), has started to take a great interest in vodka and has died silently-imperceptibly, and not becoming the present actor. Vadim who nowadays is well, too has constructed the destiny at all how assumed and his parents hoped. It has begun career already at the new radiant power the farm laborer, and before has terminated only four classes of school. Then has got, figuratively speaking, in associates to Vanke Zhukov — became the pupil of the shoemaker. After it was arranged in a workshop with the pupil of the mechanic (long live proletariat dictatorship!), has received the category, has started to build and rivet socialism. Vadim Nikolaevich has replaced on the century from tens trades, in everyone achieving skill heights — creative klushinskaja nature searched and in any way did not find itself. It has wandered on the country and now, having ridiculous pension and a separate flat, esteems itself the happiest of many rasejskih the mortal. The most younger, Alexey, was learnt shoferit, robil before war at the wheel, and at the front too, as well as Sergey, was missing. Whether its ashes are buried at the Kremlin wall? Victor whom I have passed, has not wanted to live at once at new poor misters and in 1919 year has burnt down from a typhus. Yes-a-a, what novelist poborzopishushchee would undertake to display in history of family Klushinyh nice history of the first-ever state of happiness of all people and each person separately. The history does not like a subjunctive mood but who to me will forbid to imagine at times: and what would be, there is no accident of 17th year? As though there lived today Sergey Innokentevicha's descendants? I understand, that me personally could and not to be at all on a this world, even — it would not be exact... And let! But there would be another, all the same — Klushin, and it would be another — free, proud, independent, self-assured, relieved of everyday humiliations of ours shizofrenicheskoj the validity... 3 My mother was born while well-being of a family has begun sharply and irrevocably otgrablivatsja. The solid house in Nerchinsk, exit three dappled yes bay, celebratory and daily plentiful tables are all it perceived already under stories of brothers and parents. Small she has found herself in miner's Darasune, in a peasant house from a room and kuhonki, where kuchilas all numerous family Klushinyh. All slept on a floor, on-tsyganski. I as if see: Saturday evening, summer, good fortune. In the house unusually silently, all razbrelis-have run up on the affairs. Windows are already muddled by twilight, but a lamp not zateplena — while it is visible. Anja — to it of years thirteen, at it the swarty Siberian face and two lean kositsy — finishes washing a floor in kitchen... It was exhausted — a room has already brushed thoroughly, — puffs, the back party ladoshki wipes sweat from a forehead, trying not izvozjukatsja. U-uf, remains it is sensitive. Except it in the house only brother Vadim. It for six years is more senior Ani, the guy already adult, the groom. Vadim is going to on dancings in miner's club. For it, the dandy and the dandy, the first guy on village, gathering — employment unbearable. Kosovorotku silk, with kistjanym a corbel, half an hour fitted on shoulders yes stroked, and now here with boots suffers. Boots — the latest vzvizg fashions. Half a year saved grshi and here at last has snatched. Not boots — chromic stockings. Climb only on slippery silk, and that with a big scratch. Vadim upotel is not less Ani and, vzjarivshis, helps itself a strong mot: — In mother your remother! At yours from!. — As it is not a shame to you! — it is straightened Anja. — Cease to be barked! — A-a, go you! — the brother waves away. — be engaged in the business. A, suki! In mother-remother!. Beats a heel about a floor, has flushed. And suddenly — tararah! The Doomsday. Sister jumps up and tastefully draws the brother-skvernavtsa a dirty rag on a silk celebratory back... What there was further, as the roared Vadim a bull chased for Anej on a court yard — it is possible for itself to present only. But here that is strange. It about 1931, a collectivisation heat. Hunger in the country. Klushiny live in misery awfully. For certain mother to me and about it told something, and I remember — told, but to me this scene which Anna Nikolaevna recollected time and again with laughter here viditsja most brightly-is imagined: odorous summer evening — it, small, got tired, angered, punishes the senior brother-matjugalshchika... However, it is easy to me to see in paints, in movement and a tragical scene from Anna Nikolaevny's childhood. And I see: a class filled shortly strizhennymi with boys and little girls — plaits seldom at what of them, at Ani and more two-three. Are dressed — in conformity, children of proletarians. Eyes burn fanatical belief in future and very fast victory of communism. Noise and a dialect. Anja sits on kamchatke, has clamped ears, repeats and repeats citations from last jobs of companion Stalin — will ask necessarily. Already Vit'ka whom tease its groom, have accepted in numbers erkaesem — unanimously... Already and Njurka neighbour's, crimson, enthusiastic, chatters — thanks for trust, swears in eternal and utter devotion of native communist party of Bolsheviks and personally to the best friend to children to companion Stalin. Now it, Anina, turn... But what is it? That the such speaks JAshka Rahman?! — I think, in connection with the above-stated it is clear, that Klushina it is unworthy to be in our light numbers. Today she draws Easter eggs and crosses, tomorrow will run in church to pray — unless it compatibly with a high rank of the member of the Komsomol?. Anja restrains very much, bites lips and with horror looks at friend Njurku is to it one of these days Anja has for fun passed a note with drawn painted jajtsom and the signature: «the Christ voskrese!» Has joked... Then for Ani it there was a tragedy — has not died nearly from shame and a grief: have not accepted in Komsomol. Horror! But, to tell the truth, the general vospominatelnyj Anna Nikolaevny's tone in stories about the childhood was emotionally raised, light. And it is easily explainable. Memoirs about the first years of a life at the majority of people are painted in pink tone. I do not speak about L.Tolstoy's "Childhood" with the touching description of paradise life Nikolenki, but even M.Gorkogo's "Childhood" where pretty often fights, a beating, a mutilation, and blood — amazes death with a kind smile of the author, the nostalgic notes ringing continually in a narration. Anna Nikolaevna grew in days of decline and full disintegration of family Klushinyh, but in comparison with the further years of her life a childhood was and remained for it the best, blest time. The unique daughter at parents, posledysh; unique sister at seven big brothers — simply fantastic motive... Almost all bratovjam Klushinym the new life has prevented to receive at least secondary education «with a bias in mathematics and natural sciences», has made their proletarians-ignoramuses. But by then, when has grown up Anja, in a family — to the Soviet measures — already was quite tolerably: all brothers ploughed, the earned copeck bore in the house so Anna Nikolaevna to the death almost seriously considered — in the childhood she lived at communism. At school bent for to German language was unexpectedly showed at it. It is especially surprising, that in sort Klushinyh in an overseas way anybody like not gutaril. Though, who knows, who knows... In a word, Anja studied fine and, having left school, has easily entered Irkutsk pedagogical institute. Boldness amazing — the little girl-teenager to throw darling, let and close, darasunsky the house to leave parents, brothers-defenders, to leave for tyshchu versts in another's city on cachectic obshchezhitskie breads. It is more than when Anja has finished two courses, to it, among three best students, have offered neither much nor a little: to Moscow douchivatsja you will go? I all think: probably, mother washing has been born for any unusual, any superhappy life if the Destiny even in those perverted, turned conditions of the validity threw up to it such gifts. Anja not long fluctuated and has departed as to other galaxy to far cine Moscow, in 1st State pedagogical institute of foreign languages... More recently, already after death of mother, I have found this building on Ostozhenka, near to the Crimean bridge. The classical Moscow house — three floors, a powerful colonnade, century trees in square before a facade. They remember for certain my mother. And not only it, but, maybe, even Ivan Aleksandrovicha Goncharov who studied here in due time in Commercial school; and Sergey Mihajlovicha Soloveva, the historian — after all he was born in this building of what the memorial board reminds. Ane Klushinoj has carried: in such majestic buildings through impregnated with history, study has special smack, is more significant, is deep... Whether brightly painted little girls and entirely zadzhinsovannye the shaggy fellows running now on cast pig-iron plates of a floor at the State linguistic university what is located now in this palace Feel it? Whether feel?. Anna Nikolaevna liked to recollect the Moscow student's years. Despite of everything. And under what"are meant: the present hunger, original poverty. Neither mother, nor brothers could not help regularly to it money — so, unless by a holiday who will send the tryoshku-five. And the grant in then high schools was about the smallest« gulkin a nose ». Little girls-students pecked basically bread, tea yes supets. Only one maiden in a room where vein Anja, continually received fat parcels from the house,« z пiд Харкiва », and, having hidden under a blanket, hrumkala there in darkness and closeness something vkusnenkim and indivisible. Poor proletarki sozhitelnitsy silently it despised. But to live it was necessary on pennies, Anja and from these rublishek severely saved each copeck and, having saved, hurried to get though the most mean ticket in the Bolshoi theatre or in MKhAT. Well here whence in it the love, even passion to theatre has foamed suddenly? Too a nature riddle. Whether in the transbaikalian mines about theatre she much could learn? And especially for some reason drew Anju ballet — most the most refined, most lordly of arts. The Bolshoi theatre attracted it to itself not slabzhe, than beer the drunkard. I could depict more picturesquely an interior Big though never to visit him to me 30th years were possible, now not, well at freak of the imagination and cinemas-teleknowledge it is easy to see, how at this bourgeois theatre chandeliers, boxes bleshchut and so on sparkle. Possibly, and to the reader also. Therefore again we will do without details. Simply – auditorium, boxes, a gallery, an orchestra, a scene. On a scene dance down small lebedjata. The orchestra rolls and rolls on the languished spectators of a wave of crystal music of Tchaikovsky. On a gallery, having extended, having bent, having overwound a neck — though half-scenes to see! — the thin swarty dark-haired little girl hangs on a seat edge. Has writhed, has swallowed breath, has exhausted a poor neck, in platishke — there is no place, hungry more modestly, yes about hunger has forgotten at all, enjoys, lives... What to it Tchaikovsky? What it to it?. A nonsense! I will describe better as Anja after the lectures, exhausted, besides on a habit, with the tightened stomach, goes-walks on Tver. Though, I say lies: then, before war, the street already was called in honour of the greatest proletarian genius. Goes, means, Anja Klushina on were and future Tver, safely passes one grocery shop, courageously turns away from show-windows of another, holds the breath, defiling by a dining room... As suddenly as if into a glass wall with a forehead it was stuck: feet have grown dumb, do not go further. Well any there are no forces at the young little girl with the language which has sunk in a saliva to pass by a shouting signboard — «East sweets». Vos-toch-ny sla-dos! Yes that a signboard — the smell, has begun to smell what magnificent. Has not begun to smell — a-a-floor-mat! The minute, the second, viscous third struggles with itself Anja, choking with a saliva, compressing in kulachonke ostatnie pennies. Alas, not Zoe Kosmodemjanskaja, not Jeanne d'ark — has stepped in odorous sweet paradise, has seized in kulyok with halvah, here, in a corner behind a mirror column, having closed eyes, chews, pristanyvaet. And absolutely she that second would not like to think of a fast inevitable hang-over of hunger after sweet east binge... And again I will underline: my mother and recollected student's years always with affection, with a regret sigh originality of that time. After all lived, lived, devil take it! After all ran through the bridge in park Bitter to skate — whether it is a holiday? After all little girls-students fell in love and on svidanki ran, dressing up by turns in someone's smart, to their measures, a jacket. After all in students under the Moscow sky my mother kissed young builder of communism any there and once even hardly was seriously has not fallen in love, yes here an ill luck: the handsome man a handsome man the guy, and does not like theatre, an opera despises, and ballet and at all considers for decadent enemy art. Not without reason at all courageous beauty of this broad-shouldered member of the Komsomol the forehead at it has pumped up, has not grown, was is moronic-narrow — exactly, as at the Leader and the Great Friend to all people. There was no love, not vypelas and — thanks God. To present my daddy narrow-minded — cheerful it is not enough. And to time then at Ani for love, appointments, whether figlej-miglej remains much? She and in capital studied with all the heart. And sophisticated in that is not present, that before distribution to it have offered: wish to become the translator, to remain in Moscow? Went 1940й year, it was already heard, how our novelists-epiki write, war breath... If I, today's, any have wonderfully appeared during that moment at that conversation, I would conceal breath: well, well — agree! To become the Muscovite, to provide to children the status of Muscovites — well, well! You try, din into me, that if my mother in 40th year remained in capital, me, personally I after all on light would not be, at Anna Nikolaevny other children would grow... And me it is all the same insulting and it is a pity, that she then has refused. Has refused flatly. And its refusal spoke rather prosaically — fear. No, not fear of war and prospect to get on front (all so is real in war threat the separate person a little then believed, confused newspaper vshlipami and cliques concerning great friendship with Germany), and fear for one punktik in the biography. Any miracle the brand «the daughter of the enemy of the people» is not too distinct proshtempelevalos in its documents and in its destiny. Perhaps, Sergey Nikolaevicha, its father, had not time to brand in prison definitively enemy of workers and peasants as it has already hastened to die from "heart attack". However, mother washing all time it remembered, that the daughter subjected to repression, and guessed: if will agree to go in the translator, its biography will shovel up and down. Will emerge also a suspicious episode with not taken place komsomolstvom... — No, — she has told, — the translator I can not be — I know language insufficiently. I imagine, how has stunned teachers: Anna Klushina, the best student of a course, – knows language insufficiently? Persuaded her, pristrunivali — in any. The best student of a course Anna Klushina has received that has deserved — Siberia for it. Also have distributed it not to native Transbaikalia, and — to Altai, in the city of Rubtsovsk. I do not know, how she there lived, I know only, that has called to myself mother, and Sofia Pavlovna with hunting has come tearing along: mothers with a daughter zavsegda spodruchnej to live, rather than with the son and the daughter - in-law. I know also — the work record card of mother before me, — that Anna Nikolaevna taught all war German enemy language in Rubtsovsk peduchilishche. More visually I represent how was on duty Anja in terrible hospital chambers of wartime. For all life remains at it any fetishirovannoe idolopoklonskoe the relation to banal potassium permanganate. In our house where we lived, there was in a secluded place a large bottle with a rubinovo-black dense solution margantsovokislogo kalija. Hardly where a cut, whether the graze at me, at sister Ljuby, whether at mother, — in a trice was uncorked a treasured large bottle and a fresh wound plentifully moistened kusachej with a liquid. Any jodov, any zelyonok and any cologne Anna Nikolaevna did not recognise: will scald a cut burning potassium permanganate and — dance, ojkaj, whine from a fiery itch. But, you look, in a day already from ranki one memoirs on a brown finger. As if water of life has licked. — Spirit almost was not, for operations protected, — told, I remember, mutter, — and for bandagings potassium permanganate with buckets planted. I will unbandage a wound, and there hearts gemizjat: summer, a heat. I will clean, soskrebu hearts a spoon, and then on a wound potassium permanganate directly from a mug. The tell-tale, poor, will bite through a lip, spins, lows — suffer, suffer, I sentence, but the hand whole remains. And so by potassium permanganate also were rescued... To a word I will mention, that the same strong belief in miracle salutary force was available for mother and in relation to tar soap. To whom, can, and it is not rather pleasant tjazhyolovatyj, the smolisto-tart smell of this cheap soap, and I so syzmalstva has got used to it, has got used. And — whether coincidence, whether simply accident — for half a year to Anna Nikolaevny's death stocks of medical tar soap at it have run low. She simply begged me in letters to find, buy and send to it of magic soap, believing, that-de in ours an eurogroin the similar trifle should be on sale continually. Alas, vainly I beat feet in search of a tar miracle — deficiency. Also it is necessary to happen such meanness: coming back from funeral of mother through Moscow, I have come into the first got drugstore, on Butyrsky, and please — damned tar soap in cost of 14 copecks rolls on a show-window. And suddenly it something also would help materja, has removed from it hvor? We nichegoshenki do not know — why we live, from what and as we die... 4 In Anna Nikolaevne, somewhere in its shower or in heart, ugnezdilas since young years its destiny hunting to change of places also has begun to order. As it from the house shestnadtsatiletnej to Irkutsk has left, and was pulled its infinite odisseja. Yes the blessing would travel from Irkutsk to Moscow, from Moscow to Leningrad, and there and to Paris, for example, or at least to Kiev. Where there! Having begun with cities, Anna Nikolaevna has begun to render habitable then one behind another the most deaf Siberian districts and villages — Karymsky, Ulzutuevo, Aleksandrovsky Factory, Kalanguj, Cheremkhovo, Zaigraevo... Only in New Village, near Abakan, my mother at last has settled, has got gradually used, has stretched last thirty years of the life and upokoilas on free windy novoselskom a cemetery. Try, look on a map of the country for all these Kalangui yes Ulzutuevy — and in the strongest magnifier will not find. The hole geographical, it also is a hole. In these the God the forgotten places, podi, before Anna Nikolaevny's arrival and about German wonderful language plainly did not hear. What for, why it changed Karymsky for Aleksandrovsky Factory, soap on sewed?. For now, after war, it has risen from a place, has agitated the mother, Sofia Pavlovnu, and they have waved to Biisk. The moment was, as politicians like now to be expressed, fatal: Anna Nikolaevna has intended was to raise the vital and civil status — from zadripannogo Rubtsovsk to get over in present and quite decent city. Who knows, develop circumstances more successfully, it from Biisk would be translated then to Barnaul, and there and to Moscow would threaten. But the person assumes, and the God, as is known, does not doze. It has thrown to Anna Nikolaevne test which sustains it could not. They have arrived to Biisk along toward evening. Anja, having left Sofia Pavlovnu with things at station, has bustled in a city to search for a city board of education. There was an August. Twilight bulked up is lazy, but with each minute on all became bad ofonarennyh streets of another's city neujutnee. To find a city board of education more soon, more soon, there the watchman will help to phone to the manager — in hotel for the night will arrange or though in school what would let to spend the night. Passers-by came across all fumblers: one there specifies, another absolutely in an underside gorotdel national education — well is direct anamednis — saw. Absolutely svecherelo. Anja, hungry, exhausted, malicious and offended on all this world, has turned to station. Suddenly the man has come nearer to it: high, thin, in a uniform cap, in boots and a raincoat. — The girl, you search for something? — A voice benevolent, pleasant. Anja has shaken towards to the unexpected well-wisher. — Yes, yes, you know, already from feet has got off. The national education department is necessary to me, a city board of education. — There are no problems, the girl. Idyomte — I will show. The stranger nearly has not seized Anju by a hand, has impatiently repeated: — Well, idyomte! Anju has guarded an impact, notes of strange impatience in a voice. It has involuntarily hidden a hand for a back, has receded on a step. The man hohotnul, has bent to Ane, showing more close a peak-cap. — You that, are afraid of me? I the militiaman. See? And it is exact, Anja only now has made out, a peak-cap on the man militian, with red okolyshem. Anja was delighted, otmjakla, has relaxed. — Here it is good! Spend me, please, to a city board of education, help. I have just arrived to your city, anything yet I do not know. I am a teacher. I will work here. I teach a foreign language... Anja chattered., and they already went streets, somewhere turned off. The guide has started questions to set, ask: whether one it has arrived, where things, whether it is a lot of, whether documents with itself?. Questions were oddish. And suddenly Anju as a butt on a head: the peak-cap militian, and boots, can, too, but here a raincoat obviously not militian, a raincoat filthy — in such on fishing go or on mushrooms. And these questions, questions-inquiries... The Heart at Ani has crashed downwards, skukozhilos. It has seized a handbag where documents and money were based, has reduced speed. "Militiaman", something muttering, paced hardly ahead — has taken a great interest. They went on perfect to a lonely street, already okrainnoj, the ominous waste ground was ahead guessed. Anja it was developed quietly and has jerked like mad back — already the wind in ears has begun to squeak. The blessing, that already then, in a youth, it hated high heels. As it flied! But to fly flied, and the thought in a head fought-pulsed: from lanky so simply not to escape. What to do? Anja has instinctively jumped on other party of dark street and has dived into the nearest gate. Zabrehal severely dog. And in the same second she has seen "militiaman" — it fast step hurried on that party, ransacked, peered on corners. Now, just about and — will behold. Anja has groped a hand, has understood — the board under collars is not present. It has squeezed through a crack into a court yard and hardly completely not obmerla for horror: directly over it the dog with razverstoj a bloody mouth has hung — the animal rattled, bubbled, semistrangled by a collar, air with claws without restraint rowed. Still chains it is sensitive, and the spiteful creature will break off Anju in scraps. But here has slapped a door, the man's voice has roared, someone has dragged klykastuju zverjugu, has locked in a box. Anja sat, having extended feet, privalivshis to collars a back and cried, howled, smearing tears dirty hands. Owners of the house, unlike the sobachentsii, had characters hospitable — the present Siberians. The husband and the wife — children at them have parted or on war were lost — lived in a hut together. Even the terrible kind of the night unexpected guest has not frightened them and has not confused. And the kind at Ani was really o-o th! Besides that in a dirt and a dust, but, it appears, boys a gate shortly before it, to spite of a chain dog, it is visible, have adapted under nuzhnik — light grey brand new suit Ani (specially for Biisk has sewed, first time of a plot) was looked is rather spotty and tartly smelt sweet. The mistress was picked up it to clean or give a wash, but Anja has opposed. It has thrown while with another's dress, and a suit, royal and unique, has crumpled and, having mourned, has put on a kitchen garden in a lavatory hole. The owner descended with Anej to station, they have taken away the exhausted Sofia Pavlovnu with a suitcase and knot. Owners insistently advised to remain in Biisk, to be at them on apartment the first time, but Anja has solved firmly: away from this Biisk-ubijska, away and far away from bijskih "militiamen", away from this awful evening. The first impression of a new place any more you will not overcome — it is known for a long time. Away! The way attracted to native Transbaikalia … (P. 2)>>>
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© Rosedkin Sergey Nikolaevich, 2001
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