My mother and I lived out our last days in an old two-story house, which are almost gone - a sad legacy of the 50s of the last century. Almost all of the tenants were evicted to new apartments, and we waited the longest for our turn.
In our entrance, besides us, only the weaver Nikolaeva remained - a lonely and spiteful woman, and in the neighboring mountain the old people Kudryavtsevs who were not needed by anyone, and the father and son of the Kukushkins, rowdy and drunkards, were poking around. My poor parents, who suffered all their lives in this comfortable apartment, did not see a bright future with resettlement.
Dad died a year ago in an accident, and her mother has not come to her senses since then - she was endlessly ill and sour, lost interest in everything, including moving. I could not revive her even with the news of a gorgeous kopeck piece, where we were to move. She lay for days on end on her couch, reading and smoking, refusing to take part in the preparations for the move, and I was already advised to pack my bags: they say, from day to day they will call for a warrant.
However, my mother was also afraid to stay here, she said that in this “godforsaken barrack” in empty apartments some drug addicts would start and they would kill us. My brother Slavka suggested that we move to him for now. But he himself has five people for three rooms, so my mother and I found it uncomfortable. In a word, we celebrated the anniversary of my father’s death in the old place, gathered his friends, relatives … Three days before the anniversary, mother pulled herself together, revived a little, prepared everything. My brother, of course, helped us a lot. He brought food, good wine, which my father loved so much …
And already when we remembered him and the guests dispersed, I noticed that my mother was completely exhausted: she was crying, she did not want to be alone in the room, even asked to lie down next to her on the sofa. I agreed. Of course, I'm calmer myself. We settled down, turned off the lights. I glanced at my watch, wondering if I could get up at six to work, or better still call the office in the morning and ask for time off. It was about an hour, and I began to fall asleep, when I suddenly heard that someone was knocking on the door. I, poorly thinking, sat on the sofa, and the frightened mother looked at me, holding her mouth with her hand. Making an effort, she asked, “Who could it be?
- Maybe the neighbors-drunks remembered that you can drink for free? - exaggeratedly cheerfully I suggested.
Mom got up and walked quietly to the front door. "Who's there?" She put her ear to the upholstery.
The night visitor knocked again, but did not answer her. It was useless to look through the peephole, the lamps in the corridor had not been on for a long time. I also got up and turned on the light in the room. Mom asked again: “Who is this? Answer, or I will call the police!"
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Silence. She did not open the door and went back to bed. She asked me to drop her heart. We went to bed again, but of course there was no dream in either eye. If I’m scared, I can imagine what it was like for my mother: I heard her turn and sigh. At about two in the morning they knocked on us again. In the silence the sound seemed very loud and insistent. I, cursing, lowered my feet into slippers, and my mother muttered in fright: “What is it! Don't come near, Lucy! " And suddenly we heard from behind the door: “I asked you not to use the top lock! It jams."
The voice was daddy's. True, him! Mom screamed, and I resisted, but goose bumps crept down my spine. I clicked the nightlight - a dim bluish light illuminated the poor mother’s figure, huddled into a ball. I had to calm her down, but my hands trembled and my voice did not obey. Finally, I got over my nerves and decisively went to the door: "Now I'll figure it out, wait, mom, don't come out!" At that moment it seemed to me that the key was turned in the lock, looking closely, I noticed that the door began to open slightly.
My knees began to shake, my throat caught, but I could not show my horror to my mother: she has a bad heart, you cannot frighten her. Throwing myself at the door with my whole body, I slammed it and turned the dog that had been placed at my father's insistence. He was always afraid to leave us alone at night - in such a house, however, fears were justified! Then I pulled up a heavy old chest of drawers. Like this, you won't get in! Considering whether to call me the police or my brother - who is better to call for help? - I heard a cough, exactly the same as my father's. He was a long-term pulmonary, and his hysterical cough often prevented us from sleeping at night. Mom, too, apparently heard these familiar sounds from the room, because she flew a bullet into the hallway and cried out: “This is it! Open it, Lucy. It's him!"
- Mom, are you out of your mind ?! He died, didn't you forget? We buried him a year ago.
- Then who is there? You yourself hear that it's his cough.
“Everyone has the same cough,” I said sternly. - Go to bed, and I will deal with these jokers.
- I call the police! Do you hear? - I said menacingly, trying not to shake my voice.
Shuffling footsteps were heard in the corridor, as if someone were slowly leaving. I took my mother into the room, made her take a pill and looked out the window - if someone leaves the entrance, I will see. No, nobody came out. It was raining, lanterns were reflected in the puddles … I really thought it was all over, but ten minutes later the fuss at the door resumed. Again someone's uterine cough, footsteps and the rattle of a key in the lock … "Well, that's what, I'm not responsible for myself!" - I got angry in earnest and grabbed a heavy candlestick.
Mom began to cry, began to grab my hands and take away the weapon of retaliation. "I myself, I myself …" - she muttered and tugged at the chest of drawers, trying to open the door. I had to help her. In the end, it's best to find out everything and calm down if possible. We quietly opened the dog and slowly pulled the door towards us, trying to see what was happening there. From a filthy window in the entrance, light fell from a nearby lantern, a male figure appeared for a moment in its ghostly halo. Or maybe (I can't remember now) we noticed a male shadow on the wall. The man stretched out his hands to us and, in a voice terribly similar to his father's, said: “I asked you not to lock the door with the upper lock! He has been seizing for a long time …"
We both yelled and rushed into the apartment. Mom with her whole frail body leaned on the door, she was shaking, and I began to dial my brother's number with trembling fingers. For a long time no one answered me - of course, three in the morning! Then I heard irritated: “Are you crazy, Luda? What time is it now? What have you got there? " Then, apparently, he heard my mother's sobs and lamentations, his voice changed, and my confused explanations really worried him. "I'm coming! Do not open the door to anyone! And don't cry, you'll scare your mother, hysterical! " Well, that's always the case - I'm also to blame! From childhood, no matter what happened, I was cheated! He is always right, and I am always capricious and hysterical. While he was driving - twenty minutes had passed, it seems to me - I tried to distract my mother, to calm her down a little.
However, I did not succeed well, and my brother found her in complete prostration. We called an ambulance, then we discussed for a long time whether the police was needed. “What are you going to tell them? That the late dad came? " - the brother, puzzled, smoked one by one his dude cigarillos and drank strong tea. He, of course, stayed with us, although no one could sleep that night. The doctor gave my mother an injection with an ambulance, she fell asleep, but in the morning we were advised to take her to the hospital. And then settle in some other apartment. "I told you for a long time, move to me!" - shouted brother. “You already have nowhere to turn! - I scolded. "Besides, we were promised that we were about to move, what's the point?"
When Slava took my mother to the hospital and I was left alone, the first thing I did was to inspect the door and the staircase to find evidence. Imagine my amazement when I noticed wet footprints and pieces of clay on the floor. It was raining all yesterday evening, and the mud outside our house was impassable. Slavka could not leave her, he was in a car. And the doctor’s ambulance was in boots, I remember, and then there were traces of some healthy paws.
There were also two cigarette butts lying in front of our apartment - from cigarettes with menthol, these were the ones my father smoked. I picked up one - fresh. The weaver who lives below us does not smoke such - it is dear to her. And dad and son - drunks from the next door - in my opinion, smoke something completely different. And I was finally finished off by the fact that from the bale with my father's things - jackets, trousers, shoes, that my mother and I gathered on the eve of the anniversary and put them in the corridor - his favorite leather parka with fur disappeared.
He wore it when he went to pick mushrooms or go fishing. My God, what does all this mean ?! Of course, I didn’t say anything to my mother, nor did I say anything to my brother - he would have dismissed me and would have accused me of being too impressionable. Alas, he is too rational. After this shock, my mother was kept in the hospital for a week, and was discharged to a new apartment. Beautiful, large, with a gorgeous loggia - live and be happy. But the mother was constantly sad and to the question "What's the matter?" answered: "Our poor dad will not find us now!" I don't talk to my mom about this. What is there to talk about? Really sad. Dad loved us very much and could not come with evil, but I hope that nothing like this will happen in our house again.
Lyudmila BLINOVA, Course