This mysterious story I heard from my cousin. Before the war, their family lived in Orel in a five-story building, which stood not far from the Rodina cinema. Now this house is gone. It was destroyed during the war.
In the thirty-eighth year, her mother, and my own aunt, as a Stakhanovka and a mother with many children, were given a room in this newly built house. As a six-year-old boy, I remember that I was very jealous of my cousin, my peer, who puffed up in front of me when I first came to them. At that time, living in a large, bright room of the Zhaktov house was considered incredible chic. And I also remember in their room a stuffed hefty eagle sitting on a beautiful stand.
It was winter forty-one. Sister Mila, at the age of 17, already worked as a copyist at factory # 5. She had a friend, Anya, who, according to her sister's recollections, was a pretty, nimble, funny girl who also worked as a copyist.
In March 1943 on Sunday, as my sister recalled, she and her friend went to Rodina to watch the film The Border Is Locked. Then we walked for a long time in the light frost of March, discussed the boys we knew, shared girlish secrets. Having returned home late, my sister had a quick supper and went to bed.
In the middle of the night, something made her wake up. I opened my eyes and at the bedside table, on which there was a stand with an eagle, I saw a man. He was sitting on a chair with his head lowered. The sister covered her head with a blanket in fear. But curiosity overcame her fear, and she looked out from under the covers.
The man was still sitting, and the eagle menacingly ruffled its wings and turned its head, glittering with yellow eyes. The sister wanted to scream, but instead of screaming, she only whispered something inaudible. The man suddenly got up, turned and took a step towards the bed, on which the frightened girl lay to death.
In the pale light of the moon, his face, adorned with a lush mustache, was deathly pale and sad. The mustache, and this is engraved in my sister's memory, was dressed in a paramilitary jacket, tight trousers tucked into patent leather boots. Something of the veto was familiar to her. But neither then nor now did she find an answer to this.
- Anya! the mustachioed said clearly and disappeared.
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And only now my sister found her voice and alarmed the whole communal apartment. The mother, hugging her daughter, tried to find out from her what kind of a terrible dream she had dreamed about. But the daughter only trembled. Later, my aunt, who does not believe in anything, accidentally learning that a witch-grandmother lives in their house, decided to go to that one.
The grandmother, after listening attentively to the visitor, uttered a confused phrase: “Dashing. But there are many ears around. And therefore it is impossible. " Then, after a pause, she added: "Your family will leave soon and will never return to this house."
My aunt, of course, didn’t believe a word from the old witch. But in June war broke out, and at the end of July their family, fleeing the advancing Germans, left Oryol. In June, like many of the girls, my sister and her friend Anya became sandrangers.
On June 30, after another bombing, both girls on duty at the first-aid post ran through the plant to help the wounded. And then the earth trembled. A monstrous explosion threw my sister to the ground. She passed out. When I came to, I suddenly saw that sad mustachioed man. He stood near Ani, prostrate on the ground, and shook his head. My sister felt herself and, making sure she was not injured, jumped up and ran to her friend.
The mustache was gone. She began to bother her friend: “Anya! Anya! " But she was motionless. A tiny trickle of blood oozed from her temple. A guy ran up and grabbed my sister's hand. “Leave her. Can't you see she's killed? " Then he dragged his sister with him, shouting as he walked: “The bomb hit the bomb shelter. Many killed and wounded. We need help!"
Although my sister was shocked, she was shocked by what she saw for the rest of her life. Near the shelter, torn apart by a terrible explosion, someone's hair, entrails, boots and a child's foot in a pink shoe hung in the trees. Then many people died in the bomb shelter.
In 1943, during the evacuation, my sister worked as an accountant on a collective farm, and she was usually instructed to deliver a summary-report on the work done in RAIFO to the village of Khomutovo. Times were severe, and the government firmly held all the farms in its hands … It was winter. It was a good 15 kilometers from the village of Bezobrazovka to Khomutov. And the sister was given a horse.
The groom harnessed the mare to the sleigh, pulled up the weekly, and the sister drove off. The road along the fateful highway was rolled, and Mila quickly reached the then all-powerful RAIFO. Has handed over the report, and then it began to stir. She was advised to stay, spend the night, but her sister was a stubborn girl. And without listening to anyone, she set off on the return journey.
The forest through which the road led was relatively quiet. But when she left for the field, she immediately fell into a blizzard hell. I wanted to return, but lost my way. The horse has become. My sister covered herself with a sheepskin coat and decided to wait out the blizzard: "What will happen …" For some reason, she fell asleep. I didn't remember how much I slept. The cheerful ringing of a bell woke her up.
The sister looked out from under the sheepskin coat and realized that the horse was walking, the sleigh was moving. She sat down and in the whirlwind of snow she saw a man in a paramilitary jacket, who, holding his horse by the bridle, confidently walked somewhere. This time, the sister was not frightened, and even looked with hope at the savior who had come from nowhere. She shouted, “Who are you? Why are they undressed? But he didn't even turn his head. He walked to himself, as if he were cutting through the snow with his patent leather boots.
The horse sometimes sank into the snowdrifts up to its belly, but feeling the imperious hand of the one walking next to it, obediently pulled the sled. The sister again fell into a half-oblivion. But the iridescent ringing of the bell was constantly reaching her ears. She came to herself because an old groom, who had worked in Bezobrazovka almost since the civil war, was wiping her cheeks and hands with a cloth.
- Honey, how did you get there? Ehma, their rostudy-tudy into the swing, send the girls into such a passion.
The horse, still unharnessed, grumbled appetizingly with hay, which the groom had laid in front of it. My sister approached the horse and, crying, began kissing her in the face: "Thank you, savior …" Then, remembering the mustachioed man in a paramilitary jacket, asked the groom where he had gone.
- Yes, there was no one, - the groom was surprised. - Masha is a smart horse, she found her way to her native stable.
My sister glanced at the arc, hoping to see the saving bell. But to her amazement, there was no bell on the old, well-worn arc.
Vladimir Konstantinov