That was a long time ago - just before the war. One guy had to go to work. And he had a girlfriend. They could not live a day without each other. Like evening - he walks to her in a neighboring village, ten miles in any weather. On the road there were mountains, forests, and wide rivers, but there were no obstacles for him - he was not afraid of anything. Whoever loves, they say, grows wings behind his back. So on the wings and flew to his beloved.
On the outskirts, between villages, in a forest hut, there was still an old woman. She worked with bees, had an apiary, and also collected medicinal herbs and bewitched, if asked to do so. But she did it completely free of charge, because she believed that divination does not bother if you do it for money.
People said that she was good at charming: she cured the evil eye on maps, on beans, and on poppy seeds and hemp seeds. She knew conspiracies, love spells and cuffs. The fame of her was great throughout the district for many miles. Only openly did people hesitate to contact her. We went through some doors, went out into others. Healers were not honored then.
And it fell to the minds of the young to go to the fortune-teller for a hitch: find out their fate, ask for advice. They agreed to come together at the hitch, they took some gifts. We went in. They shift from foot to foot, exchange glances with each other. They don't know where to start the conversation.
The Vorozheya glanced at them, immediately understood everything. She invited them to the table, began to ask: "What and how?" Well, the young ones gradually opened up
She took the cards from the cabinet, and let’s scatter the cards on the table: this, and that, and in every way. Then she looked at the palms of both and said:
“You will have a long parting, you will be in need and sorrow. Many people experience this, but not all will wait for their betrothed. You are destined to meet. Faith and love will save you from all adversity. And so that you remember each other every day, do this? Go to the forest. It's just now the new moon. Look at small trees so that they are on a level with a person. Which tree branch will pull towards you, then go around it three times, say the cherished word, dig it out, and be careful so that it grows in a new place. Plant it near the house, water it at dawn with water from the river. As the young man leaves to serve, look at the twigs. If they are resilient and fresh, fluttering in the wind, then everything is in order, your betrothed is alive and well. If they are lowered, sank, it is difficult for him, beats with all his might. The twigs begin to dry out, the needles crumble - he is wounded. The tree dries up - it is lost. Look like this. Take careguard. And you, boy, take a handful of earth from under this very tree and sew it into the amulet. As long as it hangs around your neck, neither a bullet nor a bayonet will take you."
This is how the witch told. All were silent. “Thank you, Aunt Grunya, at least now we will know what to do,” said the young. They left the gifts they had in store and left the yard.
Promotional video:
It's scary at night in the forest without a trail, even though it's together on a new moon. And the forest is familiar, you seem to know every tree, but how is everything in another world. Yes, you also go and look closely, which branches pulls to you. Everyone seems to be pulling, wanting to touch, like some tentacles. Take a closer look - no! A light breeze sways them. They swing their branches in different directions and do not see you.
But then we went to the hillock. And there - a scattered Christmas tree, and just those about which the sorcerer spoke. Lovers come up to one, the other: Christmas trees are like Christmas trees - dark, slender, rustling barely audibly, smelling of resin, easily swinging tops: they say, we are not we. So the whole hillock was bypassed. And then the last, the smallest, was caught, on the bride's shoulder. It should not budge. Suddenly a breeze blew, and she all moved forward to the young. And they realized that this was the same tree assigned to them. They said the cherished word, joined hands, walked around the tree three times. Carefully, as soon as they could, they dug it up and, like a small child, with the roots swaddled in wet sacking, brought it to the village, planted it in the front garden under the window, poured river water at dawn at dawn, and sewed a handful of earth into an incense that the bride put around her neck.
A week later they were seeing off. A lot of mash was drunk, even more tears were shed by relatives, many different songs were sung. They saw off the guy the way they used to see off recruits to the royal service. The youth sang and danced, and only the betrothed was sad, however, not a tear left her eyes. After all, she knew in advance that the dear would return, even if not soon. The Christmas tree turns green, and no one knows why and who planted it.
About two months after the wires were gone, the war broke out. The villages were emptied: only old people remained, children and women. They are coming from the front to some letters, and to whom and funerals. The postman is on guard from the outskirts: they are both waiting and afraid. What will bring?!.
Only the young woman keeps looking at the tree. At dawn he pours water from the river, looks at the twigs. He remembers Babkin's order. Here the branches have become heavy, the whole Christmas tree, as if covered with invisible snow, is hard for the sweetheart. It used to sit down near a tree, stroking the twigs, as it talks to a loved one, and the Christmas tree, you see, became more cheerful. And then, it used to be the most unbearable. She will hug the tree, cry, lay out her soul. Just a tree, but as a living being listens. And it will be so easy for the little girl, as if she had talked with her sweetheart and had enough talked about that she should not go to people.
This is how time passed in work, tears and hopes. Once I noticed in winter: twigs began to dry out on one side, the needles turned brown and fell off, as if splashed with boiling water or some acid. Understood: something is wrong with the soldier. Wounded … Or maybe in captivity? But what about the incense? After all, the sorcerer said: "Neither a bullet nor a bayonet will take!" So believe after that … And there are no letters and no letters.
Gathered and went to the witchcraft. Yes, only that at that time was not. Later I found out: that woman moved to the city, to stay with relatives.
The city was not a stone's throw away, and where do these relatives live there? In short, I did not go to look further. I relied on fate and on the Christmas tree - a prompter.
And the Christmas tree got better by spring, pulled herself up, pulls its paws to the sun, which hurt. True, they still remained noticeable. The needles on them are less common and slightly different in color.
My heart became calmer. And then a letter came from a soldier that he was alive, well, at war, only he had to lie down in the hospital. On the crossing, a blast was thrown into the icy water. While I regained consciousness, I swam out, but I didn’t change my damp clothes at once - I caught a cold. I spent a month with pneumonia. And so not a single scratch. They wanted to take off the Ladanka in the hospital, but the soldier was delirious, and did not give it away. He said that if they were removed, he would die right away, because she was cherished by him, with his native land.
Until the very end of the war, until the betrothed returned home, she cared for and took care of the young Christmas tree, looked after a child, how she talked and consulted with a person, asked her: is her beloved alive and well?
Girlfriends and women noticed this oddity a long time ago, but everyone has their own worries, and they never asked her about it. Some even began to think that maybe the young mind turned around. However, they were more sorry than condemned. And they stopped mocking. They heard everything, but kept quiet. Everybody thought to himself.
The young woman did not turn away from people either. She worked as best she could when asked. If asked, she will work at night, without sleep. She shared her grief and joy: she wept with widows and orphans for those killed and those who did not return. But only such a hard time sooner or later passes. The war is over.
Not all houses were returned from the front. And those who returned are disabled: lame, armless, without eyes, and what is inside is not visible at all. It was a cruel war. Much blood has been shed, many lives have been carried out and human health has been ruined. The long-awaited victory came at a high price.
The young one also came. In more than four years, not a single visit. The relatives themselves did not recognize the soldier's clothes, so the groom has changed - not that he has grown old, but with a completely different face. Only the eyes and the smile remained the same.
That same evening, in spite of all my mother's persuasions to take a break from the road, on the first ride I went to a neighboring village to see my beloved.
We met when the young woman was carrying water from the river in the evening dawn to water the tree and water the cattle. It was dry that year and day.
For the first time, the bride did not bring the water, dropped the rocker with unexpected joy, poured like a pure tear, water along the ground back into the river. I had to go back and recruit in a new way.
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So we walked together to the house with two buckets. The whole village rejoiced and envied looking at them. Waited - still a young guy.
But few people knew that there was also a third between these two - an ordinary forest tree that tied two young lives in an invisible knot in a hard time.
The wedding was celebrated soon. The Christmas tree from the front garden was transplanted into the garden, because it became big: they were grooming and taking care of it, as before.
It happened that someone in the family got sick, or that something happened to the cattle, or some order went wrong - the tree listens attentively and lowers its paws. And not damp like, but like tears - droplets dripping down in amber color. And if all is well, then the spruce stretches to the sky, makes a merry noise and smells, and talks with its smells to its parents, who nursed it, gave it drink and raised it.
For every New Year, she is dressed up like a bride, as if they want to marry. And it stands and stands, alive. They say that it still stands there, and it will grow up to five hundred years, if no one raises an ax on it.
This magic tree is magic!..
2009-21-01, the Far North. Photo by the author.