We spent the summer in the village with my mother-in-law. June turned out to be exceptionally hot. It seemed that the heavenly chancellery had completely forgotten that this land needed not only to be warmed, but also watered at least occasionally. We were sitting on the veranda, hiding from the scorching sun. The children, my Makarchik and his cousin Lidochka, were intently drawing something in their albums.
- Strawberries will burn out, as they will burn out! Irina Petrovna complained for the hundredth time that day. I was tired of my mother-in-law's lamentations. Should I walk to the store? I called my son.:
- Makar, do you want some ice cream? Let's walk to the store!
The son carefully closed the felt-tip pen and slid off the chair.
- And we are with you! Tanya rushed out of the house. - Lidusia, let's go!
The shop was crowded with locals, as usual: the square in front of it was the center of the village. They gathered here not only to buy something, but also to chat, see the neighbors, and discuss the latest news. Right now, everyone has only one thought - there is no rain and it is not expected.
"Ask for a Stribozhonka," a dark-haired young woman who had just approached suggested softly. - Let it rain.
People became alarmed at her appearance. The conversations suddenly died down.
- What are you talking about, Miroslava? Semyonovna, the shopkeeper, asked.
- That you have the son of the master of the elements, Striboga, resting here, and you complain about the weather service.
Let the kid try his abilities, what if it works? - somehow she smiled mirthlessly. And after taking a couple of steps, she suddenly knelt down on one knee in front of my son: - Show strength, father, call the rain. We're dying!.. I was taken aback: what the hell is this?! She pulled Makarka's arm closer to her. The woman straightened up and smiled at me quite pleasantly:
- Don't you know who helped your son to be born? And he doesn't do anything for nothing. If it helps, then it will require payment.
"You know, Mira, you take what you came for and go yourself," Semyonovna intervened in the woman's strange speech. - Why are you scaring the girl? Look, she's so white! And leave the kid alone.
Miroslava shrugged her shoulders.:
- It's your business. Is there butter? - she turned the conversation into a matter-of-fact channel.
- Yes, - Semyonovna got up from the bench, stomped to the groceries.
The people were silent. A lot of people were looking in our direction, and I didn't like those looks. Who knows what the young lady meant and how the local superstitious population will react to this? Ten minutes later, she came out of the store, waving a canvas handbag.
I finally found my voice.:
"What's she talking about?" Why are you picking on my son?
"Don't pay any attention, Lizaveta. Don't listen to that story," Semyonovna muttered. "You're here for ice cream, aren't you?" Come on in, we just got the fresh stuff yesterday, and we haven't sold out yet.
In the shop, while Makarka and Lida were discussing what sweets they wanted, Semyonovna explained:
- Miroslava, and the whole Shapchenko family, are considered witchers in our country. They live in the woods behind the cemetery. And she hinted that you were praying to someone during childbirth, asking for help. Apparently, some kind of non-Christian god.
- Yes, I'm an ordinary Orthodox, Aunt Lena. Although, to be honest, she is, in fact, an unbeliever. So, I paint eggs for Easter, bake pies for Christmas - that's the whole faith. Well, I can say "thank God" or something like that. - Well, you know better... As we stomped home, I was lost in memories.
...I couldn't bear a child for a very long time: miscarriages followed one another with some supernatural regularity, although all medical indications were normal. My husband and I have gone everywhere! And suddenly I had a strange dream. It's like standing on a high hill. Above me, the night sky is not starry, but overcast, with a stormy sea lapping at my feet, and a wooded shore behind me, where a strong wind is clearly blowing. Next to me is an unknown man in a cape fluttering in the wind. I remember his eyes-dark, large, as if there were sparks in them.
"I'll help," the stranger says. - How will you repay the kindness?
His smile scares me: there seems to be something sinister in it, as if he hides some terrible plans behind it. But I'm so tired of losing, I want a baby so much - my own, my own, smelling of milk! I'm so afraid that Fedya will eventually leave me because we don't have any children... And I make a promise to a stranger.:
- Whatever you want, just help...
I woke up in a cold sweat: What did I promise and to whom? She shook Fyodor awake and told him about the dream. My husband, like any man, said that it was nonsense - I just read too much at night. And I really was interested in the mythology of the Slavs at that time, I looked through a lot of books about it.
After a couple of days, the strange dream was forgotten. But a miracle happened: the pregnancy, as they say, caught on. For almost nine months, I was in care: if not in the hospital, then at home. And now we have a Macaroni. I was surprised that my son was born with dark hair and dark eyes - he doesn't look like me or Fedya. But the mother-in-law was not confused by this.:
- He looks just like my grandfather Afanasy Moiseevich!
I breathed a sigh of relief.
...Upon returning from the store, Makarchik immediately rushed to his album. I looked over his shoulder to see what he was painting. The house, the yard, the woods, the sun is shining. But my son grabbed a blue felt-tip pen, quickly sketched the sun with something that looked like a cloud, slashes from it, and an orange lightning bolt.
"Son, what are you doing?" "What is it?" she asked in surprise.
- Rain, people should rather have rain, rain... My boy muttered absently.
"Where would he come from?" See how the sun is scorching... I muttered to myself.
But a minute later, growing cold with horror, I saw the sky darken and heard large drops pattering on the roof, and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance... And Makar was smiling contentedly.:
- It worked! It worked! Problemy z zamkami drzwiowymi — zatrzaśnięte drzwi, złamany klucz czy zacięta wkładka — zdarzają się częściej, niż mogłoby się wydawać. W takich sytuacjach pomoc oferują wyspecjalizowane firmy, na przykład https://zamkiekspert.pl/ , które przyjeżdżają na miejsce i rozwiązują problem bez uszkodzenia drzwi.
|
|
|
|
|
|