2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
I woke up early today. Too early!
There is some inexplicable melancholy in my soul.
And everything seems to be in order. Pets are healthy. Things get done. The work is being done. An overseas business trip and a short vacation are planned soon.
Things are good! So why is it so bad? Why is there an indistinct feeling of loneliness and understatement in your soul, so strong that you want to either cry or scream? Or rather cry and scream at the same time.
- AAAAA!
- What the hell? Talk to me!
And in response….?
Silence. And only the birds are chirping outside the window. Yes, cars rustle on the asphalt.
- AAAAA! Talk to me …. Father!
I have so much to tell you! What to share with you. What to ask you. Finally brag. Yes Yes! Exactly to brag! And I know that You would be proud of me. My successes, my diplomas, my work. We would argue with you again, calling each other by name and patronymic. It has always been so, to distance oneself, to separate at a distance - "You, Vladimir Alekseevich …", - "You, Olga Vladimirovna …", so as not to utter caustic barbs from the position of an offended child.
_
You left very early. I was so young, so naively vain and resentful that I didn't even have time to tell you how much I needed and dear to you, that I love and miss you.
Now I am fifty, I look at many things differently, even at your age. Your fifty-something. Having passed my path, half a century long, I can also appreciate your, not at all an easy road.
A child of war, who never knew his father who died heroically in 1943, somewhere near Konigsberg. All that remains in my memory is the name and the fact that he was a promising artist. There weren't even photographs. Mother is a young, beautiful, sick woman with consumption. She couldn't even hug you once again for fear of infecting you with tuberculosis.
War is over. Stepfather appeared. A brother and sister were born. My stepfather drank and played the trumpet. I played a lot. I drank a lot. And when he was drinking, he was so scary that he had to hide in the neighboring gardens.
Then there was a school, a river school, a medical institute. Acquaintance, love, wedding. The birth of a daughter - me. Working as a surgeon in a rural hospital. That's where it is exactly - "and a reader, and a reaper, and a gamer on a pipe."
A long-awaited destination for a city full of opportunities, jobs, temptations and women. Still would! To a young surgeon - a gynecologist, temptations - women themselves come, ask, bring.
So it turned out that with my wife (my mother), the fire went through, the water was overcome, and they got stuck on the copper pipes. The Jericho Trumpet of gossip and scandals turned out to be destructive.
Do parents think that children feel in all these adult strife, showdown between right and wrong? What is going on in little souls when their familiar, albeit not ideal, but so habitually stable world collapses? When mothers are forced to choose who you are with, which side are you on, who do you love more?
A good daughter is only obliged to love her! The right side is hers too! Others are not accepted!
As in children's war games:
- Are you for the Reds or for the Whites?
- I am for the truth.
- So a traitor …
So I had to choose, tearing myself apart. Coming up with your own games. And no longer the Pope, but the Father. And already the words - "you are a copy of your father" are not praise, but a reproach.
In order not to hear all these reproaches, the teenager runs off into the streets, into basements, in the company of his own kind, guilty peers without guilt, into books, in a fantasy of a beautiful distant. Did you want the complications and riots of adolescence, dear parents? Sign up and get it!
Divorce. Moving to a different city. Job. Another wedding, another divorce, another job.
Of course, we met, even somehow talked, communicated, only more and more often "father and by name - patronymic." The distance must be observed, otherwise - Traitor! Mother is sacred! To betray the interests of the mother is tantamount to becoming a traitor to the Motherland.
The child is forced to constantly maneuver in the unpredictability of the moods of the “hearth keeper”, to anticipate actions, learns to read thoughts from the expression on his face, deeply hiding his desires and needs. And most importantly, learns to wait! Wait when they understand, wait when they hear, wait when they praise. They will finally accept that you are, that you are Alive.
Patience and devotion, is that a virtue ?!
Now I strongly doubt it!
The circle is closed in the place where he was born.
The beginning of the nineties. Knowledge, experience and many years of medical practice turned out to be unnecessary. No work, no family. There are books, a stray cat and loneliness.
Where he was born, it was not useful there. Died.
And it turns out I am still waiting!
_
- Talk to me, Dad.
Talk about something
Until the starry midnight until the very
Give me childhood again …
Dad will not answer, will not talk, and you will not return to childhood. From the realization of this in the soul, from time to time, there will be, there is an inexplicable melancholy. Although, everything seems to be in order: the household is healthy, things are being done, work is being done.
Early morning. There is silence in the house. Only the birds are chirping outside the window, and cars rustling on the asphalt.
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