Who will remember the Old: Izvestia publishes an excerpt from Varlamov's new book
Alexey Varlamov, a laureate of the Bolshaya Kniga and Yasnaya Polyana literary awards, a novelist, philologist and researcher of Russian literature of the 20th century, once again turns to the main theme of his work — a man who found himself at a historical turning point. His new book forms a polyphonic mosaic of Russian life. There, at the symbolic "hub station", the destinies of people from different eras converge — from pre-revolutionary Russia to the 1990s. Continuing the traditions of Leskov, Bunin and Shukshin, Varlamov creates poignant prose saturated with moral and spiritual meanings. On July 15, the collection of short stories "The Case at the Junction Station" is published in the Editorial Office of Elena Shubina.
Alexey Varlamov, "The case at the hub station. Old", fragment:
"That was the name of the village where they lived. It was once the largest and, as they said, the oldest in the local area, but now there are seven old women and grandfather Lafte left in it. The rest died or went to their children, but these had nowhere to go, and death would not take them. Once a month, flour, salt, sugar, tea and matches were brought to the old women, sometimes sweets or cereals, and a ballot box was brought on election day, but they were not remembered anymore. The old women didn't bother anyone, and no one bothered them.
In the summer, when the air was trembling with horseflies and gadflies, forgetting about the pain in the lower back, the old women mowed hay, picked mushrooms and berries, and in the dead of night gathered at the youngest of them, Zina Mazaleva. Very proud of the fact that it was her hut that became the place for evening gatherings, Zina brewed fresh Turkish tea and put biscuits and sweets on the table. The old women did not touch the food. They only drank tea from saucers, and the tight-fisted Zina took the plate back to put it out again the next day.
The old women talked about pensions and medicines, recalled their former lives, sometimes listened to a concert on the radio on request or played cards, holding each other. By their old age, they all became timid, and if a stranger wandered into the village — some hunter or mushroom picker - then he knocked on the windows in vain: the frightened grandmothers did not open the door to anyone. They had long ago sold all the icons and old books to polite, smiling people who walked around the villages and gave a lot of money for these goods.
But now strangers rarely visited the Old One. Probably, few people remembered that there was such a village. Even the townspeople who bought houses didn't get here — the Old stuff was too far and securely hidden.
The old women lived by themselves, and the relationship between them was bizarre and strange. They often quarreled over trifles, gossiped, complained about each other, recalled old grievances, said bad things behind their backs, but they had nowhere to go, and in the evenings they gathered together again, like frightened chicks huddling together.
The only one who did not take part in these gatherings was Zinaida's neighbor, Rufina. She turned out the lights early, but Zina had long noticed that Rufina did not go to bed, but sat and looked at the lighted windows, pulling back the curtain.
— And what's not going to happen, what's imagining? Zina was saying. "I could have overcome my arrogance." What have I done to her? That's how vindictive people can be. How many years have passed, and she remembers everything. Oh, grandpa, I should go smoke in the hallway," she turned to Lafta, but he did not listen to her, absently smoked a roll—up, and his deadened eyes stared at nothing.
— Grandpa has become really bad. She doesn't help me at all with the housework. I do everything alone, everything," Zina complained and added mysteriously, —But she goes to see Rufina."
The women groaned and nodded, and the next day someone would tell Rufina that Zinka was remembering her again.
The bone of contention between Zina and Rufina was Lafta's grandfather. This story, which the old women were so fond of gossiping about, went back to those distant times when the war had just ended and there was no sign of Zina in the Old One. Rufina and her two children were abandoned by her husband. He came back from the war, lived for a while, and, quickly realizing that there was nothing to expect in a ruined village except empty workdays, he moved to warmer climes, where life, they said, was more satisfying. Although it was a sin to think so, Rufina felt then that it would have been better if he had been killed and she had lived like an honest widow until the end of her days. More out of resentment at her lot than out of love, Rufina and Laftey got together.
They lived openly, hiding no one—she was so sick of it that she didn't care what else people would say. It was this shamelessness that offended the village the most. Rufina was not so much condemned as misunderstood: well, how can this be?
She is not the first, she is not the last to sin, but one must have shame and the difference between a legitimate husband and a lover must be respected."None of your business! — Rufina got wound up. — There's nothing to meddle in my life!
Well, there's nothing to do, but you'll regret it later, girl, but it'll be too late.
They didn't live together long. In the fall, Lafta went to work in a neighboring area, Rufina collected him for the road and did not show that it somehow touched her. I saw her off in front of everyone, even though I felt with a woman's instinct: her husband was leaving forever.
Indeed, half a year later, Lafta returned with his young wife. She walked around the village, turning up her nose at Rufina, calling her a slut in her eyes and behind her back and saying that she would not sit under the same bush with her. Rufina would have put up with everything, she only wanted the best for Lafta, but that a young alien asshole dared to mock her in her own village was beyond even Rufina's meekness.
And it would be fine to have one Zink. Let's say she was just jealous, afraid that Lafta would run to her lover again, and it would be bad if the old women took her side. Rufina showed disrespect for public opinion. Zinka, on the other hand, would not let up, saying that Rufina was spoiled, that was why the men abandoned her, and Rufina, when she went out into the street, felt as if she were undressed under curious stares. And then the girls grow up, and the maternal shame falls on them. What should I do?
Finally, one day she met Laftu and, overcoming her pride, she prayed:
"For Christ's sake, Flavion Vasilyevich, stop your witch!
"What else?" - muttered Lafta, for whom it was beneath his dignity to interfere in women's squabbles. However, I talked to my wife, and she calmed down a little.
The Zink in the Old One was in full swing. It hasn't been a year since she took over the village. She went to work as a saleswoman in a stall and set up her own order there: she would give as much as she wanted to anyone, but she punished the undesirables. They tried to make noise, but Zinaida had a stronger throat, and they had to give up, as they once did before the same young and arrogant Soviet government.
Life in the Old Town was not easy in those years, as it is everywhere else. The authorities did not come just to bring the ballot box. Those who worked on the collective farm got some workdays, and those who lived on their own — there were many of them in the Old One — had an even worse time. They taxed them like wolves with red flags. Whether you have cattle or not, whether you keep chickens or not, give the meat to the state, give the eggs, and give the milk. Rufina was desperately poor then, barely making ends meet, she would make it to spring, and then at least climb into the loop. And she couldn't forgive Zinka for bullying her and fighting with the village to this day.
But she had the opportunity to take revenge on the offender. And how to take revenge! Rufina knew one thing about Zinka, and she would have kissed her hands for her silence. Rufina felt sorry for her. I've been through a lot of people's rumors myself, and I didn't even wish it on Zinka.
It was like this. In those days, 15 kilometers from the Old One in the Upper Reaches, prisoners were working on logging. Among them were those who had been liberated, and those who, having served their time, remained. They all lived in the village, and the store there was much better than Starsky's. Then the local women, overcoming their fear of the prisoners, began to go to the Upper Reaches and sell food there. The men were willing to buy, the money was given alive, there was something to buy with that money.
But one day Zinka went with the deceased baba Manya to the Upper Reaches. She knew all the ins and outs there, and besides, she still had a surplus in her position. They had done everything well and were on their way back when suddenly three men caught up with them.
—Wait, women! "They tell me to." — Where will you be from?
—From the Old One,— Baba Manya replied and trembled: the men were prominent and very determined. She was about to cross herself stealthily, but then one of them says:
— Don't be afraid of us, Grandma, no one will touch you. You're a good woman, and go where you're going. And this bitch," he pointed to Zinka, "that gave us rotten eggs last time, she'll pay in a minute.
Zinka turned pale and began to wail:
— Aunt Manya, don't go, Aunt Manya, wait for me.
—Go, go, Grandma,— the same man said gently, "she'll find her own way."
Manya reached the edge of the forest, sat down on a fallen tree and waited. Zinka appeared an hour later, disheveled, with some crazy eyes.
"Did they beat you up?" Manya asked in horror.
The saleswoman fell to her knees:
"By God, please don't tell anyone. If Lafta finds out, he'll kill me.
Manya promised to keep quiet.
However, hoping for her silence was as futile as hoping that the rooster would not crow in the morning. She honestly held on until morning, and then her daughter came from the store and asked:
— Why is Zinka so kind these days? You slapped half a kilo of oil on my scales, and you gave me a little extra, but you didn't take any extra money?
—That's right,— Manya replied and told her everything.
Manina's daughter told her neighbor, who was her godmother, and the next day half the village knew that three men had beaten Zinka the saleswoman in the woods for giving them rotten eggs. But this story never went any further.
Zinka herself was sure that no one knew anything about it, and when Baba Manya was buried in the Starsky cemetery, she completely believed that everything was covered up. So if a conversation about the camp suddenly came up between the women, she always spoke respectfully.:
— And the muschins there were fair.
The women hid a smile on their faces and wondered what Lafta would do if he found out about us."
Переведено сервисом «Яндекс Переводчик»
