LITMIR.BIZ

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the old age, it lives in the person, while his soul`s alive.

      I was fortunate enough to have my childhood in almost wild nature. And my world cognition passed through the things of real nature.

      My father graduated from the Moscow Institute of oil and gas named after Gubkin. He was allocated in geological exploring expedition in Samara region, village Georgiyevka, with its picturesque places: the Volga-River`s affluent Kynel and the vast forests around with lakes in them.

      My dad was given a swish cottage for those times with a garden and an orchard, which stood beside the “geologists’ office” on the village outskirts near the forest.

      I (Ljusenka-the-bead) was born in this cottage. I was loved immensely. As the saying goes, “chocolate lay about the corners”. And being blonde, brown-eyed laughter, I loved back the parents and the world around.

      I liked the river in particular. It was strong, big, with brash flow and large and small funnels of swirling water.

      Dad with mom went to work and left me with an old nanny Frosya. I was disallowed to go outdoors, but after their leaving I immediately scooted with neighbouring children in the forest and to the river. The way to the river lay through the forest callous path and then a hot sand track.

      In one place there was a shallow, the river`s special gift for kids, where we, preschoolers, puddled about.

      Of course, I couldn’t swim. So I came up with to go into the water, further away, face the bank, dive, swim a bit under the water, and then pushing away from a firm sandy bottom, approach the bank. So I decided to do then.

      But the road was blocked by an old man. He was very thin, with a big grey beard. His screwed-up lids asked: “Why did you come without parents?”. I began to bypass him and went into the water just where the bank abruptly turned in the pit with whirling funnels. I didn’t notice how moved deeper and deeper, plunging for several times. I wanted to push away from the bottom with my legs and swim to the bank.

      But the Kynel pushed my light body with its huge water hand away from the bank. Suddenly I felt myself pulled into the funnel and carried away by the flow. I started to dive, push away from the bottom, emerge, grasp the air, water, realizing that I was drowning. I thought that the old Kynel was punishing me for disobedience and resigned like a lamb with no scream and cry for help, being exhausted.

      The last time under the water I didn’t touch the bottom. Emerging from my last strength I saw a neighbouring boy holding out his hand to me.

      He stood at the border between the pit and the shallow. He looked straight in my eyes confidently, strictly and adultly. I grabbed his palm, and he pulled me out of the water.

      The boy’s surname was Kaltman, I don’t remember his name. But I will always remember his black-eyed glance, black-haired head and firm hand. He saved me being not much elder than me. He became the angel who whispered “live”, and he didn`t know about it.

      Many years passed, and the life passed, but I often remember the glance of this boy.

      The real men, faithful, strong, reliable, must act like that. Men should always pull out a woman from another stupidity.

      Such was he, the five-year-old boy. His father was a driver; he drove my father to the oil rigs.

      Exhausted, I came out as crawled out of the water. I lifted my dress, lying on the hot yellow sand and trailed home by the forest path. In childhood everything seems otherwise. When I came home, I already forgot what had happened, and told mom nothing. Apparently the boy was silent, too. This incident was forgotten. Only later I realized that the boy saved my life.

      Soon my father was offered to work in Neftegorsk, and we moved.

      I‘ve never been to those beautiful places, where the river Kynel flows, where the cuckoos sing in the forests, and there`s a crystal – clear, tear-like water in the forest lakes.

      I’m happy, that I spent my childhood there, and happy that I was surrounded by remarkable people and that wonderful boy, who simply held out his hand and gave me life.

      Mother’s love

      Onсe in autumn a herd of horses grazed near a gas processing plant sanitary zone. Among them a bay mare with a foal visibly stood out. A baby-horse of the same brick-red suit as its mother walked among the herd, larked and played. It often ran up to the mother and, burying in the udder, wagging its ponytail, enjoyed mother’s milk. From time to time it ran away and pinched verdant grass.

      Something unexpected happened to the environment. The control torch was blown out on the technological gas condensate pipe, whether from a strong wind or for some other reasons, but it happens in gas processing.

      Gas condensate mixture was spread by the wind at a far distance, and it fell on the ground as the drops of rain. The gas condensed grass turned green. The herd of horses began to move away from hydrogen sulfide site. But a little foal, unaware of the horse life difficulties, quickly began to pinch and swallow toxic grass.

      The herdsmen saw what`d happened, when the kid, trailing behind the herd, lowered its head and moved hardly on its thin legs. It, probably, poisoned at once the whole throat with gas condensate and made only quiet sounds like a snore. Some time later it fell to the ground with weak signs of life.

      The herdsmen, prudent people, carved the foal – its meat and skin were taken for the economic needs. But the remains were not buried. They were negligently lying near the straw pile, where carved.

      The bay horse separated from the herd. The mare had been looking for and calling the foal with a loud neighing for a long time, but did not hear its usual response.

      Meanwhile, the herdsmen drove the herd away from the pestiferous place. The horse visited the ravine, where the foal was pinching grass. Sniffing the road, she ran to the straw pile, where the remains of her baby lay. The horse neigh sounded loudly, anxious and tearful. The bay mare stood on her hind legs, walked in circles, hoofed and hoofed the ground. She made the guttural sounds similar to crying with a loud and plaintive wheezing. She hoofed a large pit around the remains, leaned on her foreleg knees, inhaling air, and shook her head. The bay horse was crying. From her eyes large tears flowed. Then again she stood on her hind legs, neighed loudly, hoofed and galloped towards the leaving herd, lifting up the dust, moving away farther and farther from the hapless place.

      The bay horse was restless all the night. She`s wandering with her head low, nostrils wide open, drawing air in, snored, making guttural, prolonged sounds. At dawn, jumping over the fence, she rushed along the former village routes to the ravine, where she`d left her foal. Meeting no one there, she stood and flinched all over. With her head high she loudly and moodily neighed, calling someone native and close to her. There was no answer.

      Meanwhile, Korneich hurried to the stable in the morning. When he came, he saw the bay standing near the corral fence away from the herd, which snuffled, chewing the green grass mass, stored up by the stableman since evening. Watching the horse, Korneich noticed in her and in her behavior obvious changes. She became unruly. The horse often beat her brethren with the hooves, bit their necks and always stood against putting to the cart.

      For the winter the mare became quite different from one that used to be. Glossy, of the brick-red suit, healthy and strong, now she lost weight and became a sort of reddish with separate sites of felted wool on the hollowed sides. She`s absent in the corral for the second day. The horse has disappeared.

      Korneich is an old stableman. He`s known a lot about the life of these industrious animals. It`s necessary to look for her, where she`d left her child and mourned the remains as her own part.

      It happened so – Korneich met the bay in the hapless ravine. With her head down the horse gently sniffed round verdant grass and bushes along the road.

      Unborn love

      “You

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