Natnwe - Three years, three rains

(1)

It was getting dark. Some of the houses had lights on. A small moon was rising behind the little hut at the end of the road. Lappatik was sitting on a bench in the courtyard, waiting for the evening service to end in the Peter and Paul Cathedral. He figured that Yulia would pass by their house on her way back from the service. Then he would have a chance to talk to her. If it was convenient, he could stay with her all night.

He had been sitting here for an hour and a half. During this time he had seen his home in Moscow, his friends in Moscow, his servant Peter, and his writing desk.

He was lost. He was staring at the quiet, dark trees with a confused expression. It was strange to him that he was not living in a summer resort in Sukoniki, but in a small house in the forest township, where every morning and evening there was a constant hum of thunder, a great dust cloud, and herds of cattle drove past.

He also remembered the long and varied Moscow conversations in which he had recently participated. In these conversations they talked about how one could live without love. Passionate love was just a state of madness. In the end, there was no love at all. It was just the physical pleasure of the opposite sex. When he thought about these things, if he were asked what love was now, he would have no answer.

The evening service was over. The crowd was emerging. I looked at the gloomy figures with my hands. The Archbishop had already left in his carriage. The bells had stopped ringing. The green and red lights on the bell tower had gone out one by one. The crowd was quietly leaving the church. Some were standing under the windows, talking.

But finally, he heard a familiar voice. But he was startled. Because it wasn't just Yulia, there were two female companions. He was disappointed.

"That's bad, that's bad"

He chanted.

But when they reached the intersection, Yulia stopped before turning into a small alley, parting ways with the two women. Then she looked in the direction of the laptop.

"I'm going to your house right now, so I can talk to your father. Is he home?"

“There’s a lot to do, it’s still early to go to the club.”

The alley was lined with large courtyards. The fences were covered with cypress trees. In the moonlight, the cypress trees cast shadows, so that the fences and gates on the other side of the street were all in darkness. I could hear the whispers of some women, the laughter of a few children, and the soft sound of a lute. The smell of cypress trees and dried grass filled the air.

The whispers of the darkness and the scent of incense filled the palm. He suddenly felt a desire to embrace his companion. He wanted to cover her face, her arms, her elbows with kisses. He wanted to kneel at her feet and tell her softly how long he had loved her.

When the fragrance of the temple flowers wafted from her, he himself remembered how he had once gone to the evening service with great faith in God, and how the pure love and beauty of the temple were like a poem.

He longs for love. But because the girl doesn't love him, the happiness he had hoped for at that time seems to be lost forever.

She spoke with interest about the health of her sister Nina Fedorovna. Her sister had surgery for cancer two months ago. Now they all hope that the disease will not worsen again.

They started.

"I just went to see him this morning. He hasn't lost weight this week, but I think his skin has gotten lighter."

Yulia Sergeevna said.

"Yes, yes, there is no sign of a relapse, but he seems to be getting weaker every day, I can't imagine how it could be."

The hand replied.

After a moment of silence, Yulia

"Oh... God, he was once really healthy and really fat and his cheeks were really rosy. Everyone here called him the mayor of Moscow. But he was like a peasant on church days."

"He usually dresses simply and modestly, just like his brother. That's what makes him so special."

Dr. Sergei Voris was at home. He was very strong, very red. He was wearing a long coat that reached below his knees, making his legs look short. He was pacing back and forth in the library. He had his hands in his pockets and was humming a song.

"Ru.........ru.......ru.........ru"

His white mustache was unkempt. His hair was disheveled, like someone who had just woken up. And his study was as messy as his body. There were pillows on the sofa, papers in the corner, and a stray dog ​​under the table.

"Mr. Lappati wants to see your father."

The daughter said to her father as she entered the study.

“Ru..ru...ru.ru”

He hummed the tune louder and then walked towards the living room. He shook hands with Lappati.

"What's the news?"

It was dark in the living room. The laptop was not sitting in the chair, but was holding the hat in its hand, apologizing for the inconvenience. He asked his sister what she should do to sleep well at night. He asked why she was so thin. He remembered that he had asked these questions when the doctor came home in the morning, so he asked a new question.

"Would it be better if we call a specialist from Moscow? What is the doctor's opinion?"

The doctor sighed. He shrugged his shoulders. He waved his hand as if to say he didn't know what to say.

He is being abused. He is a picky, sensitive doctor. He is always considered untrustworthy, untrustworthy, and unrespectful. People are taking advantage of him. His colleagues are jealous of him. Because of this, he constantly blames himself. He is just a fool who is being used by others.

Yulia Sergeyevna lit the glass lamp. She was tired from attending the service. Her face was pale and tired. Her movements were weak. She wanted to rest. On a sofa

She sat down. She placed her hands on her knees. Then she started to stare.

He knew he was ugly. He was short. He was full-bodied. His cheeks were red. His hair was thin. He was so simple that he looked like a wild man. He was out of proportion in the world of women. He spoke too much. His manners were strange. Now he hated himself for it. He didn't want Yulia to get bored of being with him. He needed to say something. But what could he say? Should he just say something about his sister's illness?

Finally, he spoke of the usual medicines. Then he spoke of health. Then he said that he had long been planning to build a hostel in Moscow. He had even calculated the estimated cost. According to his plan, a worker would get a place to sleep for the night for only five or six kopecks. He would also get bread and hot vegetable soup. He would get a dry bed and a blanket. He would also have a place to dry his wet shoes and clothes.

Yulia was silent in his presence, as usual. He, as a person in love, was guessing her thoughts and her plans. If she had not returned home from the evening service to change clothes and drink tea, it was because she had been invited somewhere.

“But I’m not in a hurry to build that overnight stay, I haven’t done it yet, because