"Speak, mother, speak..."
"Speak, mother, speak..."
In the morning now the cell phone rang. The black box came to life: the light came on in it, cheerful music sang and the voice of the daughter was announced, as if she were nearby:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions and wishes? Amazing! Then kiss. Be-be!
The box was rotten, silent. Old Katerina marveled at her, could not get used to it. Such a small thing - a matchbox. No wires. Lying, lying - and suddenly it will play, light up, and the daughter's voice:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Didn't think to go? Look... No questions? Kiss. Be-be!
But to the city where the daughter lives, one and a half hundred miles. And not always easy, especially in bad weather.
But this autumn has been long and warm this year. Near the farm, on the surrounding mounds, the grass turned brown, and the poplar and willow lands near the Don stood green, and in the yards pears and cherries turned green in summer, although it is high time for them to burn out with a ruddy and crimson quiet fire.
The flight has been delayed. A goose was slowly leaving to the south, calling somewhere in the foggy, rainy sky a soft ong-ong ... ong-ong ...
But what can we say about a bird, if grandmother Katerina, withered, hunchbacked from age, but still a nimble old woman, could not get ready to leave.
I throw my mind, I won’t throw it on ... - she complained to her neighbor. - To go, not to go? .. Or maybe it will be warm to stand? Gutara on the radio: the weather has completely broken. Now, after all, fasting has begun, but the magpies have not nailed to the court. Warm-hot. Back and forth ... Christmas and Epiphany. And then it's time to think about seedlings. Why go in vain, breed stockings.
The neighbor only sighed: it was still oh so far before spring, before seedlings.
But old Katerina, rather convincing herself, took out one more argument from her bosom - mobile phone.
Mobile! - she proudly repeated the words of the city grandson. - One word - mobile. He pressed the button, and suddenly - Maria. Another pressed - Kolya. Who do you want to feel sorry for? And why shouldn't we live? she asked. - Why leave? Throw a hut, farm ...
This conversation was not the first. I talked with the children, with a neighbor, but more often with myself.
Last years she went to spend the winter with her daughter in the city. Age is one thing: it is difficult to heat the stove every day and carry water from the well. Through mud and ice. You fall, you break. And who will raise?
The farm, until recently populated, with the death of the collective farm dispersed, dispersed, died out. Only old people and drunks remained. And they don’t carry bread, not to mention the rest. It is hard for an old man to winter. So she went to her.
But it is not easy to part with a farm, with a nest that has been hatched. What to do with small living creatures: Tuzik, cat and chickens? To shove through people? .. And the soul hurts about the hut. The drunkards will climb in, the last pots will be put down.
Yes, and it does not hurt fun in old age to settle in new corners. Although they are native children, but the walls are alien and a completely different life. Guest, look around.
So I thought: to go, not to go? .. And then they also brought a telephone to help - a “mobile”. They explained for a long time about the buttons: which ones to press and which ones not to touch. Usually the daughter from the city called in the morning.
Cheerful music will sing, light will flash in the box. At first, it seemed to old Katerina that there, as if on a small, but television, her daughter's face would appear. Only a voice, distant and brief, announced:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be-be.
You won’t have time to come to your senses, and already the light went out, the box fell silent.
In the early days, old Katerina only marveled at such a miracle. Previously, there was a telephone in the collective farm office on the farm. Everything is familiar there: wires, a large black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone sailed along with the collective farm. Now there is "mobile". And then thank God.
Mother! Do you hear me?! Alive-healthy? Well done. Kiss.
Before you even open your mouth, the box is already extinguished.
What kind of passion is this ... - the old woman grumbled. - Not a phone, waxwing. He crowed: be, be ... So be it for you. And here…
And here, that is, in the life of the farm, the old man, there was a lot of things that I wanted to talk about.
Mom, can you hear me?
I hear, I hear ... Is that you, daughter? And the voice seems not yours, some hoarse. Are you not sick? Look dress warm. And then you are urban - fashionable, tie a downy scarf. And let them look. Health is more expensive. And then I now saw a dream, such a bad one. Why would? It seems that there is a cattle in our yard. Live. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What is this passion? And why would that be?
Mom, - came sternly from the phone. - Speak to the point, and not about goat faces. We explained to you: the tariff.
Forgive me for Christ's sake, - the old woman came to her senses. Indeed, when the phone was brought, she was warned that it was expensive and that it was necessary to speak briefly, about the most important thing.
But what is the most important thing in life? Especially among old people ... And in fact, such a passion was seen at night: a horse's tail and a terrible goat's muzzle.
So think, what is it for? Probably not good.
Another day passed, followed by another. The old woman's life rolled on as usual: to get up, tidy up, set the chickens free; feed and water your small living creatures and even what to peck. And then he goes to cling case to case. No wonder they say: although the house is small, it does not order to sit.
A spacious farmstead, which once fed a considerable family: a vegetable garden, a potato plant, a levada. Sheds, shelters, chicken coop. Summer kitchen-hut, cellar with exit. Wattle fence, fence. Earth to dig a little while it's warm. And cut firewood, wide with a hand saw in the backyard. Coal has now become expensive, you can’t buy it.
Little by little the day dragged on, overcast and warm. Ong-ong ... ong-ong ... - it was sometimes heard. This goose went south, flock after flock. They flew away to return in the spring. And on the ground, on the farm, it was like a cemetery quiet. Leaving, people did not return here either in spring or summer. And therefore, rare houses and farmsteads seemed to be spreading like crayfish, shunning each other.
Another day has passed. And in the morning it was a little cold. Trees, bushes and dry grasses stood in a light jacket - white fluffy hoarfrost. Old Katerina, going out into the yard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she should have looked down, under her feet. She walked and walked, stumbled, fell, hitting painfully on a rhizome.
The day started awkwardly, and it went wrong.
As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and sang.
Hello my daughter, hello. Only one title, that - alive. I'm in such a daze right now," she complained. - Not that the leg played along, but maybe slimy. Where, where ... - she was annoyed. - In the courtyard. The gate went to open, from the night. And tama, near the gate, there is a black pear. Do you love her. She is sweet. I cook compote for you from it. Otherwise, I would have eliminated it long ago. By this pear...
And I'm telling you what. Tama root crawled out of the ground like a snake. And I didn't look. Yes, there is still a stupid-faced cat poking under your feet. This root... Letos asked Volodya how many times: take it away for Christ's sake. He's on the move. Chernomyaska…
Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black meat. Do not forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't break anything?
It seems to have not broken, - the old woman understood everything. - I'm adding a cabbage leaf.
That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to tell the rest to myself: “What hurts, doesn’t hurt ... Everything hurts me, every bone. Such a life behind ... "
And, driving away bitter thoughts, the old woman began to usual things in the yard and in the house. But I tried to push more under the roof, so as not to fall yet. And then she sat down near the spinning wheel. Fluffy tow, woolen thread, measured rotation of the wheel of an old spinning wheel. And thoughts, like a thread, stretch and stretch. And outside the window - an autumn day, as if twilight. And kinda chilly. It would be necessary to heat, but the firewood is tight. Suddenly and really have to winter.
At one time I turned on the radio, waiting for a word about the weather. But after a short silence, a soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:
Are your bones hurting?
So fit and to the place were these sincere words, which answered by itself:
They hurt, my daughter ...
Do your arms and legs ache? .. - as if guessing and knowing fate, a kind voice asked.
I won't save you... They were young, they didn't smell it. In milkmaids and pigs. And no shoes. And then they got into rubber boots, in winter and summer in them. Here they are boring ...
Your back hurts ... - softly cooed, as if bewitching, female voice.
It will hurt, my daughter ... For a century, I dragged chuvals and wahli with straw on my hump. How not to get sick ... Such a life ...
After all, life really turned out to be difficult: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.
Old woman she even burst into tears, scolding herself: “Stupid sheep ... Why are you crying? ..” But she cried. And the tears seemed to make it easier.
And then, quite unexpectedly, at an odd lunch hour, music began to play and, upon waking up, a mobile phone lit up. The old woman was frightened:
Daughter, daughter... What happened? Who didn't get sick? And I was alarmed: you are not calling by the deadline. You are on me, daughter, do not hold a grudge. I know that expensive phone, big money. But I didn't really get killed. Tama, take this dulinka ... - She came to her senses: - Lord, again I'm talking about this dulinka, forgive me, my daughter ...
From a distance, many kilometers away, came the daughter's voice:
Speak Mom, Speak...
Here I am goofing. Now some slime. And then there is this cat ... Yes, this root crawls under your feet, from a pear. We, the old ones, are now getting in the way. I would completely eliminate this pear, ...
Fast navigation backward: Ctrl+←, forward Ctrl+→Every parent is afraid of being abandoned by their child. It is scary at some point to come to the realization that you are not needed, that you are no longer needed. In old age, parents hope for care from their children, for gratitude and love.
However, not everyone is destined to be surrounded by the attention of children in old age. Some old people find themselves alone, deprived of the attention of their children. So, for example, in Boris Ekimov's story "Speak, Mother, Speak" the problem of the lack of attention of children to elderly parents is raised.
The story describes the life of old Catherine, her loneliness and lack of attention from her daughter. The author clearly feels sorry for her, lamenting with her about her daughter's inattention to her old mother. The story ends well: the daughter realizes the wrongness of her behavior and calls her mother to say the main and most anticipated phrase of the old woman: "speak, mother, speak."
Now in modern society, in which it is not customary to live with parents, there really is such a problem as “abandoned” old people. Older people find themselves completely alone, without support at such a difficult age, sometimes even without a livelihood. It is worth watching such manifestations among the masses, it is worth talking about it and from childhood educating the child in a proper attitude towards parents, because in sensuality, in love for his loved ones, a person maintains a connection with the past, present and future. It is difficult to live in a modern society without the support of loved ones, on whom you can always rely on in case of trouble. If such snub attitude to the elderly will continue to take place, then what can be expected from society in the future? What kind of world will it be, where everyone does not care about each other, where everyone is for himself, where people will not have a home, a family, and such concepts as duty or gratitude?
At the end of the story, the daughter comes to the conclusion that, indeed, each call may be the last for a person so old age, and that you need to appreciate every moment spent with him. One can only hope that every child, in the end, will understand that he has only one parents, and that no one can replace them. That all children will take care of their parents. Otherwise, how to live in the world without love for those who raised you and put their soul into you?
Some interesting essays
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The word about Igor's regiment is piece of art which is based on true events. At the heart of this work is the campaign of Prince Igor Svyatoslavovich against the Polovtsy
- Analysis of the Life of Sergius of Radonezh Epiphanius the Wise
The founder of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra was born in the family of the Rostov boyar Kirill. From childhood, the boy became famous for miracles similar to those found in the biographies of other saints.
- Analysis of Chekhov's story The Bride
Anton Pavlovich Chekhov worked for two centuries, his works reflect all the problems that concern a person, from which there is no escape, but it is imperative to cope with them. The writer does not always give answers
- The history of the creation of the poem Dead Souls of Gogol
Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol created extraordinary works that caused a lot of controversy, disputes, and reasons for reflection. A particularly clear reflection of the Russian reality of the 19th century is shown in the novel " Dead Souls»
After a long cold winter, spring came. The young grass is green, the trees are putting out first sticky leaves. Spring comes into its own step by step, mayzhe unremembered
"Speak, mother, speak..."
In the morning now the cell phone rang. The black box came to life: the light came on in it, cheerful music sang and the voice of the daughter was announced, as if she were nearby:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions and wishes? Amazing! Then kiss. Be-be!
The box was rotten, silent. Old Katerina marveled at her, could not get used to it. Such a small thing - a matchbox. No wires. Lying, lying - and suddenly it will play, light up, and the daughter's voice:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Didn't think to go? Look... No questions? Kiss. Be-be!
But to the city where the daughter lives, one and a half hundred miles. And not always easy, especially in bad weather.
But this autumn has been long and warm this year. Near the farm, on the surrounding mounds, the grass turned brown, and the poplar and willow lands near the Don stood green, and in the yards pears and cherries turned green in summer, although it is high time for them to burn out with a ruddy and crimson quiet fire.
The flight has been delayed. A goose was slowly leaving to the south, calling somewhere in the foggy, rainy sky a soft ong-ong ... ong-ong ...
But what can we say about a bird, if grandmother Katerina, withered, hunchbacked from age, but still a nimble old woman, could not get ready to leave.
I throw my mind, I won’t throw it on ... - she complained to her neighbor. - To go, not to go? .. Or maybe it will be warm to stand? Gutara on the radio: the weather has completely broken. Now, after all, fasting has begun, but the magpies have not nailed to the court. Warm-hot. Back and forth ... Christmas and Epiphany. And then it's time to think about seedlings. Why go in vain, breed stockings.
The neighbor only sighed: it was still oh so far before spring, before seedlings.
But old Katerina, rather convincing herself, took out one more argument from her bosom - a mobile phone.
Mobile! - she proudly repeated the words of the city grandson. - One word - mobile. He pressed the button, and suddenly - Maria. Another pressed - Kolya. Who do you want to feel sorry for? And why shouldn't we live? she asked. - Why leave? Throw a hut, farm ...
This conversation was not the first. I talked with the children, with a neighbor, but more often with myself.
In recent years, she went to spend the winter with her daughter in the city. Age is one thing: it is difficult to heat the stove every day and carry water from the well. Through mud and ice. You fall, you break. And who will raise?
The farm, until recently populated, with the death of the collective farm dispersed, dispersed, died out. Only old people and drunks remained. And they don’t carry bread, not to mention the rest. It is hard for an old man to winter. So she went to her.
But it is not easy to part with a farm, with a nest that has been hatched. What to do with small living creatures: Tuzik, cat and chickens? To shove through people? .. And the soul hurts about the hut. The drunkards will climb in, the last pots will be put down.
Yes, and it does not hurt fun in old age to settle in new corners. Although they are native children, but the walls are alien and a completely different life. Guest, look around.
So I thought: to go, not to go? .. And then they also brought a telephone to help - a “mobile”. They explained for a long time about the buttons: which ones to press and which ones not to touch. Usually the daughter from the city called in the morning.
Cheerful music will sing, light will flash in the box. At first, it seemed to old Katerina that there, as if on a small, but television, her daughter's face would appear. Only a voice, distant and brief, announced:
Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be-be.
You won’t have time to come to your senses, and already the light went out, the box fell silent.
In the early days, old Katerina only marveled at such a miracle. Previously, there was a telephone in the collective farm office on the farm. Everything is familiar there: wires, a large black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone sailed along with the collective farm. Now there is "mobile". And then thank God.
Mother! Do you hear me?! Alive-healthy? Well done. Kiss.
Before you even open your mouth, the box is already extinguished.
What kind of passion is this ... - the old woman grumbled. - Not a phone, waxwing. He crowed: be, be ... So be it for you. And here…
And here, that is, in the life of the farm, the old man, there was a lot of things that I wanted to talk about.
Mom, can you hear me?
I hear, I hear ... Is that you, daughter? And the voice seems not yours, some hoarse. Are you not sick? Look dress warm. And then you are urban - fashionable, tie a downy scarf. And let them look. Health is more expensive. And then I now saw a dream, such a bad one. Why would? It seems that there is a cattle in our yard. Live. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What is this passion? And why would that be?
Mom, - came sternly from the phone. - Speak to the point, and not about goat faces. We explained to you: the tariff.
Forgive me for Christ's sake, - the old woman came to her senses. Indeed, when the phone was brought, she was warned that it was expensive and that it was necessary to speak briefly, about the most important thing.
But what is the most important thing in life? Especially among old people ... And in fact, such a passion was seen at night: a horse's tail and a terrible goat's muzzle.
So think, what is it for? Probably not good.
Another day passed, followed by another. The old woman's life rolled on as usual: to get up, tidy up, set the chickens free; feed and water your small living creatures and even what to peck. And then he goes to cling case to case. No wonder they say: although the house is small, it does not order to sit.
A spacious farmstead, which once fed a considerable family: a vegetable garden, a potato plant, a levada. Sheds, shelters, chicken coop. Summer kitchen-hut, cellar with exit. Wattle fence, fence. Earth to dig a little while it's warm. And cut firewood, wide with a hand saw in the backyard. Coal has now become expensive, you can’t buy it.
Little by little the day dragged on, overcast and warm. Ong-ong ... ong-ong ... - it was sometimes heard. This goose went south, flock after flock. They flew away to return in the spring. And on the ground, on the farm, it was like a cemetery quiet. Leaving, people did not return here either in spring or summer. And therefore, rare houses and farmsteads seemed to be spreading like crayfish, shunning each other.
Another day has passed. And in the morning it was a little cold. Trees, bushes and dry grasses stood in a light jacket - white fluffy hoarfrost. Old Katerina, going out into the yard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she should have looked down, under her feet. She walked and walked, stumbled, fell, hitting painfully on a rhizome.
The day started awkwardly, and it went wrong.
As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and sang.
Hello my daughter, hello. Only one title, that - alive. I'm in such a daze right now," she complained. - Not that the leg played along, but maybe slimy. Where, where ... - she was annoyed. - In the courtyard. The gate went to open, from the night. And tama, near the gate, there is a black pear. Do you love her. She is sweet. I cook compote for you from it. Otherwise, I would have eliminated it long ago. By this pear...
And I'm telling you what. Tama root crawled out of the ground like a snake. And I didn't look. Yes, there is still a stupid-faced cat poking under your feet. This root... Letos asked Volodya how many times: take it away for Christ's sake. He's on the move. Chernomyaska…
Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black meat. Do not forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't break anything?
It seems to have not broken, - the old woman understood everything. - I'm adding a cabbage leaf.
That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to tell the rest to myself: “What hurts, doesn’t hurt ... Everything hurts me, every bone. Such a life behind ... "
And, driving away bitter thoughts, the old woman went about her usual business in the yard and in the house. But I tried to push more under the roof, so as not to fall yet. And then she sat down near the spinning wheel. Fluffy tow, woolen thread, measured rotation of the wheel of an old spinning wheel. And thoughts, like a thread, stretch and stretch. And outside the window - an autumn day, as if twilight. And kinda chilly. It would be necessary to heat, but the firewood is tight. Suddenly and really have to winter.
At one time I turned on the radio, waiting for a word about the weather. But after a short silence, a soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:
Are your bones hurting?
So fit and to the place were these sincere words, which answered by itself:
They hurt, my daughter ...
Do your arms and legs ache? .. - as if guessing and knowing fate, a kind voice asked.
I won't save you... They were young, they didn't smell it. In milkmaids and pigs. And no shoes. And then they got into rubber boots, in winter and summer in them. Here they are boring ...
Your back hurts ... - softly cooed, as if bewitching, a female voice.
It will hurt, my daughter ... For a century, I dragged chuvals and wahli with straw on my hump. How not to get sick ... Such a life ...
After all, life really turned out to be difficult: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.
The old woman even burst into tears, scolding herself: “Stupid sheep… Why are you crying?..” But she was crying. And the tears seemed to make it easier.
And then, quite unexpectedly, at an odd lunch hour, music began to play and, upon waking up, a mobile phone lit up. The old woman was frightened:
Daughter, daughter... What happened? Who didn't get sick? And I was alarmed: you are not calling by the deadline. You are on me, daughter, do not hold a grudge. I know that expensive phone, big money. But I didn't really get killed. Tama, take this dulinka ... - She came to her senses: - Lord, again I'm talking about this dulinka, forgive me, my daughter ...
From a distance, many kilometers away, came the daughter's voice:
Speak Mom, Speak...
Here I am goofing. Now some slime. And then there is this cat ... Yes, this root crawls under your feet, from a pear. We, the old ones, are now getting in the way. I would eliminate this pear for good, but you love it. Steam it and dry it, as it used to be ... Again, I'm not weaving ... Forgive me, my daughter. Can you hear me?..
In a distant city, her daughter heard her and even saw, closing her eyes, her old mother: small, bent, in a white kerchief. I saw it, but suddenly I sensed how unsteady and unreliable it all was: telephone communication, vision.
Speak, mother ... - she asked and was afraid of only one thing: this voice and this life would suddenly break off and, perhaps, forever. - Speak, mother, speak ...
BOOKSHELF FOR USE SUCCESSORS IN THE RUSSIAN LANGUAGE
Dear applicants!
After analyzing your questions and essays, I conclude that the most difficult thing for you is the selection of arguments from literary works. The reason is that you don't read much. I will not say unnecessary words for edification, but I will recommend SMALL works which you will read in a few minutes or an hour. I am sure that in these stories and novels you will discover not only new arguments, but also new literature.
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Ekimov Boris. "Speak, mother, speak..."
In the morning now the cell phone rang. The black box came to life:
a light lit up in her, merry music sang and the voice of her daughter was announced, as if she were near:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions and wishes? Amazing! Then kiss. Be-be!
The box was rotten, silent. Old Katerina marveled at her, could not get used to it. Such a small thing - a matchbox. No wires. Lying, lying - and suddenly it will play, light up, and the daughter's voice:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Didn't think to go? Look... No questions? Kiss. Be-be!
But to the city where the daughter lives, one and a half hundred miles. And not always easy, especially in bad weather.
But this autumn has been long and warm this year. Near the farm, on the surrounding mounds, the grass turned brown, and the poplar and willow lands near the Don stood green, and in the yards pears and cherries turned green in summer, although it is high time for them to burn out with a ruddy and crimson quiet fire.
The flight has been delayed. A goose was slowly leaving to the south, calling somewhere in the foggy, rainy sky a soft ong-ong ... ong-ong ...
But what can we say about a bird, if grandmother Katerina, withered, hunchbacked from age, but still a nimble old woman, could not get ready to leave.
- I throw my mind, I won’t put it on ... - she complained to her neighbor. - To go, not to go? .. Or maybe it will be warm to stand? Gutara on the radio: the weather has completely broken. Now, after all, fasting has begun, but the magpies have not nailed to the court. Warm-hot. Back and forth ... Christmas and Epiphany. And then it's time to think about seedlings. Why go in vain, breed stockings.
The neighbor only sighed: it was still oh so far before spring, before seedlings.
But old Katerina, rather convincing herself, took out one more argument from her bosom - a mobile phone.
- Mobile! - she proudly repeated the words of the city grandson. - One word - mobile. He pressed the button, and suddenly - Maria. Another pressed - Kolya. Who do you want to feel sorry for? And why shouldn't we live? she asked. - Why leave? Throw a hut, farm ...
This conversation was not the first. I talked with the children, with a neighbor, but more often with myself.
In recent years, she went to spend the winter with her daughter in the city. Age is one thing: it is difficult to heat the stove every day and carry water from the well. Through mud and ice. You fall, you break. And who will raise?
The farm, until recently populated, with the death of the collective farm dispersed, dispersed, died out. Only old people and drunks remained. And they don’t carry bread, not to mention the rest. It is hard for an old man to winter. So she went to her.
But it is not easy to part with a farm, with a nest that has been hatched. What to do with small living creatures: Tuzik, cat and chickens? To shove through people? .. And the soul hurts about the hut. The drunkards will climb in, the last pots will be put down.
Yes, and it does not hurt fun in old age to settle in new corners. Although they are native children, but the walls are alien and a completely different life. Guest, look around.
So I thought: to go, not to go? .. And then they also brought a telephone to help - a “mobile”. They explained for a long time about the buttons: which ones to press and which ones not to touch. Usually the daughter from the city called in the morning.
Cheerful music will sing, light will flash in the box. At first, it seemed to old Katerina that there, as if on a small, but television, her daughter's face would appear. Only a voice, distant and brief, announced:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be-be.
You won’t have time to come to your senses, and already the light went out, the box fell silent.
In the early days, old Katerina only marveled at such a miracle. Previously, there was a telephone in the collective farm office on the farm. Everything is familiar there: wires, a large black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone sailed along with the collective farm. Now mobile has arrived. And then thank God.
- Mother! Do you hear me?! Alive-healthy? Well done. Kiss.
Before you even open your mouth, the box is already extinguished.
“What kind of passion is this…” grumbled the old woman. - Not a phone, waxwing. He crowed: be, be ... So be it for you. And here…
And here, that is, in the life of the farm, the old man, there was a lot of things that I wanted to talk about.
- Mom, can you hear me?
- I hear, I hear ... Is that you, daughter? And the voice seems not yours, some hoarse. Are you not sick? Look dress warm. And then you are urban - fashionable, tie a downy scarf. And let them look. Health is more expensive. And then I now saw a dream, such a bad one. Why would? It seems that there is a cattle in our yard. Live. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What is this passion? And why would that be?
“Mom,” came a stern voice from the phone. - Speak to the point, and not about goat faces. We explained to you: the tariff.
“Forgive me for Christ’s sake,” the old woman came to her senses. Indeed, when the phone was brought, she was warned that it was expensive and that it was necessary to speak briefly, about the most important thing.
But what is the most important thing in life? Especially among old people ... And in fact, such a passion was seen at night: a horse's tail and a terrible goat's muzzle.
So think, what is it for? Probably not good.
Another day passed, followed by another. The old woman's life rolled on as usual: to get up, tidy up, set the chickens free; feed and water your small living creatures and even what to peck. And then he goes to cling case to case. No wonder they say: although the house is small, it does not order to sit.
A spacious farmstead, which once fed a considerable family: a vegetable garden, a potato plant, a levada. Sheds, shelters, chicken coop. Summer kitchen-hut, cellar with exit. Wattle fence, fence. Earth to dig a little while it's warm. And cut firewood, wide with a hand saw in the backyard. Coal has now become expensive, you can’t buy it.
Little by little the day dragged on, overcast and warm. Ong-ong ... ong-ong ... - it was sometimes heard. This goose went south, flock after flock. They flew away to return in the spring. And on the ground, on the farm, it was like a cemetery quiet. Leaving, people did not return here either in spring or summer. And therefore, rare houses and farmsteads seemed to be spreading like crayfish, shunning each other.
Another day has passed. And in the morning it was a little cold. Trees, bushes and dry grasses stood in a light jacket - white fluffy hoarfrost. Old Katerina, going out into the yard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she should have looked down, under her feet. She walked and walked, stumbled, fell, hitting painfully on a rhizome.
The day started awkwardly, and it went wrong.
As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and sang.
- Hello, my daughter, hello. Only one title, that - alive. I'm in such a daze right now," she complained. - Not that the leg played along, but maybe slimy. Where, where ... - she was annoyed. - In the courtyard. The gate went to open, from the night. And tama, near the gate, there is a black pear. Do you love her. She is sweet. I cook compote for you from it. Otherwise, I would have eliminated it long ago. By this pear...
- Mom, - a distant voice rang out on the phone, - be more specific about what happened, and not about a sweet pear.
- And I'm telling you what. Tama root crawled out of the ground like a snake. And I didn't look. Yes, there is still a stupid-faced cat poking under your feet. This root... Letos asked Volodya how many times: take it away for Christ's sake. He's on the move. Chernomyaska…
- Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black meat. Do not forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't break anything?
“It doesn’t seem to have broken,” the old woman understood everything. - I'm adding a cabbage leaf.
That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to tell the rest to myself: “What hurts, doesn’t hurt ... Everything hurts me, every bone. Such a life behind…”
And, driving away bitter thoughts, the old woman went about her usual business in the yard and in the house. But I tried to push more under the roof, so as not to fall yet. And then she sat down near the spinning wheel. Fluffy tow, woolen thread, measured rotation of the wheel of an old spinning wheel. And thoughts, like a thread, stretch and stretch. And outside the window - an autumn day, as if twilight. And kinda chilly. It would be necessary to heat, but the firewood is tight. Suddenly and really have to winter.
At one time I turned on the radio, waiting for a word about the weather. But after a short silence, a soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:
Are your bones hurting?
So fit and to the place were these sincere words, which answered by itself:
- They hurt, my daughter ...
- Do your arms and legs ache? .. - as if guessing and knowing fate, a kind voice asked.
- I won't save you... They were young, they didn't smell it. In milkmaids and pigs. And no shoes. And then they got into rubber boots, in winter and summer in them. Here they are boring ...
- Your back hurts ... - softly cooed, as if bewitching, a female voice.
- It will hurt, my daughter ... For a century, I dragged chuvals and wahli with straw on my hump. How not to get sick ... Such a life ...
After all, life really turned out to be difficult: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.
The gentle voice from the loudspeaker broadcasted and broadcast, and then fell silent.
The old woman even burst into tears, scolding herself: “Stupid sheep… Why are you crying?..” But she was crying. And the tears seemed to make it easier.
And then, quite unexpectedly, at an odd lunch hour, music began to play and, upon waking up, a mobile phone lit up. The old woman was frightened:
- Daughter, daughter ... What happened? Who didn't get sick? And I was alarmed: you are not calling by the deadline. You are on me, daughter, do not hold a grudge. I know that expensive phone, big money. But I didn't really get killed. Tama, take this dulinka ... - She came to her senses: - Lord, again I'm talking about this dulinka, forgive me, my daughter ...
From a distance, many kilometers away, came the daughter's voice:
- Speak, mother, speak ...
- Here I am. Now some slime. And then there is this cat ... Yes, this root crawls under your feet, from a pear. We, the old ones, are now getting in the way. I would eliminate this pear for good, but you love it. Steam it and dry it, as it used to be ... Again, I'm not weaving ... Forgive me, my daughter. Can you hear me?..
In a distant city, her daughter heard her and even saw, closing her eyes, her old mother: small, bent, in a white kerchief. I saw it, but suddenly I sensed how unsteady and unreliable it all was: telephone communication, vision.
- Speak, mother ... - she asked and was afraid of only one thing: this voice and this life would suddenly break off and, perhaps, forever. - Speak, mother, speak ...
"Speak, mother, speak..."
Boris Ekimov
(published in abbreviation)
Today, living in constant hustle and preoccupation with personal problems, we often lose our sense of fragility. human life, understanding that at any moment our communication with loved ones can be interrupted. And it's scary not to see dear person, hug him, kiss the wrinkles on his own face, talk calmly ... It's good that the daughter main character Boris Ekimov's story "Speak Mom, Speak ..." realized this in time.
In the morning now the cell phone rang. The black box came to life: the light lit up in it, cheerful music sang, and the voice of the daughter was announced, as if she were nearby:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done! Questions and wishes? Amazing! Then kiss. Be-be!
The box was rotten, silent. Old Katerina marveled at her, could not get used to it. Such a small thing - a matchbox. No wires. She lies and lies - and suddenly she will play, light up, and the voice of her daughter:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Didn't think to go? Look... No questions? Kiss. Be-be!
But to the city where the daughter lives, one and a half hundred miles ...
At first, it seemed to old Katerina that there, as if on a small, but television, her daughter's face would appear. Only a voice, distant and brief, announced:
- Mom, hello! Are you okay? Well done. Any questions? That's good. Kiss. Be-be.
You won’t have time to come to your senses, and already the light went out, the box fell silent.
In the early days, old Katerina only marveled at such a miracle. Previously, there was a telephone in the collective farm office on the farm. Everything is familiar there: wires, a large black tube, you can talk for a long time. But that phone sailed along with the collective farm. Now there is "mobile". And then thank God.
- Mother! Do you hear me?! Alive-healthy? Well done. Kiss.
Before you even open your mouth, the box is already extinguished.
“What kind of passion is this…” grumbled the old woman. — Not a phone, waxwing. He crowed: be, be ... So be it for you. And here…
And here, that is, in the life of the farm, the old man, there was a lot of things that I wanted to talk about.
“Mom, can you hear me?
- I hear, I hear ... Is that you, daughter? And the voice seems not yours, some hoarse. Are you not sick? Look dress warm. And then you are urban - fashionable, tie a downy scarf. And let them look. Health is more expensive. And then I now saw a dream, such a bad one. Why would? It seems that there is a cattle in our yard. Live. Right on the doorstep. She has a horse's tail, horns on her head, and a goat's muzzle. What is this passion? And why would that be?
“Mom,” a stern voice came from the phone, “speak to the point, and not about goat muzzles. We explained to you: the tariff.
“Forgive me for Christ’s sake,” the old woman came to her senses.
She was indeed warned when the phone was brought, that it was expensive, and it was necessary to speak briefly, about the most important thing.
But what is the most important thing in life? Especially among old people ... And in fact, such a passion was seen at night: a horse's tail and a terrible goat's muzzle.
So think, what is it for? ..
Another day passed, followed by another. The old woman's life rolled on as usual: to get up, tidy up, set the chickens free; feed, and water your small living creatures, and even what to peck. And then he goes to cling case to case. It is not in vain that they say: although the house is small, it does not order to sit ...
Another day has passed. And in the morning it was a little cold. Trees, bushes and dry grasses stood in a light jacket - white fluffy hoarfrost. Old Katerina, going out into the yard, looked around at this beauty, rejoicing, but she should have looked down, under her feet. She walked, walked, stumbled, fell, painfully hitting a rhizome ...
As always in the morning, the mobile phone lit up and sang.
- Hello, my daughter, hello. Only one title, that - alive. I'm in such a daze right now," she complained. - Not that the leg played along, but maybe slimy. Where, where ... - she annoyed. - In the courtyard. The gate went to open, from the night. And tama, near the gate, there is a black pear. Do you love her. She is sweet. I cook compote for you from it. Otherwise, I would have eliminated it long ago. By this pear...
- And I'm telling you what. Tama root crawled out of the ground like a snake. And I walked without looking. Yes, there is also a stupid-faced cat poking under your feet. This root...
Mom, please be more specific. About myself, not about the black meat. Do not forget that this is a mobile phone, a tariff. What hurts? Didn't break anything?
“It doesn’t seem to have broken,” the old woman understood everything. I'm adding a cabbage leaf.
That was the end of the conversation with my daughter. I had to tell the rest to myself: “What hurts, doesn’t hurt ... Everything hurts me, every bone. Such a life behind ... "
And, driving away bitter thoughts, the old woman went about her usual business in the yard and in the house. But I tried to push more under the roof, so as not to fall yet. And then she sat down near the spinning wheel ...
At one time I turned on the radio, waiting for a word about the weather. But after a short silence, a soft, gentle voice of a young woman came from the loudspeaker:
Are your bones hurting?
So fit and to the place were these sincere words, which answered by itself:
- They hurt, my daughter ...
“Are your arms and legs aching?..,” a kind voice asked, as if guessing and knowing fate.
- No, I won't save them ... They were young, they didn't smell it. In milkmaids and pigs. And no shoes. And then they got into rubber boots, in winter and summer in them. Here they are boring ...
“Your back hurts…” a female voice cooed softly, as if bewitching.
- It will hurt, my daughter ... For a century, I dragged chuvals and wads with straw on my hump. How not to get sick ... Such a life ...
After all, life really turned out to be difficult: war, orphanhood, hard collective farm work.
The old woman even burst into tears, scolding herself: “Stupid sheep… Why are you crying?..” But she was crying. And the tears seemed to make it easier.
And then, quite unexpectedly, at an odd lunch hour, music began to play and, upon waking up, a mobile phone lit up. The old woman was frightened:
- Daughter, daughter ... What happened? Who didn't get sick? And I was alarmed: you are not calling by the deadline. You are on me, daughter, do not hold a grudge. I know that expensive phone, big money. But I didn't really get killed. Tama, take this dulinka ... - She came to her senses: - Lord, again I'm talking about this dulinka, forgive me, my daughter ...
From a distance, many kilometers away, came the daughter's voice:
- Speak, mother, speak ...
“Here I am. Now some slime. And then there's this cat ... Yes, this root crawls under your feet, from a pear. We, the old ones, are now getting in the way. I would completely eliminate this pear, but you love it ... Again, I'm not weaving ... Forgive me, my daughter. Can you hear me?..
In a distant city, her daughter heard her and even saw, closing her eyes, her old mother: small, bent, in a white handkerchief. I saw it, but suddenly I sensed how unsteady and unreliable it all was: telephone communication, vision.
- Speak, mother ... - she asked and was afraid of only one thing: this voice and this life would suddenly break off and, perhaps, forever. - Speak, mother, speak ...
Prepared by Anastasia Mukhina
