In the dream you wept bitterly

In the dream you wept bitterly

Yu. P. Kazakov
In a dream, you wept bitterly
There was one of the warm summer days…
My comrade and I stood and talked near our house. You walked among us, among the flowers and grass that you had on your shoulders, and your face did not leave an indefinite half-smile, which I tried in vain to solve. Running through the bushes, the Spaniel Chif approached us sometimes. But for some reason you were afraid of Chif, hugging me by the knee, throwing back my head, looking into my face with blue eyes that reflected the sky and pronounced joyfully, gently, as if returning from afar: “Daddy!” And I experienced some kind of painful pleasure from touching your little hands. Random, your embrace, probably touched my friend, because he suddenly fell silent, ruffled

your fluffy hair and contemplated you for a long time thoughtfully…
A friend shot himself in late autumn, when the first snow fell… How, when did this terrible persistent thought come into him? For a long time, probably… After all, he told me more than once what kind of bouts of longing in the early spring or late autumn. And he had terrible nights when it seemed that someone was climbing into his house, someone was walking by him. “For God’s sake, give me patrons,” he asked me. And I counted out six rounds of ammunition: “That’s enough to shoot.” And what kind of worker he was-always cheerful, active. And he said to me: “What are you blossoming about, take an example from me, I bathe in Yasnushka until late autumn, that you’re all lying or sitting! Get up, do gymnastics.” The last time I saw him in the middle of October. We talked about Buddhism for some reason, that it’s time to take on big novels, that only in daily work is the only joy. And when they said goodbye, he suddenly burst into tears: “When I was like Alyosha, the sky seemed so big, so blue, why did it fade? .. And the more I live here, the more I’m drawn to here, in Abramtsevo. is it sinful to indulge in one place? ” And three weeks later in Gagra – like a thunder
from the sky burst! And the sea disappeared for me, the night Jurassic were gone… When did all this happen? In the evening? At night? I know that he got to the dacha late at night. What did he do? First of all, he changed clothes and, out of habit, hung his city suit in the closet. Then he brought firewood for the stove. I ate apples. Then he suddenly changed his mind about heating the stove and lay down. That’s it, most likely, and it came! What did he remember saying goodbye? Did he cry? Then he washed himself and put on a clean underwear… The gun was hanging on the wall. He took it off, feeling the cold weight, the stiffness of the steel trunks. One of the guns easily entered the cartridge. My patron. He sat down on a chair, took off his shoe, put his trunks into his mouth… No, not weakness – a great life force and firmness is needed in order to break off his life the way he broke off!
But why, why? – I’m looking for and I do not find the answer. Really on each of us there is an unknown seal, determining the whole course of our future life? .. My soul wanders in the dark…
And then we were all still alive, and there was one of those summer days, which we remember through the years and which seem to us endless. After saying goodbye to me and ruffling your hair once more, my friend went to his house. And we took a big apple and went camping. Oh, what a long way to go – almost a kilometer! – and how many varied lives awaited us along this path: a small river, Yasnushka, was rolling by its waters; the squirrel jumped on branches; The bishop barked, finding the hedgehog, and we were looking at the hedgehog, and you wanted to touch it with your hand, but the hedgehog snorted, and you, having lost your balance, sat down on the moss; then we went out to the rotunda, and you said: “What a ba-ashnya!”; at the river you lay down on the root and began to look into the water: “Fallen the skirts,” – you told me in a minute; on your shoulder a mosquito sat down: “Komaik was eating…” – you said, grimacing. I remembered about the apple, took it out of my pocket, wiped it to the shine and gave it to you. You took it with both hands and at once bit off, and the bite mark was like a squirrel… No, blessed, our world was beautiful.
It was time for your day’s sleep, and we went home. While I undressed you and pulled pajamas, you managed to remember everything that I saw that day. At the end of the conversation, you twice openly yawned. In my opinion, you managed to sleep before I left the room. I sat down by the window and thought: will you remember when this endless day and our journey? Is it possible that everything that we and you have experienced will be irretrievably lost? And I heard you cry. I went to you, thinking that you were awake and that you needed something. But you slept, picking up your knees. Your tears flowed so abundantly that the pillow quickly got wet. You sobbed with bitterness, with desperate hopelessness. As if mourning something, forever gone. What did you learn in life so that you cry so much in a dream? Or do we already in infancy mourn the soul, fearing the impending suffering? “Son, wake up, She looked at me with compassion, she said goodbye to me forever. And you were in that summer a year and a half. She looked at me with compassion, she said goodbye to me forever. And you were in that summer a year and a half.


In the dream you wept bitterly