Four Seasons

She came out of nowhere. The day before, at dusk, in front of the gates of the neighboring courtyard, there was a truck with the legs of chairs sticking out from under the tarp. But the drizzling, stinging rain drove everyone home. And today, the sun was bathing in the clear morning air, competing in yellowness with the still alive, elastic leaves, on which, The girl looked at her head. In a red coat on a coquette, in a crimson felt cap tied under her chin, in red shoes and a glued red handbag over her shoulder, she looked like a random smear of summer, unknown as being brought on this autumn day.

Seeing us, the girl smiled and, taking a step towards us, said:

" My name is Alla. We will live here now.”

- Wow, said Vadik, where did you come from? Well, it looks like Little Red Riding Hood. And in the bag, I guess, cakes for Grandma. ?

He slowly walked around the girl, and with each step her face was filled with paint – from a delicate pink hue to almost burgundy – until her cheeks became indistinguishable from a coat.

- Will you let me wear the purse? - Galya could not stand it, all this time gently stroking her gilded buckle.

Sliding with sweaty fingers along a thin glossy strap, Alla silently pulled the bag from her shoulder and shoved Gali into her hands with a smile. We went down the street to the park, kicking the first dried leaves, knocked down by yesterday's rain, and, smoothing out the clumsiness of acquaintance, chatted about nothing and everything.

The brass band played in the park, closing the summer season with old waltzes. We sat down on green wooden benches, continuing to throw meaningless phrases until the copper, swaying melody of the Amur Waves completely merged with the copper of the swirling leaves, confusing us with its perfect beauty. The musicians were cold. With red fingers, they rushed to press the valves, as if pushing, accelerating the measuring flow of the waltz. The shell of the stage remained the last reminder of summer, and, accompanied by the solemn sadness of the sounding minor, we ran to the already empty fountain, guarded by the lions wearily lying on the pedestals. We used to climb on their polished backs. But Alla remained standing at the bottom and only waved her hand when Galya moved closer to the marble mane, making room for her.

- Oh, reluctance," she said casually, looking at Vadik, and for no reason added, "in fact, when I grow up, I will go to India like my dad. There's something in my bag. I'll show you if you want.

Until dusk, on a bench in the far alley of the park, we watched outlandish overseas amulets and talismans made from the tooth of a mako shark extinct forty million years ago, the claw of a bear warding off evil spirits, and listened to the stories Alla told tirelessly. Once in the spotlight, enjoying our genuine curiosity and admiration, she was transformed before her eyes. She talked so passionately about the jungle, about animal habits, about man-eating plants, about ancient semi-destroyed cities and hidden treasures in them, that even Vadik temporarily changed his usual mocking tone to normal and listened attentively, only occasionally interrupting the emotional story of our new girlfriend.

- Are you not afraid? he asked.

- - What? - I didn't understand.

- Well, wild beasts, snakes, spiders.

- Oh, that, she replied casually. If you really love animals, they feel it and will not touch you.

Well, you bent, doubted Vadik, Beasts are animals and no one knows what is on their minds. You're the one who read the books where everything is fair. But my father says that nobody writes the truth about real life.

It was obvious that Alla wanted to object, but something stopped her. She glanced at him, then took off her cap, shook her head with a red hairpin, and said, "You must be right." You're older and you know more. So began their strange, unequal friendship, which we all witnessed, but not particularly delving into the intricacies of their relationship. Gradually I realized why Alla tried not to notice his sarcastic jokes, why she tolerated when he condescendingly let her go to school together, but stopped noticing as soon as his classmates appeared. Hearing Vadik's voice, Alla immediately went outside, trying to get his attention. She never approached him first, but simply strolled in the distance or stood, sealed against the red iron gate, unobtrusively waiting to be seen by him, until hope disappeared with the early winter twilight enveloping the city with a wet, gray veil.

Sometimes we gathered at Alla’s house, in their spacious, beautifully furnished apartment. Unlike all of us, Alla even had her own, albeit very small, with a cut corner, room. But we usually sat in the kitchen, at a huge, chequered tablecloth. It was warmest and cozyest, especially when it smelled of freshly baked apple pie or cookies, which we ate imperceptibly while looking at the volumes of Brehm’s Animal Life. On such gathering days, which happened in bad weather, we unconsciously wanted warmth and peace. Perhaps that is why it became too lazy to argue and clarify the relationship. It was much more pleasant to climb on a high tarmac with green silk tassels hanging along its edge, and, froze from freshly brewed, fragrant tea, whisper, falling apart among velvet pillows.

On that drenched winter day, Vadik was suddenly followed by his mother, Aunt Sima. "Do you have Vadik?" she asked from the doorstep. Vadik quickly got off the couch and, without saying goodbye, went to the door. He, like us, immediately caught the troubles ahead, not knowing exactly what they were. Our suspicions were only strengthened when Aunt Sima impatiently and irritatedly grabbed Vadik by the collar of the elbow-stretched coat and pushed him outside. “You know,” she whispered, “you go too.” Call me, tell me what happened. At least I think it's the diary. He hid it in a stump.”

It turns out. Vadika was handed over by his older brother, who discovered a spare diary sprinkled with rotten leaves when he was going to hide his own. Vadik and I lived across the wall and were aware of all the noisy events that happened in our families. Like my weekly torment over washing my hair. Our apartment looked like a train. Once upon a time, even before the war, the whole one-storey house belonged to our family, or rather my grandmother’s sister, who together with her husband owned a haberdashery store, which later became the reason for their arrest. The family of the grandmother was compacted and instead of one good private house made four stupid apartments. Ours took a wand from the asymmetrical letter P and therefore was deprived of any zigzag or turn. A cast-iron bath was in the kitchen. The water was heated in large rippled pots, and then boiling water was mixed with cold water. On bath days, the kitchen tried to warm up well and therefore melted the stove stronger than usual, so that its heat was enough not only for bathing, but also washing the head with subsequent painful hair combing. Rainwater mixed with boiling water, watering from the bucket - it is unbearably hot, then cold - and it is a terrible bath soap that corroded my eyes and glued my long curly hair. The smell of vinegar with which they were rinsed - for shine - and burdock oil with which they were lubricated. And most importantly, combs, stuck and broken, pulling thin strands of hair tangled in knots. And my wails announcing the court. Neighbors are used to them. And only Vadik had a little sympathy for me.

- Did they wash your head again? he asked lazily in the morning, looking at my still burrowed, swollen face.

- Aunt Löl," he asked my mother, "why wouldn't you cut her hair at all? I got a haircut, so my head is easy, and we save soap.

We were both domestic children in the sense that we didn't go to kindergarten before school. I was brought up by my grandmother, Vadika – his mother, a whiteshirt. On nylon, silk and cotton, she embroidered the extraordinary beauty of school collars. The morning in our yard usually began with the chirping of her sewing machine standing on the windowsill of an open window. Then there was the rattling of the three-wheeled car of Uncle Seni, Vadik's dad - he was going to work. “Taratayka”, as her neighbors called her, at best started on the third attempt, at worst – did not start at all, and in both produced a lot of noise and stench. But despite its defectiveness, it was still a car, a means of transportation, which made life easier for a one-legged disabled man who returned from the front, such as Uncle Senya. Finally, farting with gray exhausts, the tarataika came out of the courtyard, and Aunt Sima closed the red iron gate behind her under the grumpy squeals of Aunt Lisa, our neighbor on the left, cursed both the car and the polluted air, and the day had barely begun. In winter, the yard died down. Closed windows, sealed from the inside with paper and laid with balls of cotton did not let city noises into the heat of the apartment, but thin walls could not drown out what was happening behind them. Just like this time, when Vadik got the full program for forged marks and signatures.

- Well, they beat him, I reported. And to break the doomed silence at the other end of the line, she added, "" Don't worry. This usually does not last long.”

- What about him?

- Of course he does.

A few minutes later, Alla called back. "Well, what?"

- Uncle Senja is banging with a crutch.

- - Alla barely exhaled.

- Come on! On the wall, of course. Screams, if that happens again, he'll put you in an orphanage.

- Horrible. And now?

- And now Aunt Sima is rattling dishes and hard to hear, but you can make out... Wait. Oh, here. All children are like children, and he is a monster, because only children who want to kill their parents and become orphans do this. And if he doesn't want to learn, he'll be cleaning other people's shoes for life.

- What about Vadik?

- Vadik screams that Sasha will get his own.

- Good for you, Alla envied, everything is heard.

It snowed at night. Looking at the windows painted with frost, at the cat, carefully laying traces through the snowy yard, it was easy to believe in the coming New Year. But the pristine silence of the first morning of the winter break did not last long, mercilessly shattered by Aunt Lisa's screams.

- Seema, what are you feeding your children that they've been out of the bathroom for hours?

In a pink bike nightgown peeking out from under a doodle fur coat, in a sideways gray down scarf and felt slippers, she stood near a wooden booth that served as a public toilet for two of the four apartments in our yard. The families of Aunt Sima and Aunt Lisa were victims of a "skillful" house split that left their apartments "without amenities."

- If your Sasha doesn't come out in five minutes, I'll pour this pot right in front of your door. And you know me. I do not throw words into the wind, especially in such a cold, - aunt Lisa was inflamed.

- Leave him alone, Lisa. Have you ever had diarrhea? Why are you running around with your pot and spoiling the fresh air?

This skirmish promised to be long, but then a squeaky door opened from which the pale, half-living Sasha fell out. Clutching on the hem of Aunt Lizina's shirt dragging through the snow, he crashed his face into the snow, pulling her with him. With a loud cry: “Yasha-a-a-a!”, she stretched next to Sasha, and between them, destroying the immaculate whiteness of the snow, the contents of the pot spread. My dearest, meek and almost always wordless uncle Yasha, rushing to the cries of his wife, tried to lift her. But she yelled, "Idiot!" Pick up your shoes first! What do you think I will be barefooted in the snow?

By this time, all the residents of our yard had already woken up and, opening the windows, actively expressed their not the saddest emotions. But Vadik's laughter was heard loudest, and this clearly alerted Aunt Sima. She squinted her eyes badly and, amazed by the hunch, shouted: "Wow, you're so good in the morning! He made tea with my father and I, and Saska poured milk. What did you put in that milk, parasite? He's your brother. Aunt Sima rushed to the porch on which Vadik danced, but he was ahead of her and as he was, in rubber boots on his barefoot, rushed past, to the gate, shouting on the move: "Death to traitors!" The crutch, launched by Uncle Senya after him, plowed the traces of boots and with a blunt knock crashed into the gates closed behind Vadik's back.

After hurriedly finishing breakfast, I rushed to Alka's to describe in detail everything that had happened an hour earlier. She listened without interrupting. Only sometimes she giggled, shook her head, or pressed her arms to her chest, fading with delight, as if she were listening to the tale of the exploits of Hercules rather than the neighbor's boy, as Vadik was in my eyes. But in her, he was a hero. Climbing to the top of a brick wall to pick up apples from a nearby yard, throwing a shuttlecock on the roof, getting a cat stuck on it from a tree - all this was inaccessible to her because of her innate fear of heights. That is why, as Alla later admitted, she did not climb the marble park lion. Vadik’s superiority was complete and unqualified, not because he was a year older, knew arithmetic well, and at the age of eight already had some sort of chess grade, but because of his much greater knowledge of real life – that street, conflict, and unpredictable – but also because of his desperation, in my opinion, bordering on stupidity. Alla tried very hard to overcome his weakness and when none of the guys were nearby, tried to conquer some hungrily short tree, but above the first fork she could not climb. One look down, and her face was filled with a white mask of fear, her hands weakened, and she fell on the ground with her coolo, although in principle, in so to speak, earthly conditions, she was quite agile and mobile. And because of the usual swing-boats, she almost ended up in the ambulance. Everyone saw her father carry her in his arms from the park where she tried to swing. She didn't even remember how she passed out, how strangers put her on the sand and found her parents sitting nearby in a cafe.

- See, it turns out that I am not a coward," she explained after the incident, "I just have the wrong vestibular apparatus.

- Come on, don't worry, Vadik suddenly calmed down. Well, you won't be an astronaut. That's all. Maybe I'll go to your India, too, if I don't think of anything better after school. So if you have to go anywhere, count on me. And you walk on the ground and write everything down, as long as you do not forget. Then you write a smart book, and don't forget to put my name.

Yes, sometimes Vadik was capable of such nobility, and these rare glimpses of condescension were remembered by Alka forever, like a rubber band wiping ridicule and resentment.

With the onset of spring, Alla and I went to school together. Galka transferred to another school where her mother taught language and literature.

In addition, four times a week she now attended the athletics section. Galya was always the fastest among us, even the boys were afraid to compete with her. As she ran, pushing sharply and strongly off the ground, her heels touched the lumbar. Once, during a run to the store, she was noticed by a coach from the Dynamo stadium and, barely catching up, invited the same to the section, promising to make her an Olympic champion. Vadik now did not notice us at all - he had new friends, fifth-graders, and with them - new habits and interests.

And although among them, cloistered, horny, not yet teenagers, but no longer children, he looked unconvincing, his desire to resemble them in everything was obvious. Just like them, he was constantly whistling something, walking, twitching his shoulders with his briefcase suspended on his belt, and looking at high school girls in short skirts with a grin taken from his friends - slowly from the bottom up, then giving approving or mocking remarks. He really wanted to escape from childhood, as from tight shoes that do not give freedom of movement and slow down the run - there, into adulthood, real life. Therefore, small tricks, contributing to the gloss over the annoying gaps of home education, were justified in advance. Just like on that sunny, but clearly gloomy day for Alla, when her unconditional faith in Vadika and herself was shaken for the first time.

In the depths of our yard, behind the arbor, entwined with grapes, stood sheds stretched in a dull gray row. Depending on the time of year, there were stored firewood, buckets, shovels and all sorts of junk. That’s where Vadik called Alla, promising to show her something that he kept secret from everyone, but would trust only her. To begin with, he did give her a foreign coin and then asked her to raise her skirt, promising to show for it some rarity, either from the museum or from somewhere else. Stunned Alla lifted the dress, putting on display cotton underpants for 25 kopecks of a pair.

- Where are the treasures? she couldn’t stand it.

- If you let them down, we'll see.

- And you? – did not give up Alla.

- Well, okay, so did I, the growing-up man assured Vadik.

Alla pulled down her underpants and demanded, “Now it’s your turn.” ?

- What am I, a fool, or what? - Vadik laughed and came out from behind the gazebo. Where he was stopped by Alla’s father, who was looking for her friends and intrigued by the strange noise at the sheds. Seeing Alla roaring with resentment, he demanded an explanation, which he received from the deceived daughter. Actually, he always treated Vadik rather wary, but this clearly did not expect. Turning 180 degrees, he almost ran to Aunt Sima, writing peacefully on the typewriter and because of her uniform chirping unaware of what was happening three meters from her open window.

- What do you teach your children, Shema! he yelled over her head, recounting in detail what he learned from Alla and what he saw himself. What kind of mother are you if, at eight, your son is already acting like an urka? And if he looks under his skirts in second grade, what happens to him in tenth grade?

- Calm down, Volodya, the annoyed aunt Sima tried to joke, he is a child, a boy. He's interested.

- Oh, he's curious! - Uncle Volodya was furious. So lift up your skirt and show him everything that interests him!

- I am the last one, lamented Alla, wiping away her tears with her dark red curls. Now Vadik will definitely be sent to an orphanage. He will be an orphan with living parents. It's all because of me.

But her predictions were not to come true. On the evening of the same ill-fated day, on an argument, getting down the drain pipe from the second floor from the apartment of one of his new friends, Vadik broke down and, breaking his arm, found himself in the hospital. So the morning incident was forgotten, and all the neighbors, including Uncle Volodya, rushed to look for who "doctors who can be trusted", who black caviar, who imported pills to restore the nervous system of Aunt Sima.

Then came the summer, rainy and cool. Lime bloomed later than usual, but the moisture of long bright evenings only increased their aroma. And during the day, the city was saturated with the smell of cherry compotes, fried peppers and baked eggplant. In August, a plum ripened, and in each courtyard at the stake in large vats with wasps curling over them, boiled, burly and shooting on the sides, saw.

The court lived its own life, from time to time shuddering from scandals, relaxing after no less stormy reconciliations and only occasionally sinking into nap and idleness. That Sunday afternoon was just so lazy and sleepy, when even the air seemed motionless and heavy, like milk froth.

Suddenly, this shaky silence was broken by Vadik sitting on the roof.

- Look! There's a chicken out there chasing Alka!

Noting the rhyme of the message, Galka and I jumped out of the gazebo and rushed after Vadik, who is unclear when he managed to roll off the roof and run out of the gate. Along the deserted street, with her head bent, Alla ran. Her fluttering red dress and the soles of her red shoes were rippling in her eyes. The same, apparently, experienced an angry chicken, on a shaving flight flying over the head running, desperately waving hands Alla. At the same time, the chicken cackled menacingly and drowned out the squeak issued by Alla, who lost her strength.

The whole picture looked so ridiculous that we involuntarily choked on laughter and could not stop for a long time until we saw how the chicken pecked Alla, the sleeve-lantern of her red dress into the peas. She stopped and sat down.

Helplessly covering his head. When we woke up, we looked at each other. The hook grabbed the branch lying under the linden and, turning on the third speed, rushed at the hen's head. I looked around. Bending with laughter, Vadik moaned, pointing his jumping finger at what was happening opposite. Having picked up some more large stone, I ran after the Galka, and the two of us drove away the mad chicken, which, even sitting in the grass, continued to make vile, militant sounds. Alla slowly straightened up and whispered with white lips: "Thank you." She turned her eyes to the opposite side of the street, where Vadik stood surrounded by boys who had escaped by that time.

- Oh, thank you, you saved my life, he clutched his head,

- She can't handle a chicken, and she's going to the jungle. You're going from the roof to the attic. No, you're afraid of heights. Her vestibular apparatus is wrong! You're a coward. Coward and liar!

- Don’t listen to him, this evil bird just lost its mind and you got in the way. And in all red. I'll tell Grandpa Mircea to put her first in the broth. He's got chickens, so few that the whole yard got messed up, now people are being thrown at.

- Leave, Galya, said Alla in an indifferent voice. - He's right. I'm afraid of heights, insects and even chickens that can't fly. And my dad's not on an expedition, he's on a trade trip to India. So I'm really a coward and a liar. But only you, she came close to Vadik, is not a hero either.

And in October, Alla left. Her father was transferred to Leningrad. Furniture was taken out of the house, and we helped pack and drag books, maps, masks and all those outlandish things that we looked at for hours during winter tea parties. Alla hung a red handbag on Galka's shoulder and she silently pressed her chin to the lacquer strap.

Standing out of the cabin, Alla waved her hand and sharply turned away. On the wet asphalt sprinkled with rusty leaves, fell unfastened red hairpin. The truck moved indecisively. With a clip in his hand, Vadik walked a few steps and handed it to Alla. But she was looking forward to the new season, where there was no longer us or her.

Zoe Master.