The doctor who made her an abortion then only skeptically skeptical about her question: "And what does it matter now. Previously it was necessary to think. "
Turning to the gray hospital wall, she forgave him the hardness, in her eyes he was still a savior from a painful problem. Yes, and my mother will now calm down. And no one will condemn. No one will know anything. Even Kolka, who so fondly loves, but about the wedding and does not stutter.
About the wedding, he spoke immediately, after returning from the army. I knew that I was waiting truly. Under friendly cries, relatives "bitterly" whispered in my ear: "We will have a bunch of kids, they will be as beautiful as you!" And nothing happened with the kids, no matter how hard they tried. Somehow, realizing that another attempt was futile, she laid out to him the whole truth in the hearts, they say, is to blame. He even recoiled from her: "What are you? How could you? Really I thought ... "What exactly, and did not finish, only his face darkened.
On what only hospitals he did not drive it until they were popularly explained: it's all in vain, she can not have children. That night, he first drank heavily and cried. And then, collecting things and asking for forgiveness, hiding his eyes went away ...
- Aunt! Move your leg, you are on the autumn leaf, "the child's voice broke off her thoughts.
At the bench stood the same boy and tried to pull out from under his heel a carved maple leaf. Above, he seemed a small gnome, only not festive, because from under the tree, rather, some kind of gray, as if newly emerged from the mountain, where, as usual, like the dwarves, he had to plow, breathing dust and darkness.
The facial features were wrong, but lovely, as if nature wanted to make them better, but something prevented it: thin lips, pointed chin, blue eyes, without a smile, eyes. "Little Gavroche," she thought, and simply asked:
- What did you do in the flower bed?
He held out an armful of flowers, tightly clamped with dirty fingers:
- Collected flowers, they are beautiful. Only, sorry, they die quickly. Leaves are better, they can cover all the walls. Stroke the iron and paste. Then it will be light in the room, like here. And so until spring. Do you like spring?
She shrugged her shoulders.
- But not me. She's uncovered somehow. I love autumn, very, very. It starts with a big holiday - Miner's Day. Then so much yummy can be collected! And my mother swears less.
She tried to imagine how you can collect the yummy, but did not specify, with other eyes saw the thin neck, arms, like wands, his whole appearance, like an underfed gray sparrow.
"Do you want a cookie?" - Opening the bag, she treated him with cakes baked on the eve, which everyone admired in their department.
"Uh-huh," he said, shoving several pieces into his mouth. "I am now," and he ran to the same flowerbed. Nadergav another small bouquet, rather like a broom, he put it next to her on the bench and involuntarily again looked at the bag.
Giving him a sandwich and the rest of the cola, she thought about how quickly the kid was out of breath, and his cheeks were so pale. A sad little old man.
For a while he sat politely next to me, talking about trifles: that flowers smell in summer, and leaves - with trees. The fact that if a worm moves on a bicycle, it will crawl in different directions. A hedgehog can pierce the hardest tire. Then, scratching his knee, uttered a serious breath:
"You are beautiful and kind," and he smiled. Smiling erased something rough in his face, flashing from within and spiritualizing.
She mentally tried on him a bow with "his girl". His heart sank, and she could hardly restrain herself from kissing the baby.
"You'll frighten a child," the inner voice intervened soberly. "Do not forget, someone else's child." He seemed to feel something, calmed down, and, holding out to him the picked maple leaf, unexpectedly switched to "you": "
- Here you go. I do not mind. He is as beautiful as you, and probably knows how to fly. It's easy to check. It is necessary to throw it from the roof and observe it.
She imagined how this splinter of autumn flew a yellow drop to the ground. And also - the boy, running up easily, like on the wings, to her fifth floor. And the way his sonorous voice smashes the dead silence in her apartment.
"What's your name?" - she wanted to ask, but did not have time. A sharp hoarse shout called the name:
"Sasha, you, where did you get lost?" What did I tell you to do? And you? A woman approached the alley. Mother (who else could pull him off the bench so economically?) Continued to grumble discontentedly, not noticing his guilty look. Moving from hand to hand a worn bag from which the necks of empty bottles protruded, some bundle in oiled paper, a loaf and a bunch of parsley, she sighed and suggested aloud:
"I'm probably tired of you, woman, to death." He's like a Velcro, clinging to everyone. Forever he climbs somewhere, unlucky. And without any transition, she asked business-like:
"Have not you seen the bottles empty?" Probably, Makarych jested, the competitor is damned. Almost does not go, but rushes everywhere, unlike some ...
The boy's trembling lips showed that he could barely restrain his tears. Sniffing with his nose, he handed his mother a crusty crust on the stained palm.
"How many times did she say, do not beg!" - This phrase sounded with such anguish that the woman on the bench involuntarily squinted, waiting for the sound of the clout. But that did not follow. Mother, swallowing the same Korzhik, dragged her son by the hand, vaguely evil, asking again on the run: "Did you look under the bushes?
And in the urn? Lord, well, what for to me such a punishment, so I would kill. "
When she opened her eyes, the alley was empty. An unexpected gust of wind dashed the bouquet collected by the boy from the bench and spread flowers along the path, as if after a funeral procession. She hurriedly got up and went to the nearest stop, clasping her lips and their soul in one icy lump. And when the doors of the bus opened literally, she automatically unclenched her fingers and saw that the leaf she had given her painted in an autumn look like a crumpled yellow kerchief.
The young driver-trainee, waited for her exactly as long as it should, and, without waiting, dashingly tore the car forward, cursing himself and marveling at himself about the strangeness of the passenger: "The hysterical girl is crying for no reason at all. Probably, then a complaint will be written ... "