Любимая прихожанка ( авторский рассказ ) / аудиокнига

Beloved parishioner, the Easter service is over. The priest with the cross in his right hand and the cross in his left hand came out of the church, accompanied by two panamari. One of them was holding an enameled bucket of consecrated water, and the other was holding a canvas bag for collecting donations. Following in a small distance, with caution watching the priest's sweeping movements, who was generously spilling baskets with cakes, eggs and even home-made sausages, the three singers were walking, led by a psalmist, a gray-haired and very elderly man, who was proclaiming the news of the Resurrection of Christ with a deep, slightly cracked voice. And the sounds of his voice flew far beyond the church fence. Joyful smiles were illuminated with water and were illuminated by the bright sun. Many of the people waiting in line came to the church only twice a year, for Easter and Christmas. They frowned when the water, after a particularly successful sprinkling, flowed down their faces with streams, but if it seemed to someone that too little had fallen on him, he asked loudly for more. They told how last year a priest, annoyed by the insistent request of some woman to sprinkle it more, poured the insistent request from the bucket, which caused indignation, satisfied with her high request of a woman, and the laughter of others. And at that time, in the other part of the city, in the half of a private house, divided by neighbors and consisting of two rooms, Marina was preparing breakfast for her son. Nine years ago she found her husband Volodya in a garage, sitting motionless in a car with tightly closed doors, and since then she has raised her son, who was born a month later, alone. Marina got married at the age of 19 to a high-ranking turner, who was eight years older than her, took good care of her and smiled charmingly. At first they lived peacefully, but two years later he was promoted to head of the workshop. Volodya decided to celebrate his promotion with his friends. Everyone had fun and danced. Volodya also danced, taking a girl from the accounting department as a couple. Since then Volodya has often come home drunk, and in a drunken rage he shouted at his wife. Marina got pregnant. Volodya soon came to his senses, stopped drinking, became a affectionate wife, and tried to please her with something. And then something happened that Marina did not expect. At the eighth month of her pregnancy, her husband began to drink again. Later it turned out that the girl from the accounting department liked Volodya so much that she convinced him that Marina was going to give birth to a child from his friend Stepka, who left the city three months ago in an unknown direction. Volodya did not believe the accountant, and did not say anything to his wife until the end. He squeezed his teeth, drank, and drank a lot. One bad evening he threw a phrase to his wife, which she understood. Then he revealed the circumstances to her, when he found out that he was probably not the father of his child. He did not react to any assurances of his wife in her innocence, but he thought that she flew into a corner, losing consciousness, and he ran out of the house. In the morning, Marina found him in the garage. Marina's son called him Nikita. He was born healthy, but over time he began to show signs of weakness. He began to speak late, reacted slowly to everything, and sometimes reacted too violently or moaned without saying a word. The situation was not very sensitive. She offered to take her grandson to an orphanage, but Marina did not agree for a long time. Finally, she gave in to her mother's persuasion, but acted in her own way. She knocked out her son's disability, according to which Nikita, he was then four years old, was supposed to be in sanatoriums for recovery, where he spent most of the year. After three years, the sanatorium was closed, and Marina had to look after her son on her own, because Marina's mother refused to sit with her grandson, and Marina could not turn to her husband's parents, because they still blamed her for Volodya's death. Nikita turned nine years old. Maybe he was with other children all the time in the sanatorium, maybe the educators and doctors somehow influenced him, or maybe he just overgrew his disability, but he spoke normally, although at times he confused words. He could take care of himself, and even in the yard he played on par with everyone. Nikita was very lucky, his neighbors' children did not offend him and did not tease him, while Marina was working, Nikita either spent time with his neighbors and his friends, where his grandmother looked after them, or when Marina worked as a cleaner, she passed by the old church, where Marina had never been. Marina's parents are non-believers, and raised her according to their beliefs, only her grandmother sometimes took out an ancient book and a parallel text from the shelf and gave her to read. Marina could not understand anything in it, but she liked to scroll through the yellowed pages and read unusual words. In the days of Ones, when the Apostles returned to Jerusalem, from the mountain of Elyon. She kept the warmest memories about her grandmother and communication with her, and still sometimes took out an ancient book from the shelf. Marina once returned home in the evening after work, and through the open doors of the church she saw an iconostasis lit by the Nicodemus. These names became known later, and at that moment she saw a large chandelier with many lights illuminating the paintings. And Marina decided to come in just like that, out of curiosity. When she crossed the threshold of the church fence, safely passing the barrier of professional inquiries consisting of an alcoholic, a gypsy with children and a modest grandmother, when Marina gave a penny, she felt some kind of change in herself. Suddenly it darkened in her eyes, and then her vision cleared up. She could still see, but now she saw everything differently, and she could not understand how exactly she saw. Not feeling her feet, she climbed the steps and entered the church. The evening service went in turn. At the chandelier in front of the painting, which was depicted, apparently, some saint with a puffed-up beard and hair that did not fall on his shoulders. He stood on his knees in a prayerful pose by the stone, turning his gaze to the sky, and from the mysterious clouds, illuminating the stone and the praying man with a yellowish glow around his head, rays of light fell. And on the mournful gaze of the martyr depicted on it, turned to the sky, on the free folds of his clothes, on the white flowers that fell on the night earth and on the red drops that fell on the forehead of the poor man who apparently experienced strong mental suffering. Marina had a kind heart, immediately responding to the pain of others. She stood still for a very long time until a woman came up to her and, smiling, asked who taught her to pray so passionately. Marina was confused, not knowing what to answer. Then the woman told that this painting was actually an icon, and Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was depicted on it. He prays at night in the Gipsy Garden, because soon he will have to sacrifice himself for the sins of people. The blood drips to the ground, and white flowers grow in the place of the drops. Marina was very surprised by this explanation, but did not ask anything. The woman, continuing to affectionately address her, gave her several tips about the appearance. Finally, she repeated her prayer question, and Marina, to somehow answer, said that her grandmother taught her to pray. But Marina remembered the Old Gospel and thought that if anyone could teach her to pray, it was only her grandmother. Marina's words sounded sharply in the silence of the temple, and she, confused by the echo, came out of the dim light of the candles into the evening coolness. Marina went home and was all in some smoke and warmth, warming but not burning her. From time to time she came to the temple in the evenings, standing silently with other women. She just stood and listened to the uneven singing of the old woman, looking into the iconostasis, and often stopped her gaze on the lights of the candles. So she stood for about half an hour, and then left. At home, she returned calm, in some warm smoke, and spent the evening doing unhurried housework and caring for her son. Nikita met his mother, and then suddenly ran away and for some time hid like a frightened beast, and came out only when he began to attract the smell of dinner. Marina once offered her son to go to the temple with her, but he kept silent, and then asked, will it hurt me? Well, of course not, she replied. The son was still silent, thinking, and said very seriously, Mom, don't go there, it hurts. Marina caressed him, assuring him that he was wrong, that everything was fine, but he repeated his words again and did not miss a word. Marina repeated that everything was fine, everything will be fine, and then Nikita smiled a little and stuck his face into her chest. The words of the son did not go out of Marina's head, but the next time she visited the temple, she forgot about that conversation. The warm smoke enveloped her and guarded her from all anxieties. The old temple, closed in the 1960s, was reopened six years ago. During this time, three priests have changed, and the first two went into various bad rumors. Marina could not believe or not believe the rumors, because she did not know about their existence, because she always stayed away from the parishioners who, after the service, gathered in small groups to gossip in half a voice about their affairs. The weather, politics, family and church affairs were discussed. All conversations were full of specific expressions, and it may seem to a person who does not know that he hears the speech of some foreigners. Looking at them from a distance, seeing their kind faces and hearing their frequent exclamations to the Lord and to all God's will, it was possible to think that they were having spiritual conversations about the Gospel commandments. Not knowing about such conversations, not participating in the life of the community, Marina carelessly visited the temple, and at home she read a book bought in the temple with questions and answers about church life. She did not dare to pray. Therefore, Marina prayed, and prayed simply and briefly, focused on avoiding images and extraneous thoughts, as a brochure blessed by some archpriest told her. At first, Marina tried to read out all the prayers, but got tired and gradually reduced her prayer rule to two prayers, Our Father and prayers about the living and the dead. Now she did not read out the prayers, but prayed from the heart, giving herself to the words of a short prayer, which, however, she did not fully understand. Marina also found the time when she served the third time after the temple was opened by a priest. But one day, when she, as usual, entered the temple, thinking to stay there for a while, she saw that the priest was now different. She heard clear words of prayer that penetrated her heart and strangely worried her. When she came home, she felt some kind of chill. The warm smoke was no longer enveloping her. It was a real heat. Then Marina suddenly froze and began to wrap herself in a blanket, but could not warm up, she was feverish. Exhausted, she fell asleep deeply. Marina decided that a flu had reached her, which many people were ill with at that time, but in the morning she felt much better. For about a month, Marina, under various pretexts, refused to visit the temple. And once in a store, an elderly woman with a very kind face asked her why she did not come to the service. Marina remembered the woman. It was the one who told her about the icon. Touched by the kind words, Marina decided that she would definitely go to the temple tomorrow. But passing by it, Marina did not go in. She could not even stop. Her feet carried her further than the church gates, and Marina, surprised by herself, stopped, returned to the gates and got up again as if buried. There were several steps to the entrance to the temple, but she could not make them, and when she turned in the direction of the house, she went easily and freely. This incident made Marina think about the nature of such a phenomenon. She remembered the words of prayer about some temptation. Maybe this is temptation? Maybe something is wrong with her? She began to pray. And she prayed, as usual, easily and carefully. The next day, Marina went to the temple and decided to overcome herself and enter. Surprisingly, she did it easily. She stood at the service, as before, and came out surrounded by warm smoke. Coming out, she involuntarily heard a loud whisper. Two women in the court talked about that today their new priest was called to the vladyka, and he will be replaced by an old regular priest, who is already 80 years old. Marina showed her strange behavior at the church town, and the stench, heat and the new priest, but she threw these thoughts away as if they had nothing to do with reality. The next week she came to the evening service, and despite some indecision, she went in and stood a little. The priest said something while singing, and his voice passed through Marina's chest with heat. The service went on in its turn. Then the light came on in the temple, and a priest came out in the middle of the temple, surrounded by the sea. Marina looked at him continuously. In the light of the candles and in the bright light of the panacodilla, Marina saw the priest's face burning with fire, which was painful for her to look at. For the first time in a long time, she lowered her eyes and stood motionless until the end of the service. Marina met her mother with anxiety. She never came so late. Marina felt the heat again, but there was no fever again. Since then, she came to almost every service and stood from start to finish. She used to hide in a corner, and now she chose a place closer to the altar in a visible place, and when she saw the priest, she did not lower her eyes and looked at his fiery face, which was burning in the light of the candles and the lamp. Her prayer changed. Before, she prayed with attention, calmly, experiencing a quiet joy, and now she prayed hotly, in some kind of excited retreat, and often trembled like in a fever. The warm smoke that enveloped her before changed to fire, which lit up in the face of the priest and faded into it before the new service. Sometimes Marina asked herself questions about what was happening to her, but she could not answer any of them. On a summer day, at the end of the liturgy, the priest came out of the altar. He was surrounded by parishioners. They turned to him with various household problems. Men silently bowed their heads for blessing, women complained to their husbands for their lives, asked to pray for their children and to bless them for good deeds. Under the good deeds, as Marina later learned, everything was implied, even what would not be appropriate to talk about in the church. So one woman came up and loudly asked to bless her for good deeds, but the priest looked at her carefully and said that the deed she was going to do would not lead to good. The woman froze in amazement, and then began to explain in all her hearing that what she was doing, that is, helping many people with prayer, was good, that she used only church candles and that she had an icon in her house, and that the book she was healing with was sprinkled with holy water, and so on and so forth. Marina began to vaguely understand what good deed she was talking about. The priest was standing silently, holding his hand behind the cross, and his lips moved weakly. The woman waited, but without receiving the blessing, turned around and left demonstratively. Marina had never been at confession, did not approach the cross after service, did not take the blessing, and therefore was not too close to the priest, The priest, heading for the exit, suddenly stopped near Marina and, with warmth, asked, looking somewhere to the side, Why don't you take your son to church? Marina did not know what to answer. She did not communicate with anyone in the church, but their town is small, many knew each other. Did someone tell you about me? She asked directly. Instead of an answer, the priest turned to her with a request. Next week is the Trinity. Please come, help to decorate the temple. We are short of hands. Will you come? The priest turned to Marina for you, and she was slightly confused by such familiarity. He, guessing about her thoughts, said, We call God for you, right? Yes, Marina answered confusedly. Will you come? I will come. Thank God, bless the Lord, said the priest, and told her everything she needed to know about the matter, set a time when to come, and, as a sign of the end of the conversation, once again blessed her and held her hand for a kiss. Marina looked straight into his eyes, but did not kiss his hand. The priest was slightly confused, then nodded and left the temple. At the appointed time, Marina came and helped to hang the green branches around the temple, sprinkled the floor with freshly mowed grass and placed many bouquets. With a joyful feeling, she finished decorating the temple and went home. Since then, Marina has often helped around the temple, washed the floor after the service, cleaned the candlesticks, decorated the icons with living flowers. Over time, she was appointed to the church staff and received a small salary, but she continued to work both in the hospital and in the temple. Many times Marina asked her son to go with her to the service, but every time he said very seriously that he would not go and persuaded her not to go either. Two years passed unnoticed. Nikita grew up and seemed like an ordinary teenager. Marina fulfilled her duties in the temple, but she still stood aside from everyone and at the service she looked only at the priest's face in the flame of the candles. She still felt the heat in her chest from his prayers and listened to the quiet old woman's singing, from which a powerful, and now faded voice of a psalmist stood out. At the end of the Sunday liturgy, it was on the 10th of February, Panamari approached Marina and asked her to stay after the service. The priest discussed with Marina the possibility that she would read or sing on the clarinet. Recently, one of the singers, already a rather old woman, fell ill and the choir lacked voices. Marina had a low but pleasant voice from nature and loved to sing when she was young, so she agreed. The thought that she would join the choir of voices that she liked to listen to so much seemed joyful to her. An elderly psalmist studied Marina and after a few months she could freely read, sing and even lead some parts of the daily service. The psalmist praised her and secretly thought that Marina would eventually take her place on the clarinet. Unwilling to conflict and not participating in the discussion of her loved ones and everything that had nothing to do with the case, the psalmist and the parishioners had a common respect for her, but some of the parishioners were wary of her. In mid-May, the psalmist suddenly died of a heart attack. He was buried with all honors. There were a lot of parishioners present at the funeral. The psalmist grew up in a church family. His father and grandfather were priests, but he himself did not follow in their footsteps. Despite his humble appearance, if the matter was serious, he could say everything to the eyes and was not even afraid of the archpriests. They loved him for his devotion to his work, good attitude to the choristers and the cheerfulness of the spirit, which is inexhaustible in his best days. The unexpected event made a depressing impression on the church community. On the last days of the deceased, they said, with words of gratitude to God, that he had just had time to participate a day before his death, but regretted that he died so suddenly. He was a good man. A series of church holidays was approaching, and there was a difficult task before Marina. There was a lot to be learned, and he promised to help her. For two weeks, on the days when there was no service, Marina went to his house, and the priest taught her the rule of worship, and she wrote everything down carefully. One day Nikita found his mother's notes and, with an uneven handwriting in a notebook, wrote over the title of the all-night vigil, All Night Vigil. Marina was now a frequent guest in the priest's house. Over time, she was released from the cleaning of the church, and now, in addition to the church choir, cleaning and preparation for the priest's rented apartment were included in her duties. The elderly owner of the apartment no longer coped with these duties, which she used to do with joy. She was too weak and now lived her days with her son. Nikita followed her and, at the request of the old woman, read her favorite books. The early widow priest lived alone. His wife, fifteen years ago, died of childbirth when she was only twenty-two years old. On the wall of the rented apartment where the priest lived, not far from the corner with icons, hung a portrait of his young beautiful wife, apparently written from a photograph. The portrait of Anil Sorsky, which was published on the page with the chapter on the struggle and victory over thoughts. The priest did not have many things, and all of them could fit into a couple of suitcases. Before that, he served in the cathedral, but for reasons that no one knew about, he was transferred here. The priest liked to serve on this parish, and he did it as long as possible. Marina visited the priest early in the morning once every three days, sometimes more often. Her smell hovered in the walls of the apartment and disturbed the thoughts of the priest at night. Then the priest got up on his knees and prayed, fighting according to the covenant of Anil Sorsky, with his thoughts, and sometimes fell asleep right on the floor. One day Marina found him like this. She entered, opening the front door with her keys, as she often did. After all, while the priest was preparing for the service in the room, she was preparing food for him in the kitchen, and looked into the open door of the room. Marina was very scared, discovering him lying on the floor. She ran up, stood on her knees in front of the priest, calling his name. The priest, dressed as a householder, woke up, but when he understood everything, he helped Marina to get up. Their hands touched and stayed for a short time. Only an extra second passed, but they could no longer separate their hands. Marina looked at the priest with her eyes wide open, not blinking, and, holding back, breathed heavily. In some kind of oblivion, their hands began to slide on their shoulders, on their face. They interrupted their sudden caress and clung to each other in a long embrace, hearing a mutual interrupted breath and a beating of hearts. They stood like this for a few minutes. Then the priest took a step back. Gradually moving away, Marina looked at the priest's burning face, but there were no candles nearby, and she felt that the distance between them was much greater than it really was. They stood like this for a few more seconds, continuing to hold hands. Marina's face expressed grief, and her eyes flickered, filled with tears. She vaguely understood what he felt, living alone, struggling with his thoughts, not allowing them to capture his mind, following the books lying on his table. She did not struggle with herself. Her desires seemed natural to her. Her prayers were devoid of sadness. But Marina saw that the priest perceived everything differently than she did. She did not understand why he tormented himself, why he forbade himself to love. A lot of things were incomprehensible to her in this strange world of candles and prayers. They closed their hands. The priest sat down on a chair, and Marina continued to stand like this, exhaling her smell, which drove the poor man crazy. Marina went to the door. She did not know what would happen to them next. And if they, or anyone else in general, stopped at the door, she waited a little, listening. What if he follows her? What if he hugs her again? Their lips will merge in a kiss, minutes of closeness will follow. Will it be passion, or maybe something more? And what will happen to them then? What will happen to him? Will he remain a priest, or will he be punished and made an ordinary person? Well, let Marina think ordinary, and he will no longer have to struggle with his thoughts. Nikita will have a good father, and she will love him with all her heart. She is ready to love him, ready to go against the rules and regulations. But was he ready? She did not know. She imagined their vague and unnecessary happiness, and touched his pillow, which smelled of linden and was surrounded by a mystery She thought about the church and the parishioners, and felt like a thief and a vile person who destroys someone's life. But Marina continued to stand, and then sat on the floor by the door, and every minute she waited, hoping that a priest would come out of the room, and she would call him by his name. But no one came out, nothing happened. Marina slowly got up and quietly closed the door behind her. She went down the stairs, and with every step she persuaded herself to forget about what had happened, but she could not. Marina will no longer be able to go to the church. What about the choir? She had no answers. She only shuddered from the approaching tears, and then thought about Nikita and smiled. Since then, the priest has been walking with his eyes dark from insomnia, and has served as a barely audible voice. The choir sang somehow. They did not see Marina in the church. Some parishioners tied these events together, and what they did not know, they came up with, and all their indignation splashed on the poor woman. She was watched at work, called with threats, and her colleagues supported Marina at work. The priest preached and called for repentance, but none of the offenders apologized to Marina. Then the priest stopped allowing them to participate. Displeased with the priest's decision, they wrote a denunciation to the ruling archdiocese. The priest was called to the diocese. The bishop, on the contrary, held an educational conversation with him and threatened to send him to the farthest village if he did not restore order in his parish and in his head. The priest nodded and completely agreed. He lost a lot of weight and became silent. He did the housework himself and did not invite anyone to visit. His hands began to tremble sometimes, and tears came out during the sermon. Several months have passed since Marina last visited the church. She often remembered the priest and missed the church service. Standing at the doorstep of her house, Marina cleaned the February snow with an old broom and entered the house. In the darkness of the room lit by a table lamp and a lamp that was burning in the corner, Nikita was sitting at the desk It was difficult for him only to write, and he counted mathematical equations very quickly, faster than other children in the class. But when he was called to the board, he sometimes got lost and forgot everything. Marina came up to Nikita and kissed him on the top of his head. Then she took out an old Gospel and sat next to Nikita near the lamp. In the open Gospel, she read the words Marina closed the book, feeling both guilty and innocent, and wondering why people who go to church and say that God is love are so cruel. A week later, Marina, pulling the handkerchief almost to the nose and hiding her face in her hood, inhaled the familiar smell of wax and laden. Quietly and indifferently, the elders' voices sang the most honest, and their singing was heard echoing around the corners of the temple. A priest came out of the altar with a cadillac. Marina briefly looked at him. The familiar face no longer burned with flame. It was the face of the most ordinary person. Marina went outside and inhaled the frosty air, which seemed to her warmer than the one in the temple. The last week of the Lent is coming. On the Great Thursday, cakes are baked and eggs are painted all day long, and in the evening burning candles are carried home. Saturday. Half an hour before midnight. In the center of the temple there is an analoys with a cloak. People are quietly talking in anticipation of the beginning of the Easter service. The royal gates open. Complete silence comes. Thin, with a darkened face, the priest, in one cadillac, goes out to the alcove, bows to the parishioners and silently walks between them, and the priest stands by the door for a short time. None of the prayers, frozen in anticipation of the action proclaiming the victory of Christ over death, understands the meaning of what is happening now. No one violates the sacred silence. No one says a word. The door of the temple is quiet and closed forever. On the throne there is a sacred cross and the festive clothes of the priest. Coming home, Marina hugged her son, clung to him with a cold cheek and whispered. Forgive me, son, that I was not there for so long. Do not worry, mommy, now everything will be fine, he replied.