Полякова Инга

Родилась 27 июля 1984 г. в Краснодаре. Воспитываю сына, работаю преподавателем английского языка и математики. Хобби — занимаюсь разведением кошек породы русская голубая. Публиковалась в периодических изданиях и Интернет-ресурсах. Принимаю участие в разных литературных конкурсах.

I was born on July 27, 1984 in Krasnodar. I bring up my son and work as a teacher of English and mathematics. My Hobby is breeding cats of Russian blue breed. My stories were published in periodicals and Internet resources. I take part in different literary contests.


«Grandma»

My grandmother Nina was born before the war. She used to say: «I often malnourished, it happened we ate spikelets remaining after the arable» … The hungry childhood left a mark on her health for the whole life…

Grandmother said, «I don’t remember father at all, he was taken away when I was three … Nobody knew what he was arrested for …. And we grew up as the children of nation’s enemies … I don’t know what’s happened to him… It was impossible to say that he was repressed, when I grew up I told everyone that he had died in the war … It is now that everything is possible… I was brought up by two elder sisters. When I was born, Raya was ten, Galya was twenty… oh, they have enough of hardship with me … »

It was time when people gave birth to another child, when the elder one was already independent and able to help…

Grandmother had no higher education, she didn’t even finish ten grades of school … She told me that she learnt to read and write as an adult …

At twenty-two grandmother went to work in Krasnodar and met my grandpa. They got married and gave birth to mother and uncle.

When my grandfather was sent to build a road in Afghanistan, grandmother went with him with my seven months old mother. They lived in this sinking into the Middle Ages country for five year …

They did not live as we live now. We got a state flat. All their life they worked at the same place and were friends with the same people…They were not tempered by big money. They built a country-house and grew a garden, brought up children and then helped to bring up grandchildren. They lived simply and happily. Now people live like that rarely…

My grandmother worked as an embroideress at a factory all her life then retired and began to educate me.

She always knitted something, walked silently, loved crossword puzzles and watched all possible soup operas. I loved her knitted things so much: I keep still a pink hat knitted by her.

She came up with my signature. I imitated her handwriting, she braided my hair …

I have so little left of herjust a few crochet handkerchiefs. And we had one foot size and sometimes I put on her shoes.

When I was ten, I gave her an icon … this icon is still with me. I am strictly looked at by Jesus Christ. There is  small St. Nina at the side of the icon…

Every day grandma accompanied me to school, drove me to extra classes, checked my lessons …

She was a person of action. For seven years she had taken me to music school four times a week and to an English tutor once a week. Grandma had never boasted of it, she just gave me every day of her life asking for nothing in return… I probably only now realize what I am obliged to her …

For three hours every day she had waited for me in the corridor of the music school with knitting … And then we slowly returned home along Krasnaya street. It was my favorite half an hour every day. I close my eyes and see her again: a bun on her head, a blue coat. I hear her soft voice:

— How did you do today? What did the teacher say?

— She said that I need to try more …

I set out in long arguments about the dangers of training and a lack of free time. She shook her head reproachfully …

— Oh, and what a lazy girl you are…

Granny held my hand, listened and nodded silently probably not understanding anything about the dominant seventh chord, tremolo or Passive voice.

She was silent but her praise was worth I don’t know what! She just looked through my diary and said: «Well done! Keep it up!» I hear her approval through years and I still need it…

In summer we went to the country. There were four hundred square meters and the house they built themselves. «The goat is here,» — grandfather smiled… There were perfect beds, a small fir-tree at the house, bushes of gooseberry and red, black and white currants, grandmother’s flowers by the fence. I always grazed in the garden … Daily weeding was my regular duty. Grandparents prepared breakfast in the summerhouse, grandfather brought vegetables from the garden and we cut salad together. I threw some wood to a homemade stove …

Grandpa constantly chatted about everything: greenhouse seedling beds, new seeds and a pear instilled to an apple-tree … Grandma smiled silently as usual … she already knew what he would say… «Michael …don’t get me muddled… Please go and cut some roses … »

A kettle was boiling on the stove, we were drinking black tea with mint leaves growing at the fence. There were fruit and freshly cut roses on the table…

On Saturdays I went fishing with my grandfather to the bank of the Kuban river. It had just dawned … There was silence… We walked through narrow winding paths, drowning in the dew. Grandfather had his own cherished place, where there was always a good bite. The beach had been just painted with a light blue haze … My grandfather fished and I interfered with him nearby. He put on a worm and threw in the line. I had only to watch the float. My patience was not enough for a long time … and he could fish for hoursSoon he sat with two fishing rods and I read something according to the summer school curriculum in the sunlight… The birds were singing around and grasshoppers were chirringThere was a mulberry on the bank, I ate black berries from the tree then it is impossible to wash their juice, and I spent all day with dark blue fingers and mouth. At about eleven we were going home. We gave small fish to an old calico cat Anfiska, and grandmother fried large fish for lunch …

I remember them every day of my life and every day I miss them … My grandmother did not live up to my graduation, marriage. She did not see her grandson …

For several years she had died painfully of cancer. I did not understand her suffering, why she always felt bad and spent less time with me… I was busy with my empty childhood concerns: sessions, boys, the first work …

Grandpa died five years after her. In fact all these five years he continued to live as if she was always near…

I’m so ashamed that I did not ask for her forgiveness. «Grandma, please forgive me! Forgive me I did not understand you. Grandma … Grandma … please be always with me… »

I have one secret memory. When my grandmother and I watch some Brazilian soup operas with arms round each other. I am sniggling up to her, hugging her and so we lay for hours watching TV. I feel warm and calm…

I wrap up in the memory as in a warm shawl … I close my eyes and feel her smell, a home smell of a warm body and valerian. As if I feel the touch of her handmade blouse.

When my child is sick, when there are problems at work, I wrap up in the memory and it seems to me that everything will be fine. My grandma is out there … she will certainly help me … There is my angel in the sky… She looks at me strictly from heaven and I try to live each day so that she is there not ashamed of me here…

 

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