Чернобыль. Страницы жизни и любви
- Автор: Карпович Наталья Николаевна
- Год: 2020
- Язык: русский
- Год: SelfPub.ru
- Жанр: Короткие романтические романы
Электронная книга - «Чернобыль. Страницы жизни и любви». Краткое содержание книги:
The nurse opened the morgue and parked the trolley by the door. I held his hand while they bound them up. They gave me a few minutes to say goodbye to him. I kissed him, as if I were crazy, and said something to him, words which, it seemed to me, I hadn’t managed to tell him before now.
I just managed to walk out of there. I walked away from the morgue and sat down. I don’t remember very well, but the nurses lifted me, I was either howling or crying. They took me to the hospital. I went into his ward, lay on his bed. I wanted to catch a bit of his last smell. The warmth that remained. I didn’t know what to do, I had just died along with him. The only thing that remained of me was my flesh, but there was no me, just as there was no him.
I left the ward, and they said something to me. They told me how he had died. I listened. He died in his friend’s arms. He was waiting for me, looking at the clock all the time and saying: “Natasha will come at five.” I got back at ten past four, but it was too late. He had died at twenty to four. His friend had helped him get to the toilet. They had come back. Sergei had sat on the bed and his heart had stopped. The heart of this amazing person – an incomparable father, a beloved one, a darling one, the most precious person to me, just stopped. His soul achieved peace, the tormenting pain had gone. You are at peace, my joy. But this peace had killed me, torn me apart. I didn’t know how to survive it, or what had to happen so that I could breathe a little.
I was standing by the window in the corridor, and a doctor was standing nearby. I was looking at the snow, which was falling on the earth. Against the background of the yellow light from the streetlamp, the snow was somewhat heavy, rough and unpleasant. It was falling, and I was watching without a word. Silence.
“You know, it will be easier for me to live from now on, I had one guardian angel, and now there will be Sergei there with me. I will be very happy: now he will be near me and with me all the time.”
He left with such peace in his soul. There was something amazing in it. I also left the hospital very calm, I sat in the car.
I could not leave the car here; for some reason I could not. Something made me act this way. There was a good deal of snow and the car was weaving in the road. But while I was driving, the car didn’t spin out of control. I was crying as I drove. I had no idea how to go on living. All the most important things were in him. I had lived with him for his sake. I love him. The house is him, the children are him. He is in everything, the meaning of life. His illness was the only thing that had occupied me in the recent past.
And now I had seen him off. I had closed his eyes, but he had opened them again. He had probably wanted to look at me for the last time. Look, my darling, look at me, I so need your look and your love. My soul is tearing apart.
I got home in a bad way. There were people at home. I took the photograph, which Sergei himself chose to put in a frame, his watch, pressed them to my breast, lay on the bed and cried. Then I fell asleep, and slept a few hours. I don’t remember this evening well. There was dull pain, which twisted me up, tears constantly rolling, no desires whatever, nothing. Only the wild pain.
These guys, our friends, wonderful, amazing, real people – took on all the responsibility for the burial, solved all the problems themselves. They helped me, were beside me, they did everything: their moral and material help was sincere and human. Their grief was as heavy and great and their eyes overflowed with grief and pain. I love you all, my darlings, for your love and devotion to your friend, my beloved man. I did something and spoke but it was all mechanical. If our friends had not been there, I probably could not have done even this.
Sergei’s mother and relatives came on Tuesday, the day after, December 8. It was a difficult meeting. His aunt with her daughter got out of the train first. Sergei’s mother, father and sister were in a different carriage. Only his aunt knew that he had died the day before.
I saw his mother’s eyes. She was looking at me.
“How is Sergei?”
I was ready to fall down. I couldn’t lie, but how could I tell the truth, knowing this pain, how could I?
But there was no choice, it would be very painful for her. I have to say, “Mother dear, sorry, sorry for the pain that I bring you.” My mouth opened:
“Mother, Sergei died yesterday,” I said. Listening to my voice, I, too, wanted to die. There was another tear filled wave of tears.
Mother, I’m sorry, don’t cry. Her scream cut my heart like a razor. A mother’s pain is a terrible pain. We cried.
Our friends agreed to bury Sergei in a very good cemetery. I went with them and chose the place. They wanted me to do it. I chose a very beautiful, light place. There was a central path and a church nearby. The funeral was arranged for December 10. The cemetery was very close to our home – only 15 minutes by car. It is so good that we are close to him.
It was a frosty day. I got to the morgue, people were standing around the coffin; I could hardly see them as I was looking at him. He lay there so beautiful and calm and seemed that he was about to open his eyes, get up and say something. I went up to him and fell on my knees and kissed him. I talked to him, my tears flowing. In my head, everything spun and I couldn’t pull myself together. I was going mad because I was seeing him for the last time. I could touch him for the last time. No, no, everything was rioting in me, everything was bubbling. I didn’t know what to do, I just stayed and looked at him, I did not want believe all that. It seemed to me that it could not be true, it was some kind of nightmare. A bus came, people started walking into the morgue. I got up, met Sergei’s mother. I took her to the coffin. They said goodbye. Her pain made me even more insane. I wanted to do something, to help her somehow, but I couldn’t, I was experiencing such a wild pain myself. I didn’t have enough strength myself. I don’t remember what happened then very well. Everyone left and I stayed with him.
I was kneeling beside the coffin, kissed him, talked to him and prayed to God to bring him back. I could not just lose him like that. “I love you so much darling, don’t go away. I’m helpless without you.” My temples throbbed. I heard the hearse come, they had come to take the coffin. I don’t remember how I got out of there. Our friends said that I came out howling. I howled like an animal, fell, thrashing against the ground. They say that it was a terrible sight. I was not myself. Everyone was crying. Sergei was a wonderful friend, a wonderful man and a wonderful soul. A lot of friends came to see him, everyone came to say goodbye.
I didn’t order a wreath for Sergei, I brought him a basket of roses as I always had. Thirty‑four bright red and beautiful roses for the most amazing and darling man. Everything went on as if in a dream. Why, why? He was so young, so beautiful, so good and clever, that man lived so little, he left his life just as it was blossoming. How could it possibly happen, when he had a son and a daughter and me? We loved him madly, we were in such need of him. My God, why?
These questions whirled round, I asked them and did not get answers. They read the service for Sergei in the church in Volkovsky cemetery – it a small, comfortable chapel. We carried Sergei to the graves in a funeral carriage. His mother and I went beside each other. It was his last journey.
The priest blessed the ground. I opened the requiem. I thanked him for the happiness that he had given me. I thanked his mother for such a son. I thanked him for the son, which we have, for his love, for these two years of a woman’s happiness, for those friends, who were with me, and for showing me how to live honorably. He had conscientiously paid his dues. He had defended us all, there in Chernobyl. Everyone started to say goodbye, the people came up to the coffin. I looked at those beautiful people, who on that day had also lost a part of their soul. I looked them in the eyes. I understood how dear he was to them, because my Sergei was the best. I was happy that I was his wife. Such good, wonderful people came to see him off. My Sergei was loved.