SYMBOL OF ETERNITY. V. Speys

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      ISBN 978-5-0053-4181-5

      Created with Ridero smart publishing system

      PART – 1. LIFE OF A ALONE BOY

      «– Tell me who hurt you? I will give reward ruble!»

      Chapter First

      Shpitki. The name of the village, located on the twenty- eighth kilometer of the Brest- Litovsk highway from Kiev to the West.

      At the twenty- eighth kilometer of the highway, the road turns to the left and, on the stone- paved roadway, rushing towards the village. Until the seventeenth year in Shpitki manor was famous Tereshchenko sugar manufacturer.

      A rich landowner laid out a beautiful manor park, dug a cascade of ponds. He built a church, a replica of the Kiev Vladimir Cathedral.

      Inside, the church was painted with images of saints. Above the painting of the students worked Vasnetsov. After the revolution, before the events described in the book, the church has been preserved, and even service was conducted.

      In the fifties, the only brick house was my mother’s house Zimoglyad Olga Andreevna that it is built on a bank loan. In fact, the post- war time, not everyone was given a bank loan. Since Olga Andreevna was elected deputy of the Supreme Rada of Ukraine of the 4th convocation, she was given a bank loan in the amount of 10 000 rubles for construction. The building materials were no problems, as the deputy of the Supreme Council was supposed to ensure first of all with the guarantee of payment. And the house was built.

      Inside the house it was lovely in the summer. Cool refreshing when the heat was on the outside. And it was cold and damp in winter. Stoves ever smoked, and was a pungent smell of briquette (a mixture of coal dust with a resin).

      At home, my grandmother, a wrinkled old woman with a trembling chin in a long skirt and apron, stood by the stove and heat prevented. Her name was Eugenia Lavrentevna, Zimoglyad married name and her maiden name was Sribnaya. My grandmother was from Pereyaslav- Khmelnytskyi, and long winter evenings are often thought of his home and siblings, unfortunately I can not remember his name, I only know that he lived his whole life in Pereyaslav- Khmelnytskyi. That he was a fanatical supporter of the pigeons. In a private house in his attic he was equipped with a dovecote, where reigned strict order and cleanliness.

      The house smelled of Olga Andreevna soup and a delicious aroma of stew. The village lived in abundance, as do all grown – and vegetables, and meat.

      I always hovering near the grandmother inadvertently interfering with a pitchfork to cast furnace. To which my grandmother was angry and grumbled:

      – You would be better drowned in the toilet, and would not have suffered! – She said, looking at me. I never took offense at my grandmother’s, and now just do not pay attention to her words.

      I just asked:

      – Grandma, and what is for dinner tonight?

      – What is it, you see! – Said the grandmother with displeasure – You just have to eat!

      – I’ll eat only meat, – I answered, – Eat fat itself.

      – You is a pest, a nasty little soul, a crust of bread will be pleased.

      I felt the pain. I puffed out his cheeks and did not ask any questions grandmother. In my hands was a penknife, which I carried in his pocket corduroy dark brown shorts to the knees. He began tinkering screw. I like it when the wind turned my product, and it seemed that I was in the airplane flying over the vast fields of the village, above the trees, and snow- covered park.

      Evening. Twilight of the window. Grandma lit the lamp by pressing the switch. In the hallway, he heard footsteps, and the door opened.

      On the threshold in a green scarf and a sweater were bright and very thin, my mother’s features. Her bright eyes ran across the room, found a chair. She was tired, sat down, and began to take off boots.

      – It’s cold outside. Frost. – She said, without looking at me. – Valik eating, or not?! – She asked his grandmother.

      – Let him speak. – Disaffectedly grandmother said, taking the pot from the stove.

      I started telling that gave lunch grandmother, and mother commented:

      – And the milk, why do not you drink it?

      – I do not drum, to burst?

      At the same time, on the table next to the window were a steaming bowl of soup and two slices of pork with a delicious aroma.

      Mother interrupted clove of garlic and dipping it in salt, he began to eat.

      I watched the food the mother, wincing in dissatisfaction. Represented as stuffy and disgusting to be saturated with the smell bedroom. And how hard it will be a headache and chest from the stench of garlic in an unventilated room, where he slept in the same room with her mother. It so happened that my mother ate once a day, and it was night.

      In the morning she was in a hurry to work before dawn and returned when it was already quite dark.

      The farm, where she worked, she was known, loved and respected for its hard work, selflessness and simplicity. Workmates with her was difficult and easy at the same time. Her nervous temperament and character forced to reckon with it. But truth and justice with which she spoke out loud and all in all, evoked the sympathy of all the workers and the latent hatred of the leadership. She feared. We try not to admit to the top of the managerial staff and endured, mindful of the links which has kept since the days of work in government with himself Nikita Khrushchev.

      Khrushchev in his time served as secretary of the Communist Party of Ukraine, and now he is the head of the Soviet Union. Many villagers remembered as drinking cups of brew at home housewarming Zimoglyad Olga Andreevna KGB colonel, now Attorney General of the USSR Roman Rudenko. And what only frontline fearlessly telling jokes about Stalin, Zhukov, Lenin and Krupskaya. Even Khrushchev thaw, tell one of them a mere mortal, not pat on the head.

      Once there, my mother Olga Andreevna. lonely she has. Been married four sisters. And my cousins and sisters of different ages. None of them did not like me. Everyone thought I bastard, since I was born, though in a legal marriage, but from the dissolute drunkard Alberta.

      Friendship with peers did not work. The village together envious of my mother, and silently despised for without fathers. Good food is well- fed, extreme living conditions in an isolated «cocoon» quenched. I like the wolf, has learned to snap, hit back…

      Chapter Two

      The air was filled with the spicy scent of the flowers. Gentle breeze in July, almost touching, stirred the tops of tall and lush grass, turning over the leaves and stems from this, it seems that grass whispering among themselves about the fabulous, intimate secrets hidden in their impenetrable thickets.

      That would get there in the foliage of the jungle to become at least for a moment such as a hard worker ant, help him drag a huge three ant mote growth. Then climb up the slippery, shiny, and lacquered like a pole, to the luxurious flower stalk of clover and drink, like a bee, nectar.

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