Her friends called her Ёzhkoy the first letters of the initials. She did not take offense, if only because that course no one guy did not remain indifferent to it: kto-to long watched her go, and with a sigh, clicked his tongue, kto-to hated - in spite of the leadership and what is called the male charm it's cool when all otshivala. For them, it became Yaga, whose language they feared and therefore called it so only behind.
Her eyes, brown by nature, much in the style of a let down - la Cleopatra, along with her hair that curls snaked over her shoulders and back, catches the eye of both men and women. Tall and lithe, she could wear the most incredible hoodie, and it became fashionable among the students of the Faculty of Architecture, and not only. But what came to her, looked grotesque on the other. Only she did not notice it. She lived in that write or draw at the moment. Passing easels, she did not seem to see people portray, but if the work is to motivate her, she stopped and started, looking at the face of his interlocutor, ask questions, talk, whatever she added or removed from the figure. And then a few strokes of the brush or pencil enliven the work so that the author is no longer touched her, for fear of spoiling. If it is an interesting interlocutor, it was to him. Her little worried about it will say, and talked a lot.
Yes, and how not to say overstayer for dispute or for drawing, she stayed overnight, without regret or hesitation giving themselves to the lucky, who drew her creative idea or inspiration. It is said that she was sleeping with the girls, but unlike boys, they do not advertise this fact. Only part of her compositions training students and students recognized themselves naked, and marveled at how she could remember particular pieces without making sketches, seeing and praising frail body chosen for one night.
Teachers turn a blind eye all, because it was sent to her work at various exhibitions and represented the creative potential of the university. Its most successfully portrayed just one of the guys, when she enthusiastically wrote to sunset during the plein air. In a bathing suit, leans wrist because his fingers were smeared with paint, hair that stubbornly strove to get on the palette. For these sketches lined up wanting to buy his students. She did not know.
Eugene, so called her mother once, rented an apartment. Pensioner - not the ancient old woman put up with cranky lodger because his father paid accommodation. Perhaps he considered himself guilty for the fact that he married a year after Zhenya's mother's death. He wanted a woman in the house, able to get along with a strange child, do not play with dolls, long silent or considering thing sky snag. But neither he nor her stepmother and could not find her approach. The best thing is that they came up with - leave the girl alone. She ate with the same blank look and delicacy, and cold potatoes. He taught only those subjects that interested her.
In high school, I came to them drawing teacher and strongly asked to write the girl in art school. Father was happy that at least someone found his daughter's explanation of strange behavior. She began to visit the art room and went to his father blessed peace. Zhenya not crazy, sometimes whispering neighbors, and unusually gifted girl.
Knowing that her daughter would not cook or clean up in an apartment he rented a room and arranged for a woman twice daily should feed her. The only thing they have not started talking, it's about whether it can lead to their guests. But as it turns out later, Jack was not going to invite them, she disappeared herself.
I met (it loudly) with her in the open air after the third year, when the graphic arts and architecture departments, it was decided to send to the practice in the same place. We settled not far from the local churches, which stood on the high bank of the river. Campground broke below where the spring hit.
Living conditions, particularly for urban, heavy: no shower, no toilet, mosquitoes do not give sleep if not tightly zashnuruesh tent. After three days in the girls hairstyle lost original form, and on the skin of all students were red itchy spots from mosquito bites. Only Eugene looked the same as in the university. Moreover from it smelled of herbs and white pepper, is not going to any comparison with deodorants.
The girls finger in her mouth no luggage, give gossip, and even if they look worse than gossip about that, here just listen. And because Jack never listened to gossip, it carried all sorts of tales that it is a gypsy (it was similar to the truth, she name was - Pearl), it has a hypnotic, although there were those who considered her a witch, because all the guys bewitch .
One day I woke up early and went down to the river and saw a naked Eugene washes hair goose soap. I understand why the boys dream about it: in narrow bone, it was figurine, lovingly fashioned creator. In thin waist Zhenya, his chest was round and resembled a ripe pomegranate, and on the thighs of excess fat droplets. Then, to be honest, at first I thought she was really involved in witchcraft, only hrustnuvshaya under foot branch and my look of surprise, made her turn around and explain that she is at training camp in the open air and forgot shampoo and soap, and washcloth. Now here improvised means costs.
I offered her a shampoo, which she will use both his own, and then completely lose, so that by the end of the third week, I myself had to run around the girls. But the grass, where she rubbed, I liked it now, I probably will not be able to find. She soaked in water, silky wool and seems mylilas, but at the same time still leaves a pleasant smell on the body.
Maybe for the shampoo because I attributed to a cohort of gifted painters impossible, Eugene offered to write my portrait. I really wanted to have a portrait of her work, but the provincial Education and the rumors about how she prepares nature, made reference to the fact that my boyfriend does not give quietly to pose. Zhenya looked me over as if not understanding what I'm saying, and went in himself. That is to say, that she was talking to me, and then began to look past me. I even wanted to touch herself, have I really was. But all this stuff.
The church, near which we camped, seemed deserted. Facades her once white crumbled, fence, barrier posed by animals, he squinted. But rubbed the grass path, pointing to the fact that here and go even a priest. It turned out it after Eugene, habitually dressed in a swimsuit spread out easel and began to paint landscapes with churches. That's when it all started. Approached her man in a cassock and, trying not to look at her nakedness, she said that we should be in a form befitting in the temple. Perhaps he would add something moralizing, but seeing the study, told her to wear, but not men's pants, a skirt and a scarf to cover his head, then he will not mind it works on a drawing.
Only Zhenya, forgetting all, looking at the face of the priest. He was extremely handsome - this time all the girls two departments were in agreement with it: either by nature is, whether tanned from working outdoors - his face was swarthy and pale at the same time. Big blue eyes, sunken and therefore particularly expressive, fine gravelly nose - like faces with icons, and the mouth, may be because we have not seen the saints speaking, it was sensual. Even when he purses his lips, they looked rather capricious, but not austere.
Zhenya obeyed, and the next day dressed as a priest ordered. You should have seen it, we - envious when she went out with a painter's case out of the tent, silent: a skirt, like a gypsy, dragging on the ground, a white T-shirt, shading net tanned skin, and hair, twisting on top in a knot, she tied a handkerchief, who it is the only way taught, in fact, did not wear headscarves srodu. Martyr - neither give nor take, maybe it it was. Only Eugene, seeing our views, marched barefoot to the church. We were bursting with curiosity, and a little later, we went after.
It was not us then no holiness, and God was. Climb up and clinging to the roots of trees that stuck out of the steep bank, with Val architecture, large and full girl fell and slid down. We had to move out with Tanya on clay path to her. But she waved, come, they say, and then miss all the fun. We almost ran raced away for a bygone classmate.
But the beginning of the meeting missed, because the priest, and Eugene, talk a little bit at the entrance to the church, went inside. And we still ran, looking for a window, from which they will be seen. But, not finding anything better, we entered a church chapel and began to look through the open door.
Strangely quiet and peaceful it was inside.
The twilight of the church near the altar warm yellow glow of candles, covering the faces of the saints on the icons, and the priest, and Eugene were the right column of sunlight falling from the top of the window.
Dust swirled and sparkled in it, creating an aura of the sacraments.
The smell of incense reminded me of the dead and on the back ran a chill. But there was no time to be distracted because it miss the beginning of the conversation, we did not immediately realize what was going on.
- And how to turn to the priests? - Eugene apparently was also the first time in the church .
- You can call me - my father or father Proclus .
- Well, Proclus father, and what is said in confession ?
- In Confession people say that tortured their souls, haunted, of sins.
- Father, - Eugene hearing this appeal to a man who was a little older than her, we Tanya almost burst out laughing, but just shut their mouths .
- Father, - she said - I love to draw. I draw everything: things, houses, trees, people. And everything has a soul. Here, for example, yesterday I touched up birch, well, that old that trails in the church is growing, and she gnarled branches reached out to me and complains that they creak her, hurt her - to rain right. Or your church, I stroked her ospinki chipped lime, and she says to me: "Draw, draw me sick. I only healthier and younger than you will in a couple of decades. " So I paint - Eugene hesitated. Then he continued:
- It is more difficult with people, they empty their hectic. Want your portrait: they enter parade, hair do, and the figure is only vanity, it turns out - we Tanya looked at each other - so, therefore, we have
Father accustomed to confessions of old parishioners who repented in malice to close in petty theft, drunkenness or fornication, listening to a young girl with interest.
- Sometimes - continued Zhenya - people break out inside of pity for someone, love and inspiration, and then the soul from them, at a glance. At this point, I want to love them. No, so that not - yours. I have to touch the tips of the fingers and up the face and to the body. You know, sir, at this very moment, you know, about what I say - she looked at the priest, and he closed his eyes, covering his bright eyes - that at this moment once it becomes clear who is stingy with love, and who gives itself without reserve.
Why am I talking this has got to confession and agreed to - a portrait of your wish to write, shower you with blood coming under external tranquility
Father Proclus was still trying to discern what lies behind these words - the usual fornication that the girl wants to cover up the beautiful reflections or ... only he did not have time to think out how Eugene closed his eyes and found the touch his face with his hands and his fingertips began to trace his path: his eyebrows, nose, cheekbones. But when, butterfly wings ran her fingers over his lips, he felt a rush of hot, pushed her, so much so that she, being in a trance, in surprise fall:
- Get out, get out of the church, the whore .
We are the voice of Tanya, show us the thunder, rushed, there is the spirit.
Good thing we were only two, whether the third, we would definitely disheveled about what they saw. But when he reached the grove, we breath, we felt ashamed, as if we secretly looked into the surgeon's office, where the patient, removing the bandages, he showed his wound, and, in a hidden away from prying eyes, a place. We even agreed that we will not talk, just when Valya began to ask us, Tatiana said nothing either to see or could not hear - windows high off the ground, and I nod in agreement
By the evening of a sudden it began to rain, which only confirmed our intention to remain silent.
Moreover, we are now trying to protect against unreasonable accusations Zhenya other girls, though, it was by and large do not care about our intercession.
That evening she came late, she ate something during the day or not, is unknown.
Only every morning, changing T-shirt, but wearing all the same skirt and shawl, she took the easel and left. She was seen in the territory of the church, but without the easel.
And five days later grove of smoke rose behind the temple. We would not have noticed, but the priest, funny tangled in the floor of his cassock, ran to the other side with a bucket of water. Guys who know about our admiration for them, looking for an excuse to discredit the mysterious opponent, and then he put himself, than they did not fail to take advantage of and laughed at him. Only when he came back, scooping up water from the barrel, ran again, we realized that something was wrong and everything as the alarm ran into the woods. There, in the hollow of crude were almost burned portraits of priests, oil. One of the least burned, was thrown to the side. All stared at him. According to the majority, the portrait was great and there was no doubt, whose handiwork is clearly Zhenya's. Only it was not there.
The boys wanted to take a charred canvas, but my father said quietly and imperiously:
- Do not touch .
Feeling foolish children laughing on fire, we stood a little and left. Zhenya, Tanya that we wanted to save from starvation, so put it in the tent iron bowl of porridge or noodles with stewed meat and tea, come late, ducked under the canopy and not come out until the morning.
In the morning, she was again stripped naked and bathed in a cold stream, and then left. Ate it or not, we have not seen, maybe he threw - a bowl and a mug standing outside next to the tent. We wanted to ask the help of teachers, but hiding in the bushes with Tanya, the toilet was only behind the church, suddenly heard the plaintive whining abandoned puppy. Wade through dense bush, we were in a small clearing in the center of which stood Zhenya's sketchbook, and she huddled into a ball and teeth biting his finger, crying. This weeping struck us, we never saw her tears, but even more impressed watercolor sketches father. If put them together, and there were about a dozen and scroll as a cartoon, then the angel, humbly accepting his fate, he turned into a demon, whose eyes were full of earthly passions and impotence at the same time. We are fascinated looked from one drawing to another, and then at Eugene. And, although we stood still, she felt our presence. Expecting some daring on her part, we were ready to retire, but she suddenly sat up and began to speak:
- I love it, love. The first time I realized that, it means to love one single person. Only there, in the sky, ordered differently.
- He that is married? - Tanya wanted to understand how he could abandon such beauty .
- If? - Eugene evil looked at the sky - he is a widower. Five years ago, even before ordination, he married, he was twenty-three year.
Three years ago, his wife died in childbirth. And, you know what? He no longer has the right to marry. Imagine a handsome young man, he would have to give birth to children like himself, and he has no right to it.
- What's so right and you can not? - Tanya said sympathetically .
- Sometimes, but rarely, the church gives permission: at the priest could have only one wife, and only one marriage .
- And if it is good to ask, may be allowed, - not appeased Tanya .
- Even if the church went to meet them, then to me he just could not find: priests marry only a virgin - she got up and began to collect watercolors, clearly intending to sever their .
- Do not, do not tear, please - Tatiana pleading folded her hands, give me, they are such wonderful .
- Take it, just not here of his soul, one mind here .
- And he can withdraw from the priests? - I asked a question that suggests itself .
- I begged him on his knees on this, but it is, after all, believed in God for real, and even his portrait will remain in my .
- So do not throw out those, - Tatiana reached was collected by her watercolors .
- There's his soul - her eyes took the usual blank expression, but she broke off - only portrait I will. Она перестала нас видеть и мы, потоптавшись еще какое-то время, ушли.
Женькина палатка стояла последней в ряду, а наша перед ней. Вечером, когда все угомонились, а ее все не было, я решила поискать ее на той поляне, вдруг ей стало плохо – ведь, она практически не ест.
Я увидела их раньше, они выходили из воды. Даже, сейчас, а, может быть, особенно сейчас, когда я сама ближе к Богу, я не буду утверждать, что это был священник. Рясы на нем не было, на нем ничего вообще не было, а двенадцатый час ночи в июле четко обрисовывал мужской и женский силуэты и только. Может быть, это был кто-то из деревенских. Но кто бы там, ни был, увиденное на берегу заворожило меня.
Если бы я была режиссером, то сняла бы обязательно эту красивую сцену, когда мужчина и женщина поклоняются любви: девушка — статуэтка стояла, подняв руки к небу, а мужчина, начиная с пальчиков ног, покрывал поцелуями ее тело. Я отвернулась, здесь, как и в церкви творилась тайна исповеди. Стараясь ступать тихо, я прошла по берегу, забралась в палатку и легла. Потом долго прислушивалась, но так и не услышала, когда приходила Женька.
Утром мы с Татьяной обнаружили сырой масляный портрет отца Прокла и записку. На портрете глаза батюшки сияли светом первозданной бесконечной любви, если бы мы не видели самого священника, то могли бы подумать, что это икона. Он буквально гипнотизировал нас, и мы не сразу прочитали записку, которая огорошила еще больше.
Женька велела передать портрет отцу Проклу, а еще она просила не искать ее. Мы передали записку преподавателям, а затем отнесли холст в церковь, дверь, как и в прошлый раз, была открыта. Батюшки видно не было, Татьяна, неловко перекрестившись, поставила подрамник рядом с иконами.
Больше мы Женьку не видели. Кто-то говорил, что она ушла в монастырь, и пишет иконы. И, в самом деле, в одном из монастырей в этом крае был бум на писаные монастырские иконы. Но я склонна верить преподавателям, которые в начале следующего семестра сказали, что Женька перевелась в Академию Художеств, потому, что в холле университета долгое время висели ее архитектурные проекты, и нам, ее однокурсникам, они казались гениальнее творений Корбюзье. На встрече выпускников через двадцать лет мы увидели другие работы. Новые времена – новые кумиры. Только Женька на встречу не пришла.