A story that gives hope

— The child, the child will not have any child, you, girl, early menopause! All, the completion of the reproductive function. Scientific words — syndrome early ovarian failure. Don't tell anyone, it does not boast, it does not make you beautiful. Husband don't say — you'll get dumped, it happens, who needs defective?! Yes, statistically the average of fifty to fifty — two and thirty-two. All claims statistics. What are you staring at me? All. The reception is over. Next!





"Climax. I'm only thirty-two?" Inca was barely holding back tears, I say, would be the husband that where can I get it?! The completion function, it is started, this function then? We have to accept that "all children will not." Thank God! Snot not to wipe, not the whims of a tie to perform, shouting not to listen.

On the days there are the children-how were shouting in the yard, played so that the neighbor from the eleventh floor to the window and got obscenities screamed as much as they got, and mimicked the cries of: "Aaaaaaa!"

The Inca was walking down the street and cried, thought one after another was wound and turned into a snowball, which is cold at heart. "Climax. My husband is not. No children. Has 32 years, the couple married lovers, well I thought, though to be born. The years go by, ticking Prince to look for once".

Mascara smeared, spread black stains. Some grandmother handed her a napkin.

— Dry your eyes, don't cry! They are all bastards.

— Who? Doctors? asked the Inca.

— And doctors too — grandmother sat down next to Inka on the bench waiting for the bus.

I have a menopause — what admitted Inca grandmother.

— Me too, — calmly replied the grandmother, took out another napkin and handed it to Inca.

— Don't cry. On the radio, Japanese women are happy when they climax, — dance, sing songs, feast them, but not the end of the world. Said, a celebration of female freedom — what I want to do, nothing to fear, no failures, no crashes.

— It would have been one to fly and fly, — sobbed Inca

— I'm thirty-two. The doctor said everything no kids, no one said not to tell her husband not to speak, and I have no husband and never did. Words were said and tears were rolling at the same time.

Well, grandma said, — Rejoice. Got to be some brat, you ruined my youth, and in General, got drunk and have a child would be lost!

— How lost?!

— How would leave on the bus or forgot where!

— Well, say, too...

— What?! Anything can happen, but just now...

A bus arrived, not Inkin, but grandma, and she left.

Grandma, grandma. From the Incas, too, was a grandmother, lived in the village. Cousins, as my mother said. My mom's father was the brother of his wife. Grandma Mary.Inca has not been ridden for ten years. When we were kids Inka went to grandma Mary and grandpa Stepan each summer. Grandfather Stepan met Inca on the platform and was carried on the shoulders of two kilometers to the village. In the house of the grandfather Stepan came immediately to the bed and threw on the Inca a thick fluffy feather bed, like a magic cloud. Inca fell there, fell, and instantly forgot all her troubles.

Inkine mother and father lived raggedly, fought constantly, cursing. Inca lacked warmth and attention, a feather bed is immediately compensated, is embraced so tenderly that there was peace in my heart.

— Cozy, in Paradise, said Inca.

— How do you know in heaven? — laughing grandfather Stepan.

— Children know, stood up Granny Marusya — Here you will learn, graduate, marry an engineer...

Yeah! And fall with him in heaven, laughing grandfather Stepan.

Grandmother Mary and grandfather Stepan were believers. Their faith consisted of the following: for all the good you go to heaven, but for all the bad in hell. Good and bad they have identified themselves.

— Yes, it is, in hell at bedding quilts no — agreed with Inka's grandmother Maroussia, putting Inca to bed at night.

In hell nothing good no, girl — no food, no TV, no baths, are all there to cry and suffer...

The Inca was closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed grandma Mary with wings like an angel. In the dream, she was small and puny, famously put white clouds in the black iron bed and grandfather Stepan was still up Incubator on hands and tossed from cloud to cloud...

Three hundred eighteenth street Streltsov going? Inca woke up with the words "Yes, Yes" I managed to get on the bus, and behind it the man who liberated her from a dream of memories. "Resolved. Go to the village," thought the Inca, looking out the window. Floated past houses, trees, other buses, cars, people. "It's all there to cry and suffer" — the phrase grandmother Mary was spinning in my head.

"Don't wanna cry and suffer. Lie down on the featherbed and the whole climax will be". Inca invented itself a way of healing and smiled.

— I love it when people smile, a man, who had with her on the correct bus, looked at the Incubator and smiled, too.

— Girl, you have an amazing smile. Angelic. You remembered something, huh?

"Yes," replied the Inca stranger.

— And what, if not secret? — the man asked and moved to the vacant next to the Inka place.

I think I know where Paradise is.

— Where? Personally, I have a feeling that next to you I'm already there.

In Sinkino.
Towards Kirika? Posadnika, Novorzhev, Simkin, is that it? There?

Yes. I need to get in there.

— Three hundred and eighteenth there is not going unfortunately. We need you at the next exit and change to tram the seventeenth, and after one, two, three... six stops on the train.

******





— As called? Called say what?! — grandma Mary shouted into the phone, so that you can Wake up not only sleeping on the wall, but residents of neighboring houses.

— Good communication. I hear you, babyrus, don't shout so loud! Inca tried to calm grandmother Marusya.

— Call it, say, how? Makar?! Hear, hear! A loud voice, our breed! cried Granny Marusya.

— Well, my God, what a joy, and you filled in "menopause, menopause, no kids"! Magic feather, INOS?! Huh? And I mean that! The village, she is in her Paradise, there you have it, the city, climax! Come the New year all together! The three of us! Wait! published

Author: Olga Plisetskaya

P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©

Source: liwli.ru/children/perina-rasskaz-kotoryy-darit-nadezhdu/