Читать книгу The diary of the Tambov Wolf онлайн

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November 1st. Sunday frosty morning. Frost-covered grass. Quiet sound of tires, muffled engine. This time, no one met me on the porch, as in the old days. Perhaps it was due to the onset of cold weather, or old age crept up on the mother, and she could no longer stand at the porch on duty. – I have arrived! I heard from the doorway. – We thought you had forgotten about us. I have not actually come to this village since summer time.

– Mom. I got a part-time job.

– Did you abandon the forest? The father asked with bitterness in his voice.

– Of course not. I just started walking a lot less often.

– You do not think about anything but the forest. Mom blurted out.

– And you are talking about work. Father barked. I knew how to defuse a tense situation.

– I am hungry. I said loudly. The altercation is over. The father went outside. The mother ran into the kitchen. A house in the village, away from the hustle and bustle. What could be better? Especially if your parents live in this house, to whom you can always come. A delicious and hearty lunch prepared by the mother’s hands. A heated house before the heat. A simple atmosphere is exactly what takes the soul and warms with its simple and cozy warmth. A house in the village is a kind place where, it would seem, you can die of boredom when you were born and grew up in the village, but at the same time, you do not want to go back to the city, into the vanity of vanities. Every time you come to your parents and go back, during this period, a period is measured that is waning. It is as a whole epoch is measured, before arrival, and after departure. With each visit, I become more mature or even older. Anyway, I have always loved coming here.