Рождество на Кузнецком мосту. At Christmas on Kuznetsky bridge. Премия им. Н.В. Гоголя / N.V. Gogol award (Билингва: Rus/Eng). Александра Крючкова
href="#note7" type="note">7 thought Dr. Rip8, walking along the main road of his hospital. Yesterday’s blizzard snowed almost all the paths that his patients usually strolled. The snow crunched underfoot. Everything was fine, just a strange premonition of something bad haunted him.
Suddenly, someone caught up with Dr. Rip and clapped him on the shoulder.
«Happy Birthday!»
Dr. Rip turned around.
«Oh, Michael, thank you!» he said. «Let’s celebrate it at lunchtime!»
«Who are you going to invite?» Michael wondered.
«As usual: you, the Head of our Department, nurses, well, someone from morgue. At about half past…»
«Deal! We’ll be there with something delicious for „tea“!»
Dr. Rip came to the door to the surgical building, and deja vu flashed in front of his eyes – every morning, he used to sigh, imagining that he was opening the door to the next day of his life, which each time got only shortened. That day he didn’t want to open it at all, since he became a year older, damn it!
Having sketched out a brief plan and inviting colleagues to come to the staff room for «tea» at lunchtime, Dr. Rip went to make his rounds of the patients.
The old woman in the ward No. 3 was really bad.
«Should I discharge her?» he thought.
In ward No. 4, Dr. Rip’s heart suddenly ached. One of the beds was empty. He was about to ask the nurse where the patient had gone, as he remembered that yesterday she had been transferred to another department.
«Thank God!» thought Dr. Rip and probably would have crossed himself, if not for the nurse, standing next to him. He glanced at the empty bed again, trying in vain to remember why it was causing him a strange sensation, similar to deja vu.
«Is something wrong?» agitated the nurse, who was afraid of losing her lucrative job in his department.
«No, no, Irene. I’ve just lost in my thoughts.»
When everyone gathered for the «tea party», the Head of their Department got up to make the throne speech, as the door to the staff room opened suddenly, and a patient from the ward No. 3 appeared on the threshold.
«Excuse me, please… The old lady… She seems to be… dead…»
«Damn it! I didn’t manage to discharge her in time!» Dr. Rip muttered mentally, and again for some reason, he caught himself feeling a deja vu.
«If she died,» the Head of the Department instantly emptied her glass and commented dryly, «she can wait a little longer. Can’t you see we’re having a meeting?»
The patient from the ward No. 3 nodded obediently and closed the door behind her, as the phone rang. The guard at the entrance reported that a certain Miss Hope had come to Dr. Rip. The guard asked what to do with her, to let her in or not.
«Only she is still missing here!» Dr. Rip muttered to himself, being displeased.
Miss Hope was really his last hope to be loved indeed, which he hid from everyone, including his hospital team. The Head of the Department was a close friend of his wife, so Dr. Rip didn’t want to see Miss Hope at his work at all. Not then, not ever. Moreover, they had agreed, he would pick her up in the evening after the «tea party», if, of course, he would be in adequate condition to drive.
«Don’t let her in! She is my former patient. I’m coming down myself.»
Descending the stairs, Dr. Rip felt his heart ache harder, and in the doorway on the first floor, he suddenly stopped, colliding with a girl of about twelve, short in stature with disheveled, slightly curling dark hair and huge black eyes. Snowflakes glittered on her eyelashes.
«My Lord, it’s snowing again!» thought Dr. Rip, involuntarily shuddering, and for some reason said aloud the usual,
«Visiting hours are from five to seven…»
The girl continued to silently hypnotize Dr. Rip with her gaze, as if she had come to see him, not to visit some of his patients.
«Who are you looking for?» he asked almost in a whisper.
The girl kept silent. She looked poor, wearing an old sheepskin coat, clearly too small for her, a black long skirt, probably inherited from her older sister, and worn boots. Besides, she had neither mittens nor a hat for some reason.
It suddenly seemed to Dr. Rip that he had seen that girl before. A hazy deja vu had haunted him since morning.
«These eyes have already looked at me, the same eyelashes, eyebrows. Lord, where have I seen her before? Only the nose was not like that… Stop! Which nose did I mean? What happened to my memory?! Am I that old? Why is she silent? How did she get here?» he pondered.
«Dr. Rip!» the voice of the Head of the Department came from above. «The guard from the entrance called! Your Hope can’t wait anymore! She’s leaving! So come back!»
«Yes, okay, I’m coming,» still mesmerized by the vision, Dr. Rip responded.
The girl continued to stare at him intently, and… suddenly he remembered! Horror reflected in his eyes. The girl nodded her head and instantly… disappeared!
The Head of the Department went down the stairs to the jubilee, who was holding his hand over his heart.
«Are you okay?» she asked in surprise.
«It was her mother’s empty bed… Exactly one year ago…»
«What bed? Whose mother? You’re a little drunk, my friend, it’ll pass!»
«I was drunk exactly a year ago and stabbed her mother to death during the surgery! How could I forget it?!»
«Dr. Rip, what the hell are you talking about yourself! Do you drink at work?!» the Head of the Department laughed and, taking him by the arm, led him to the staff room to continue the tea party.
4. Бабушка
«Наконец-то!» – воскликнула бы бабушка, которая жила и умерла в Париже, – я прилетела в Шарль-де-Голль в воскресенье в полдень, чтобы насладиться Парижем и… да, так тоже бывает! – умереть в нём. Это решение я вынашивала уже давно, холила и лелеяла, как мать ребёнка, поскольку чувствовала себя совершенно никому не нужной, включая объект моей любви. Умереть в Париже, городе Любви, из-за её ненахождения – чем не сюжет для романа? К тому же моя бабушка мечтала, чтобы однажды я побывала в её любимом городе, и мне хотелось исполнить бабушкину мечту, пусть даже для неё и посмертно…
Погода стояла
R.I.P. – rest in peace, it was usually written on the grave stones.