Grandmothers were once women too. Grandmother

If you have been married for twenty years, you can’t let your husband go free swimming - he will die. I corrected his face a couple of times, of course, and said "you once and I once." My cycle may soon stop, but I still don’t know anything about forbidden pleasures. My husband, a respected person, a party member, also did not want to get a divorce. Well, he says, my soul, not soap will not wash off. I bless you for a one-time adultery. And if you bring me a bad French disease in my hem, I'll poison it with my own hands, I'm telling you as a pediatrician. And laughing, joking means.

Well, after that incident, my little eyes opened like a window into Europe. I began to notice, what is being done on the sides.And noticed. PDuring the week, Ninel brings a man in gabardine to our dressing room, and shakes his head so impatiently: leave your friend for a while, we’ll check the quality of the fabric here. “Yes, right now,” I answer casually. “There is nothing to roll rolls here, go to your office, check the furniture for strength.” And I stand, I cut myself further, but I glance at the gabardine, like that cute “tilting her head sideways low.” And I myself think, “Idiot piece, what did you find in this Ninelka. Look, my lips are one hundred percent sugarier, my bra is lacy and borscht with donuts. And Ninelka stared at him, apparently inspiring too.

The man was almost torn in two by such hypnosis, but he made the only right choice. Poor fellow. Ninelka called him insultingly and told him to go to a well-known address.
Sensitive to female rudeness, the man grimaced, introduced himself as Volodenka and began to drag me around. Ninel, of course, dropped an iron at me a couple of times, not counting minor dirty tricks. Yes, and I also found myself not in a leper colony under the sink. She yelled in falsetto, with the scissors near Ninela's muzzle she clicked deathly, and our African passions subsided.

Volodenka showed me the Kama Sutra for half a year. I was about to leave him, not that I was disgusted, but tired like a dog. I don’t know about others, but this adultery has become an unbearable burden for me. Work, children, husband - a merry fellow “Yeah, are you late? Is the order urgent? Don't take care of yourself." Also me, what kind of Torquemada turned up.

Volodenka, meanwhile, went completely mad. Called thirty times a day. “I woke up, I ate, I worked…” And all this with assurances of utter passion. I pooped, ugh. Yes, and Volodenka earned not that decently. For two families. Well, I told him. The time has come to part, I will never forget you, well, you yourself know everything. And Volodenka suddenly fell to his knees - whammy and wailed, “I have been reading stupid books about perversions for a year, the Tao of love is called, I dragged you a wagon of flowers and got used to borscht like my mother's sis. I even divide the harvest from the dacha into three now: to the family, to my mother and to you. If you suddenly leave me, then I will hire GDR-made toilet bowl cleaners and lie down on the tram tracks all in tears and with a note of vile content. Well, something like that.

A woman's heart is soft like wheat porridge, that's what. Moreover, Volodenka turned out to be very capable in terms of studying the aforementioned Tao. Well, this bagpipe dragged on.

And Volodenka got burned as it should be - on nonsense. Wife, don't be a fool, she felt something. Of course, you will feel here when a third of the harvest floats to the left for the second year. Raspberries will not give birth, the bark beetle eats potatoes, lettuce tomatoes were not born at all this year, sorry dear, I didn’t notice. Volodenka keeps running around the atelier. So my wife decided to see everything with her own eyes. These demonic Internets of yours have not yet been invented, there was only one opportunity to find out everything - to hide in a closet during the division of the crop.

Volodenka once arrived from the dacha, there was no one, only for some reason a hot pot with pickle gurgles on the stove. Yes, and let's put everything into three piles: this is for me, this is for my mother, and this is in the atelier. "What is an atelier? - Volodenkin's wife choked on an artificial fur coat in the closet. Quietly sat out until her husband's departure, and then let's look at his notebook with passion. The book was thoroughly suspicious: only Ivan Petrovich and Vasily Alekseevich. Only one woman was found, with the letter a “Atelier Luda”. My wife, of course, had her breath in her goiter. And she decided to ruin my life completely, like the Socialist-Revolutionaries to the sans-culottes. I called and invited my husband on a date.

The merry husband agreed with the hunt, with entertainment in our time somehow was not very good. He came to the botanical garden in a gray suit with a large newspaper - a sign for recognition. And there is a wife, nervously running around the fountain. In general, she offered to poison Volodenka and me. She offered, leaned back on the bench and looked at mine. And my doctor, they have a very specific sense of humor.
- Well, - says mine, - I agree to everything. Only first you are your own, otherwise I don’t really trust strange strangers’ wives.

So, what is next? I ask. We are sitting with one familiar grandmother for a leisurely conversation, waiting for children-grandchildren from English courses. - Have you given a laxative?
- Laxative, - grandmother draws contemptuously. - I gave it to Brom. A horse dose, to be sure.

Grandma carefully folded the X-Files newspaper. By that time I was lying between the chairs and only grunted with delight.
- No, - the grandmother adds strictly, remembering something, - we didn't have sex. Passions were, and these mucks were not. So know!

STORIES ABOUT MYGRANDMA. MY GRANDMOTHER. My grandmother always said that the whole truth of life is concentrated in small children. And I think that old people, like small children, are truthful in their old age. My grandmother was born in a small town in Belarus, in a large and poor family. From hunger and cold, almost all members of the once larger family died out. Grandmother endured a lot of grief and hardship in her lifetime. Her childhood and youth passed in a period of turbulent upheavals - revolutions, wars, famine and devastation. She married early, gave birth to three children, was beaten by her husband many times with everything that came to his hand! Bullying and beatings ended only after he left his family and disappeared forever ... My grandmother had many trials, but she always, like a flexible tree after a storm, found the strength to straighten up and carry her burden further through life. First she raised her children, and then us - her grandchildren! She was lucky to see and love her great-grandchildren with all her heart. It would seem that the hardships and storms of life should have spoiled the grandmother's character, turning her into an unfriendly and bitter person. But my grandmother, although a poorly educated woman, had a tenacious worldly mind and a kind, sympathetic heart. There was no malice or jealousy in her at all. She lived a long and meaningful life, although she rarely left her city. Grandmother had a restless character. She loved to sing, adored cinema, knew how to listen to other people, interestingly told all kinds of fairy tales and fables. My grandmother was a wise person. Often our neighbors came to her with their troubles and problems. And she, not possessing special knowledge, tried to help them in every way she could. Her advice was accepted and highly appreciated by our acquaintances. Even now, years later, I hear how one of the neighbors calls out to my grandmother and asks her to express her opinion on this or that issue. Often her sharp word or expression became the property of the entire street. Sometimes the word was pronounced incorrectly, and the stress was placed in the wrong place. But this did not stop my grandmother from expressing her opinion and not looking funny or misunderstood. In these short stories, I, her granddaughter, decided to remember, and in my own way immortalize a person dear to me - my GRANDMA!.. MY RETIRE GRANDMA. Television came to our modest dwelling much earlier than many household appliances that could ease the difficult life of the family. Refrigerators were not even dreamed of. In general, indulging in dreams and dreams was not in the customs of our family. The daily struggle for a normal existence made both my grandmother and my mother realistic. They accepted life, everyday worries "about their daily bread" stoically. The refrigerator was our cellar. All the mistresses of our yard, and of all the nearby houses, from morning until late evening scurried around with pots, jugs and jugs, saucepans and huge pots, frying pans - from the cellar to the house, and from the house, after the next meal by each member of the family in individually, or all together, in the cellar. The stairs leading down to the cellar were covered with a slippery coating. It was necessary to possess certain skills in order to repeatedly go down and up such a ladder, remaining without bruises, without breaking or spilling what you were carrying. The smells of mold and dampness always mingled with the smells of provisions. Food was laid in the cellars for the whole cold long winter. Cucumbers and tomatoes were pickled in large barrels. All this was eaten together in our hotly heated apartment, to the howling of the wind in the chimney. Without such reserves, it was incredibly difficult for a low-income family to live and survive. My unfailing grandmother, without any objection, responded to all the requests of her adult children, grandchildren, and even their friends and classmates. As soon as breakfast, lunch or dinner for some ended, everything started all over again. And again, my restless grandmother, along the old slippery stairs, scurried back and forth with pots and pots, pots and pans, frying pans and jugs, trying to please everyone, feed everyone, treat everyone ... GRANDMA AND ESTER FIELD. I remember my grandmother's stories about one strange person - Esther Paul. It may not have been his name, but my grandmother called him that. Under this name, this man and I remember forever. This character was often mentioned by her in various life situations. Whether such a person really existed, or was it a character invented by life, she herself did not know this. Grandmother's hero lived in Ukraine, in the glorious city of Odessa. He, driven by need and the claims of the authorities, like many of his other compatriots, was forced to emigrate to the coveted America. Not everyone was destined to reach this blessed land. Most likely, Esther Field was more fortunate than others. He finally got to America, accepted this country into his kind and sympathetic heart with all its advantages and disadvantages. And he noticed only everything good there, unlike many other settlers. And endless letters about his life flew to his former homeland - being in a new land. Esther Field in his messages enthusiastically described everything he saw - all the delights of life there. Looking into the windows of cafes and restaurants, peering into the sleek, happy faces of Native Americans, he, erratic, rejoiced in someone else's life, forgetting that his own was passing by ... Oh, this Esther Pole, Esther Pole! ... When someone with my grandmother enthusiastically and enthusiastically described an extraneous prosperous life, foreign lands and customs, she, waving her hand and with a slight smile on her lips, always uttered the same phrase: - Well, again, new and the indestructible Esther Field appeared on our horizon ... The meaning that my grandmother put into this phrase became clear to me much later. And although not every person in this world is able to sincerely rejoice in someone else's happiness and prosperity, my grandmother, a hard worker and realist, did not like people like Esther Pole. They seemed to her empty and pathetic people. And the one who, with her, praised someone else's wealth and prosperity, having nothing of his own, was ridiculous and uninteresting to my grandmother. She used to be content with something small, but her own. And for her it was always very expensive and only what she herself possessed was important. And this strange man, Esther Pole, nevertheless entered our lives forever ... GRANDMA AND OVEN. One day my grandmother brought an old man to our house. One of the neighbors told her that he was an experienced stove-maker. Grandfather turned out to be tall, with a long gray beard. This old man was deaf, incredibly angry and angry. Much to our regret, we learned about his bad temper, unhealthy habits, and many other things much later, when it was not so easy to get rid of him. The stove in our difficult life played a very important role. In the summer, coal was bought by all available means, huge wooden logs were sawn into small firewood. This stove kept us warm all winter. On the most rainy autumn days, and on cold winter days, one could, clinging to her with her whole body, forget about sorrows; get away from everyday life. Closing your eyes, carry away in your dreams to distant, inaccessible countries and continents. Under the melodious crackling of firewood, it was pleasant to dream about something purely personal, secret and intimate... This stove was not only the main source of heat in our home, but also the soul of this house. She created that unique microclimate, without which it would be hard to live and survive in our difficult existence. Under its buzz, we fell asleep, listening to the crackling of burning firewood; plunged into the sweet world of dreams and dreams. Our oven had its own special character. Sometimes she pleased us with her warmth and warmth, and sometimes she obstinately did not want to obey the will of people. It was necessary to constantly take care of it, as if it were not a stove, but a living being ... The stove-maker negotiated a price for a long time. Then he needed a deposit. Having received some amount, he disappeared for a long time. And, having arisen, he began with trembling hands to break the old stove and lay out a new one for some reason in the middle of the room. Everyone who entered had many doubts about such a construction, but for the time being, we did not express our doubts aloud. We still had the hope that we misunderstood something in the furnace business. With each day of work, the old man became more and more aggressive and angry. And at that moment, when bricks began to fly around the apartment in all doubters and dissidents, we realized that parting with this employee would be much more difficult than we had previously thought. Sometimes it pleases that everything in this world has both its beginning and its end. True, our family had to pay him off, otherwise a happy parting would not have happened! Save us, Lord, from such stove-makers! .. Many years later, even when our family was already living in a new apartment with central heating, we sometimes remembered this evil old man. We have always associated incompetence and greed with his image. And our grandmother still got into different and all sorts of stories ... GRANDMA AND TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE. And the day of a total solar eclipse came on Earth. And my multinational, many-sided and many-voiced court greeted this long-awaited event with enthusiastic cries. All the inhabitants of our cheerful lane prepared for it for a long time and purposefully. A place was looked for from where it would be most convenient to observe such an amazing and rare phenomenon as a solar eclipse. The children looked for glasses, which, then, were kept over the fire for a long time, so that they would be smoked more strongly. The vanity, the expectation of such a significant event, added variety to our everyday life. What could be more interesting for children than to become an eyewitness of some significant event! Yes, and participate in it! My grandmother, doing ordinary household chores, listened to our conversations. She was very interested to see this spectacle. She checked the time many times so as not to accidentally miss it. As you know, the longer you prepare and wait for something pleasant, the sooner it ends, the faster the happy moments of our existence run. On the day and hour set by nature, the entire population gathered in the middle of the courtyard. Everyone expected a miracle. And a miracle happened. It became dark. Everyone around, including my grandmother, expected that such a darkness would come, in which it was hardly possible to distinguish and see a person standing next to me. Absolutely sure of this, my inquisitive restless grandmother, who did not lose interest in life with age, jumped out of our apartment into the yard, in a short nightgown and with a frying pan in her hand. Her appearance was unexpected for the entire population of our restless yard. My grandmother was greeted with friendly laughter from those present, which turned into hysterical laughter and squealing. Neither the laughter of the neighbors, nor anything else, embarrassed my grandmother. She firmly believed that the Great Solar Eclipse would cover her with its shadow, protect her from indiscreet eyes... A cheerful, unplanned incident distracted the audience from the solar eclipse itself. It ended as quickly as it began. Everything in this mortal world has its beginning and its end. We are left with only memories that evoke a slight sadness for what will never return - for a long-gone childhood, cloudless youth, for our friends. For all those who left us forever... And before my eyes, as if in an old movie, a frame froze, and in it my restless grandmother, forever frozen with a frying pan in her hand, peers intently into the dark sky... GRANDMA'S GRANDCHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN. My mother, in her incomplete twenty years, was already a mother. And my grandmother at the age of forty was called by her patronymic: "Isaakovna." And not because the grandmother gave the impression of an old man. It’s just that in those young years of hers, she was already a grandmother for her grandchildren and granddaughters, whom she loved and spoiled, despite all sorts of prohibitions from our parents. She especially adored and spoiled her grandchildren. She always had a special relationship with boys. After all, her granddaughters lived with her, and the grandchildren lived separately from her. And she, pampering them, allowed them to do whatever they pleased. Tried to make up for the time they were away from her. All grandmother's grandchildren and granddaughters, without realizing it, used her love and condescension. She could always ask for a ruble for pocket money. Grandmother could easily be convinced of many things without much effort. She was quick to respond to all of our requests. She always supported us in every way she could. We knew that our grandmother is our true ally. And no matter what happens to us, she will always be on our side. This has always been the case throughout her life. This is how she forever remained in our memory and in our hearts - restless, loving, anxious .... Our grandmother, like all of us, was a frantic fan of cinema. It was not difficult for her to stand in the longest queue for tickets to a new film. My grandmother was annoyed and suffered just as much as we did if for some reason there were not enough tickets. In those now distant years, there was a boom in French films. All of us, young and old, were rabid moviegoers. It was as easy as shelling pears to persuade my grandmother to go to the cinema with the yard children for a morning session. And if ice-cream ice cream was also sold there, then the day was lived by all of us not in vain. Trips to the cinemas of the city were loved by all the inhabitants of our yard. It was extremely rare that we missed a screening of new films. Over the years, television began to supplant cinema. But this happened much later. Our grandmother, on demand, could boil potatoes in "uniforms", eggs. Quickly collect for us, her grandchildren and granddaughters, everything necessary for a trip to the river, to the forest. Regardless of her time or her state of health, she tried to pamper everyone, to please everyone. Of course, sometimes my grandmother lost her restraint and patience with us. She could scold, get angry, scream. But none of us took offense at her for long. A truce immediately followed the quarrel. She was naive beyond her age. Everything we said was accepted as the truth. But we rarely deceived grandmother, because we knew that she trusted us unconditionally ... If there was bad weather outside - it was snowing heavily, or it was raining without ceasing, and nature once again presented its surprises to people - on such days grandmother always tried to keep us at home. She was worried about us, not realizing that we had grown up, matured. And, growing up, her grandchildren and granddaughters were overgrown with responsibilities, from which it was already impossible to fence off bad weather. But our grandmother still saw us as little children who could fall, hurt themselves, get wet in the rain, get sick. She used to feel sorry for us ... But her excessive care and love already weighed us down. We yearned for freedom. We chose our path - successes and failures; mistakes and misses; ups and downs; hopes and disappointments. As is usual at all times and in all ages, none of us particularly listened to her instructions and advice. We naively believed that we ourselves knew everything and understood everything much better than our relatives and friends. And only after having lived most of your life, you begin to understand the wisdom of those who left us forever. And their care, then annoying, but now so necessary. And boundless love, which cannot be bought for any wealth in our crazy world... ...After years, and now even after centuries, through the thickness of years, I hear an alarmed grandmother's voice. She shouts after her grandson, my cousin, in her unique dialect: - "Iger, Iger / Igor / don't go out into the street naked ..." - And this phrase just meant that her grandson Igor ran out on a frosty day outside without a coat... MY GRANDMA, OUR PORCH AND THE WILD GRAPE BUSH. Grandmother, mother and my sister and I, then still two little girls, loved to sit on a wooden porch on quiet summer evenings, look at the starry sky and listen, and sometimes sing along, to grandmother. The porch was a favorite hangout for our entire little family. A small wooden porch, entwined with a bush of wild grapes, made the difficult life of my family more joyful. In this small space one could rest; have a cup of tea; just sit on the steps, listening to the night rustles of a short summer night. It was convenient to whisper with girlfriends about something of their own, very important and intimate. It was interesting to stand on the porch for hours, follow the movement of the clouds and dream of something distant, unknown, inaccessible... A bush of wild grapes grew next to our porch. No one specifically planted it, no one grew it, no one cared for it. Once upon a time, a crazy wind brought seeds and threw them into fertile soil. In winter, this bush lost its foliage and it seemed that severe frosts and cold winds forever destroyed its roots, bare sticking out of the ground. But with the advent of spring, with the first rays of the warm spring sun, he came to life. Nature, tired of the long and protracted winter, returned its spreading crown to the unpretentious bush. For many years this bush of wild grapes served us faithfully. Its leaves, intertwined with each other, sheltered us from strong gusts of wind, from the rays of the sultry sun, from rain, and even from prying eyes. For decades, the bush of wild grapes has struggled with the vagaries of nature, constantly winning this difficult unequal battle. We could not imagine our life without this bush, as well as without a young tree that also grew up next to the porch. It was a cherry tree. The most delicious cherries in the world grew on this tree. It didn't always bear fruit. Sometimes a tree gave us its fruits for our love and affection for it. Every year, my grandmother planted flowers next to the cherry. They always had a bright color and a sharp, tantalizing smell. On summer evenings, after a hot and long day, we rested with our whole family on our favorite wooden porch. Often grandmother sang the same song. This song had a nice melody and simple lyrics. It was sung there about distant countries; about the seas and oceans; about a girl who embroidered a canvas with silk threads, which "she lacked"; about a brave and beautiful sailor who lured a girl aboard a huge ship, promising her all the blessings of the earth ... This song ended with the words addressed to the young man: - - We are three sisters: one behind the count, - the other is the wife of the duke, - and I, younger and prettier than everyone, she should be a simple sailor! To the sad words of the girl, the young man replied: - Do not worry, dear, - leave your sad dreams, - you will not be a simple sailor, - but you will become a queen! The song always died down as unexpectedly as it began. And my sister and I tried to imagine both that girl who was fraudulently lured onto a strange ship, and that brave sailor who promised her all the blessings of the earth for love ... Did the girl wait for everything promised? Did she become queen? Or did all the young sailor's promises remain just empty words? ... It's been a long time since childhood. There is not even that small wooden porch entwined with wild grapes. All the fragrant flowers have faded. The girls grew up and turned into adult women. And for a long time our unforgettable grandmother, who sang in the stillness of the night to two little girls the unpretentious words of a simple song ... Only our memory is alive ...

Yuri Kuvaldin

PLEASURE

story

On a June evening in a summer cafe under the crowns of old trees in Izmailovsky Park, Mikhail Ivanovich was congratulated on his seventieth birthday, and his thirteen-year-old grandson, Boris, dedicated his poem to him, which began with the line:

Estimate, grandpa, seventy is not age ...

He composed this and wrote it down on his mobile phone while walking from Partizanskaya to the park. Boris was seated between his mother and grandmother, the wife of the hero of the day, Tamara Vasilievna, a young woman with a magnificent dyed hairdo.
After the first toast, Tamara Vasilievna, looking around the table, called the waiter who was standing at her table and said:
- I want chu trout grilled on coals!
Mom's father, grandmother's husband, grandfather Mikhail Ivanovich looked at her with concern, said only:
- Tamara...
But she immediately blurted out:
- And no talking. Understood? I don't want n-no talk!
- Mommy, I want too, - Boris's mother said to her mother, Boris's grandmother.
Apparently, Tamara Vasilievna belonged to the number of those older women who know how to command with sweet arrogance, if they obediently obey, but who themselves, at the same time, are easily shy.
After several toasts, Tamara Vasilievna, drunk, began to examine Boris with keen interest, until, finally, she smacked him with thick red lipstick on the cheek and breathed out:
- How beautiful you are, Borenka!
She could be understood, since she had not seen her grandson for five years, because she lived with her grandfather in Kyiv. Now they have managed to exchange Kyiv for Moscow, for 9th Parkovaya.
Boris even blushed in surprise, and during the dance, to which his grandmother pulled him out, she pressed him tightly to her large breasts and dared to stroke his cheek with her palm.
She said:
- Well, tell me, tell me how things are going at school, what do you think to do after school ... I really want to listen to you, Borya ... I really want to talk with you, granddaughters ...
- I also want to, grandmother, - said Boris for decency.
- Well, that's good. It's stuffy here, let's get some air... You get up and go out to breathe. I'll be out in five minutes too...
Boris himself wanted to go out for a smoke so that his mother would not see him. The fact is that he started smoking a month ago, and he was strongly drawn to it. Behind the cafe began thickets of bushes and trees. Boris lit a cigarette, turned away and secretly took a few deep puffs, feeling his soul getting even better than from a drunk glass of champagne. In general, Izmailovo Park looked like a dense forest. Soon Tamara Vasilievna appeared.
“What an adult you are,” she said. - Let's take a walk, breathe ...
She took Boris by the arm, and they walked along the path into the thickets. Having moved a certain distance, Tamara Vasilievna sank down on a wide stump and turned to Boris, who sat down on a nearby log. Grandmother's light dress was not long and ended at her knees. Boris listened attentively to what Tamara Vasilievna spoke about her studies, about choosing a path, about Kyiv and Moscow, but her knees were in front of him and involuntarily attracted attention. They were very beautiful, not angular, but smoothly passed into the hips, a piece of which was visible from the side. Everything else was hidden from his sight.
Then Tamara Vasilievna started talking about the fact that Borya was already an adult, that he needed to know how to behave with women, and he looked at her full knees with curiosity, probably for the first time thinking about his grandmother as a woman. Indeed, she was attractive, with a fashionable hairstyle, with long eyelashes, with a manicure, with rings and bracelets.
Grandmother was short, broad at the hips, and in general was a plump woman with fairly large breasts. But the figure, despite the fullness, was quite slender with a noticeable waist. Continuing to admire his grandmother's round knees, Boris began, as it were, to crawl from the log onto the grass, leaning on the log with his elbows laid back. Grandmother did not seem to notice this, only slightly spread her legs. Afraid to believe in his luck, Boris timidly lowered his eyes and saw from the inside almost completely her full, smooth hips and a small part of her stomach, which hung down in a rather large fold and lay on her hips. This picture took Boris's breath away, and even what she said about Boris's growing up ceased to interest him at all. Afraid to move, he admired the opened picture, and his imagination painted what was hidden from his eyes. Here Tamara Vasilievna herself spread her legs wider.
Now he could not see her belly, but her legs were fully visible. As she sat with them wide apart, he saw her wide thick thighs spread out over the stump, and, following his gaze further, he saw how they gradually converged together. The farther between the legs, the darker it became, and at the point of their connection it was almost impossible to see anything.
Boris's throat was dry, a blush appeared on his cheeks, and an incomprehensible and very pleasant stir in his pants began, his boy from a small faucet began to turn into something quite large and relatively thick, sticking up.
The sight of Tamara Vasilievna's knees and legs was so seductive, they were so alluring that, forgetting everything, at first Boris gently touched them with one finger and began to move them back and forth along the knee, as if drawing or writing something.
Tamara Vasilievna did not pay any attention to this, and inspired by Boris, he continued his work with a few fingers. Seeing that this was also normal, he put his whole hand on her knee. It turned out to be very pleasant to the touch, tender, soft, with a slightly rough skin and a little cold.
At first, Boris' hand just lay there, but then he began to move it a little, at first by one or two centimeters. Gradually, he stroked more boldly, running his hand all over the knee. Grandmother still did not pay attention to her grandson's occupation, or pretended not to.
Then he completely slid off the log onto the grass, and from this his hand involuntarily slipped from his knee and darted into the space between his thighs. At first, Boris was very frightened, but he did not remove his hand, but simply moved it away from his leg and began to touch the surface of the thigh only a little, with several fingers.
Afraid to look his grandmother in the face and that she would notice from him what was happening to her grandson, Boris listened and was surprised to find that she continued to talk about his future. True, it seemed to him that Tamara Vasilyevna's voice had changed a little, become a little hoarse, as if her throat had gone dry and she was thirsty. Having convinced himself that since his grandmother continues to educate him, then everything is fine, Boris pressed his palm to the entire inner surface of the thigh. This surface turned out to be softer and much warmer than the knee, it was very pleasant to the touch, and I just wanted to stroke it. And, as in the case of the knee, at first cautiously, and then more and more boldly, Boris began to move his palm back and forth. He liked this activity so much that he no longer noticed anything around him. Stroking and feeling a pleasant warmth, Boris gradually moved his hand farther and farther. He longed to touch her hair and move his fingers there. Gradually he succeeded. His hand stumbled first on the lonely hairs, stroking and sorting through which, he gradually got to the thicker ones, in the very upper part of the thigh.
At this time, Boris noticed that something had changed around him. Looking up from his work for a second, he realized that his grandmother was silent, and it was this silence that alerted him.
Without raising his eyes or removing his hand, Boris saw with his peripheral vision that his grandmother had closed her eyes, and on the contrary, her lips were slightly parted, as if she had cut off her speech in mid-sentence. Here, noticing this, Boris froze, even got scared. But the grandmother did not utter a word, but only threw her hands back, on the edges of a wide stump, and leaned on them. And Boris realized that Tamara Vasilievna also wanted him to continue stroking.
This cheered up Boris, gave courage, and he carefully began to stroke her hair, expecting to stumble upon panties, but they were not there.
“It’s very hot,” Grandmother said in a trembling and quiet voice, noticing his surprise.
Boris was sorting through the hairs, his hand was already moving in the very groin, it was even warmer and a little damp there. There was much more hair, his whole hand sank into them. Then Boris noticed that the grandmother was trembling a little, some cramps were running through her legs, and they were a little divorced and brought together. Lowering his hand lower, Boris finally felt what he so wanted to touch. Under his arm was Grandma's lily! It was incredible, even in his dreams Boris could not imagine it. Her thick secret lips were clearly felt, they were very large, swollen and barely fit under his palm. Boris began stroking them more vigorously with his hand, and touching them with his fingers, trying to embrace and examine them.
Tamara Vasilievna's breathing became more frequent, deeper, and it seemed to Boris that he even heard it. And immediately after this, the grandmother began to move herself under his hand, fidgeting with her magnificent ass along the stump. For a moment she stopped, pushing Boris back, slid down onto the grass. Her hairy bosom pressed tightly against Boris's hand and moved in all directions. It suddenly became very wet under his hand, but from this movement they became lighter and gliding, Boris felt her large lips part and immediately his fingers fell inside, into a wet, warm and very tender cave, slid there, which made grandmother scream. Both grandmother and grandson began to move together in time, he with his fingers, and his grandmother with her hips, shaking her huge buttocks.
During all this time they did not say a word to each other, as if they were afraid to frighten away and violate with careless words what was happening between them. But gradually Boris became completely uncomfortable, his hand became numb, and, probably, his grandmother was also tired of sitting in one position. Without saying a word to Boris, she lay on her back, her legs spread wide and bent at the knees, like the letter "M", her dress was approximately at the level of her stomach, exposing all her charms. Boris also rolled over a little, lay down more comfortably, and moved closer. Her legs in beautiful high-heeled shoes lay in plain sight in all their glory - slightly hairy calves, knees, thick thighs that were parted and her wet, swollen lips were right in front of him. But now Boris's attention was drawn to what was higher, he wanted to see his grandmother naked in its entirety.
Boris put his hand on the very bottom of his stomach. It was very soft to the touch, flexing easily under his hand. He began to stroke it, knead it, gradually move his hands up, lifting up the dress. First he saw her deep navel, then her whole belly. It was large, soft, sluggish, some incomprehensible streaks ran along it, it was quite ugly and not at all like his. But it was precisely such a belly - of a full, adult woman that riveted his gaze, exciting Boris even more.
Having seen enough of him and seeing that his grandmother does not mind and allows all his actions, he jerked up the dress around his neck, finished with the bra and saw her breasts. Boris was struck that she was much smaller than he expected. It seemed to him that it should be big and stick up. After all, this is exactly how she was when her grandmother walked, and her chest swayed as she walked. Her big tits somehow spread all over her body, and blue veins of veins ran through them in thin streams. The nipples were brown, large, shriveled and stuck up. Boris carefully touched one boob, then the other, and they swayed following the movement of his hand. He put his hands on them, began to knead and feel. They turned out to be very soft and lethargic, but, nevertheless, it was very pleasant to caress them. Sometimes his hands bumped into her hard big nipple, further increasing the arousal. Boris was already lying almost next to his grandmother, and she was all naked in front of him. That was incredible!
Then her hand moved, and Boris froze, but the grandmother carefully unzipped his jeans and stuck her hand in there. Boris caught his breath, it seemed that now something would break inside him. Grandmother's fingers gently stroked his testicles and hip, which was very tense and sticking up. Boris experienced incredible pleasure from her movements, the whole world was now focused only on the movements of her hands. Boris even stopped caressing her and just admired her body.
Then the grandmother opened her lips, and said something barely audible, and he guessed rather than heard her words and, bending down, kissed her breasts. At first, carefully, then more and more boldly, he kissed her soft and warm boobs, slightly salty in taste, like a baby enjoying grandmother's breasts, taking her in his mouth and sucking, biting her nipples. At the same time, he convulsively crushed and squeezed her sides with his hands, running his hands over the folds of fat on her thighs and sorting them out.
Tamara Vasilyevna was already moaning louder and louder, desires were growing. Boris put his hands down and began to knead and squeeze her little baby, no longer carefully, but strongly and maybe even rudely. The gates of God were all wet, and Boris's hand literally squelched in this swamp. Then grandmother's hands gently hugged Boris and pressed him to her, then she lifted him up and laid him on top of herself. Boris was very comfortable and well, the grandmother was big, warm and soft. Boris felt her all under him, her body close to him, which now belonged to Boris, her large breasts, stomach, hips, on which his legs lay. It was delicious.
But between his legs he had a real fire and itching, and instinctively he began to move, trying to calm this burning sensation, moving back and forth over the naked body of his grandmother. But instead of relief, the itching only got worse. Grandmother also moved under her grandson, her movements were stronger. She unbuckled the belt on his jeans and pulled them down along with his underpants, then pulled up his shirt to see his belly and chest. Her ass swayed from side to side and his legs finally fell from her hips to between her legs, ben pressed tightly against her lower abdomen. Grandmother still hugged Boris with her arms, but suddenly she began to move his body down, and he already thought that everything, the games were over, but as soon as Yasha fell off her stomach, she stopped moving Boris and just hugged.
Their movements continued, but the grandmother was no longer moving from side to side, but raising her ass, she ran into Boris, while his van rested between her legs, feeling moisture and warmth. Grandmother's groans intensified, and it seemed she was losing control of herself, her cheeks turned pink, her eyes were half closed, her lips sometimes uttered something, but what exactly, Boris could not understand.
Suddenly, after one of the movements towards, Boris realized that he had hit just between her big thick lips. Considering the small size of his teenage Adam and the large, adult Eve of his grandmother, this was not surprising. Boris's sensations intensified, the vanya became very pleased, it was warm, humid, and he wanted this warmth and moisture to always envelop him from all sides. At this time, the grandmother also felt him in herself and for a moment stopped moving. Perhaps she did not want to let him go, or some doubt suddenly seized her. But after a momentary lull, instead of moving back, she lifted her buttocks, and his red-hot phallus completely entered her. It was an indescribable feeling. The grandson's wand was in the grandmother's vase.
Boris lay on her large body, wrapping his arms around it. Grandmother put her hands on his hips, and began to move Boris, now pressing, then slightly moving away from herself, as if showing what he should do, and gradually it came to Boris.
And Boris began to make movements back and forth on his own, rising above his grandmother's body. And at that time she began to move her ass towards him, rotating them from side to side, her pubis pressed tightly against him and rubbed violently and strongly. The grandson flopped on her large and flaccid belly, but he was very soft and pleasant. Tamara Vasilievna moved more and more furiously under him, her body did not remain in place for a second, hugging and stroking her grandson, she moaned loudly. His halyard seemed to fall into some kind of hole, rubbing against the wavy walls of her vagina. Both of them had already forgotten about everything and with force entered into each other. Her full body arched and fell off, forming fat folds, which the grandson squeezed like crazy.
Suddenly, the tension in the phallus grew to a maximum, Boris felt dizzy, he tensed up, and something abruptly came out of him, devastating everything, his strength left him. Delight, extraordinary pleasure, relief he felt. Grandmother, noticing the tension of his ball, twitched furiously, her hips squeezed him very tightly and painfully, she uttered some incredible moan, sound, wheezing, and gradually her movements began to subside. Boris, on the other hand, was simply lying on it, exhausted, and maybe already unconscious from everything that was happening.
After some time, straightening her dress, Tamara Vasilievna said:
You should know that it didn't happen. To never tell anyone...
- Well, sho, - calming down, murmured Boris.
They were silent. A crow called high above them.
Literally a second later, abruptly looking away, the grandmother exclaimed:
- Squirrel!
And then the cell phone rang. Boris, not without respect, asked his grandmother whether to answer - maybe it would be unpleasant for her? Tamara Vasilievna turned to him and looked as if from afar, tightly closing one eye from the light; the other eye remained in shadow, wide open but not at all naive, and so brown that it seemed dark blue.
The cloudless sky was visible in the gaps between the crowns of the motionless venerable birches and lindens.
The fluffy-tailed red creature sat on its hind legs on the path, and made begging movements with its front legs.
Boris asked to hurry up with the answer, and Tamara Vasilievna left the squirrel alone.
- Well, you must! - she exclaimed. - It's him, for sure!?
Boris replied that, in his opinion, whether to speak or not, one hell, he sat on a stump next to Tamara Vasilievena, and hugged her with his left arm. The right one raised the phone to his ear. The sun shone down on the forest. And when Boris brought the phone to his ear, his blond hair was illuminated especially favorably, although perhaps too brightly, so that it seemed red.
- Yes? - Boris said in a sonorous voice into the phone.
Tamara Vasilievna, feeling pleasure in the embrace, followed him. Her wide-open eyes did not reflect any anxiety or thought, only it was clear how big and black they were.
A man's voice was heard in the receiver - lifeless and at the same time strangely assertive, almost obscenely agitated:
- Boris? It's you?
Boris cast a quick glance to the left, at Tamara Vasilievna.
- Who is it? - he asked. - You, grandpa?
- Yes I. Borya, am I distracting you?
- No no. Something happened?
"Really, I'm not bothering you?" Honestly?
“No, no,” said Boris, turning pink.
- That's why I'm calling, Borya: did you happen to see where your grandmother went?
Boris again looked to the left, but this time not at Tamara Vasilievna, but over her head, at a squirrel running along the branches.
“No, grandfather, I didn’t see it,” Boris said, continuing to look at the squirrel. - And where are you?
- As where? I'm in a cafe. The party is in full swing! I thought she was around here somewhere... Maybe she was dancing... I just searched for Tamara...
- I don't know, grandpa...
"So you haven't seen her, have you?"
- No, I didn't see it. You see, grandpa, I had a headache for some reason, and I went out to breathe ... But what? What happened? Grandma lost?
- Oh my God! She sat next to me all the time and suddenly...
“Maybe she just went out to get some air?” Boris asked with a delay, as if thinking aloud.
- I would have returned, she has been gone for twenty minutes.
“So quickly it all happened?!” Boris thought.
“Listen, grandpa, you don’t have to be so nervous,” Boris said calmly, like a psychotherapist. - Where can she go? She will take a walk, freshen up and return ... Now she will come.
- So you haven't seen her, Borya? Mikhail Ivanovich repeated the question importunately.
“Listen, grandpa,” interrupted Boris, taking his hand away from his face, “suddenly my head ached again. God knows what it's from. Will you excuse us if we end now? Let's talk later, okay?
Boris listened for another minute, then turned off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. And Tamara Vasilievna said:
- Borenka, pleasure is everything, everything that is contained in the world, love is implanted in every person by an unrelenting need, desire. Every person pursues pleasure and happiness and eventually finds his own happiness...
Tamara Vasilievna fell silent, looked at him without blinking, with admiration, and opened her mouth, and Boris leaned towards her, put one hand under the hem to the black bush, put the other on the back of her head, pressed her wet lips tightly to himself, and kissed her passionately.

Quote:

(Anonymous)
Oseeva's story "Grandma"
We had a thin book of stories for children at home, and the name of one of them was called the book - "Grandma". I was probably 10 years old when I read this story. He made such an impression on me then that all my life, no, no, but I remember, and tears always well up. Then the book disappeared...

When my children were born, I really wanted to read this story to them, but I could not remember the name of the author. Today I again remembered the story, found it on the Internet, read it ... Again I was seized by that aching feeling that I first felt then, in childhood. Now my grandmother has been gone for a long time, mom and dad are gone, and, involuntarily, with tears in my eyes, I think that I will never be able to tell them how much I love them, and how much I miss them ...

My children have already grown up, but I will definitely ask them to read the story "Grandma". It makes you think, brings up feelings, touches the soul...

Quote:

anonymous)
Now I read "Grandma" to my seven-year-old son. And he cried! And I was happy: crying means alive, so there is a place in his world of Turtles, Batmans and Spiders for real human emotions, for such a valuable pity in our world!

Quote:

hin67
in the morning, taking the child to school, for some reason I suddenly remembered how they read the story "Grandma" to us at school.
while reading, someone even chuckled, and the teacher said that when they were read, some cried. but no one in our class shed a tear. the teacher finished reading. suddenly a sob was heard from the back of the desk, everyone turned around - it was the ugliest girl in our class that was crying ...
I came to work on the internet and found a story, and here I am sitting as an adult man in front of the monitor and tears are welling up.
strange......

"Grandma"

Valentina Oseeva Story

Grandma slept on a chest. All night she tossed heavily from side to side, and in the morning she got up before everyone else and rattled dishes in the kitchen. Then she woke up her son-in-law and daughter:
- The samovar is ripe. Get up! Have a hot drink on the road...
Approached Borka:
- Get up, my father, it's time for school!
- What for? Borka asked in a sleepy voice.
- Why go to school? The dark man is deaf and dumb - that's why!
Borka hid his head under the covers:
- Go, grandma...
- I'll go, but I'm not in a hurry, but you're in a hurry.
- Mum! shouted Borka. - Why is she buzzing over her ear like a bumblebee?
- Borya, get up! Father pounded on the wall. - And you, mother, move away from him, do not bother him in the morning.
But the grandmother did not leave. She pulled stockings and a jersey over Borka. Her heavy body swayed in front of his bed, softly slapping her shoes around the rooms, rattling her basin and saying something.
In the passage my father shuffled with a broom.
- And where are you, mother, galoshes Delhi? Every time you poke into all the corners because of them!
Grandmother hurried to help him.

Yes, here they are, Petrusha, in plain sight. Yesterday they were very dirty, I washed them and put them on.
Father slammed the door. Borka ran hurriedly after him. On the stairs, the grandmother slipped an apple or a candy into his bag, and a clean handkerchief into his pocket.
- Yah you! Borka waved him off. - Before I could not give! I'm late here...
Then my mother left for work. She left granny groceries and persuaded her not to spend too much:
- Save money, Mom. Petya is already angry: he has four mouths on his neck.
- Whose family - that and the mouth, - the grandmother sighed.
- I'm not talking about you! - relented daughter. - In general, the expenses are high ... Be careful, mom, with fats. Bore is fatter, Pete is fatter...

Then other instructions rained down on the grandmother. Grandmother accepted them silently, without objection.
When the daughter left, she began to host. She cleaned, washed, cooked, then took out knitting needles from the chest and knitted. The needles moved in her grandmother's fingers, now quickly, now slowly - in the course of her thoughts. Sometimes they stopped completely, fell to their knees, and the grandmother shook her head:
- So, my dears ... It's not easy, it's not easy to live in the world!
Borka would come from school, throw his coat and hat into his grandmother's hands, throw a bag of books on a chair and shout:
- Grandma, eat!

The grandmother hid her knitting, hurriedly set the table, and, crossing her arms over her stomach, watched Borka eat. During these hours, somehow involuntarily, Borka felt his grandmother as his close friend. He willingly told her about the lessons, comrades.
Grandmother listened to him lovingly, with great attention, saying:
- Everything is good, Boryushka: both bad and good are good. From a bad person, a person becomes stronger; from a good soul, he blooms.

Sometimes Borka complained about his parents:
- My father promised me a briefcase. All fifth-graders with briefcases go!
The grandmother promised to talk to her mother and reprimanded Borka for the briefcase.
Having eaten, Borka pushed the plate away from him:
- Delicious jelly today! Are you eating, grandma?
- Eat, eat, - the grandmother nodded her head. - Do not worry about me, Boryushka, thank you, I am well-fed and healthy.
Then suddenly, looking at Borka with faded eyes, she chewed some words with her toothless mouth for a long time. Her cheeks were covered with ripples, and her voice dropped to a whisper:
- When you grow up, Boryushka, don't leave your mother, take care of your mother. Little old. In the old days they used to say: the most difficult thing in life is to pray to God, pay debts and feed your parents. So, Boryushka, my dear!
- I won't leave my mother. This is in the old days, maybe there were such people, but I'm not like that!
- That's good, Boryushka! Will you water, feed and serve with affection? And your grandmother will rejoice at this from the next world.

OK. Just don't come dead, - said Borka.
After dinner, if Borka stayed at home, the grandmother would hand him a newspaper and, sitting down next to him, would ask:
- Read something from the newspaper, Boryushka: who lives and who toils in the world.
- "Read"! grumbled Borka. - She's not small!
- Well, if I can't.
Borka put his hands in his pockets and became like his father.
- Lazy! How much did I teach you? Give me a notebook!
Grandmother took out a notebook, pencil, glasses from the chest.
- Why do you need glasses? You still don't know the letters.
- Everything is somehow clearer in them, Boryushka.

The lesson began. The grandmother diligently wrote out the letters: "sh" and "t" were not given to her in any way.
- Again put an extra stick! Borka got angry.
- Oh! Grandma was scared. - I don't count.
- Well, you live under Soviet rule, otherwise in tsarist times you know how you would have been fought for this? My regards!
- Right, right, Boryushka. God is the judge, the soldier is the witness. There was no one to complain to.
From the yard came the screeching of children.
- Give me a coat, grandma, hurry, I have no time!
Grandma was alone again. Adjusting her spectacles on her nose, she carefully unfolded the newspaper, went up to the window and peered long, painfully at the black lines. The letters, like bugs, now crawled before my eyes, then, bumping into each other, huddled together. Suddenly, a familiar difficult letter jumped out from somewhere. Grandmother hurriedly pinched it with a thick finger and hurried to the table.
- Three sticks ... three sticks ... - she rejoiced.

* * *
They annoyed the grandmother with the grandson's fun. Then white, like doves, paper-cut planes flew around the room. Describing a circle under the ceiling, they got stuck in the butter dish, fell on Grandma's head. Then Borka appeared with a new game - in "chasing". Having tied a nickel in a rag, he jumped wildly around the room, tossing it up with his foot. At the same time, seized by the excitement of the game, he stumbled upon all the surrounding objects. And the grandmother ran after him and repeated in confusion:
- Fathers, fathers ... But what kind of game is this? Why, you'll beat everything in the house!
- Grandma, don't interfere! Borka gasped.
- Yes, why with your feet, my dear? It's safer with your hands.
- Get off, grandma! What do you understand? You need legs.

* * *
A friend came to Borka. Comrade said:
- Hello, grandma!
Borka cheerfully nudged him with his elbow:
- Let's go, let's go! You can't say hello to her. She is our old lady.
Grandmother straightened her jacket, straightened her scarf and quietly moved her lips:
- Offend - what to hit, caress - you need to look for words.
And in the next room, a friend said to Borka:
- And they always say hello to our grandmother. Both their own and others. She is our main.
- How is it - the main one? Borka asked.
- Well, the old one ... raised everyone. She cannot be offended. And what are you doing with yours? Look, father will warm up for this.
- Do not warm up! Borka frowned. He doesn't greet her himself.

The comrade shook his head.
- Wonderful! Now everyone respects the old. You know how the Soviet government stands up for them! Here, in our yard, the old man had a bad life, so now they pay him. Court sentenced. And ashamed, as in front of everyone, horror!
“Yes, we don’t offend our grandmother,” Borka blushed. - She is with us ... well-fed and healthy.
Saying goodbye to his comrade, Borka detained him at the door.
"Grandma," he called impatiently, "come here!"
- I'm coming! Grandma hobbled from the kitchen.
“Here,” Borka said to his comrade, “say goodbye to my grandmother.”
After this conversation, Borka often asked his grandmother for no reason:
- Do we offend you?
And he said to his parents:
- Our grandmother is the best, but lives the worst of all - no one cares about her.

Mother was surprised, and father was angry:
Who taught you to judge your parents? Look at me - it's still small!
And, getting excited, he pounced on the grandmother:
- Are you teaching a child, mother? If you are dissatisfied with us, you could tell yourself.
Grandmother, smiling softly, shook her head:
- I do not teach - life teaches. And you, fools, should rejoice. Your son is growing up for you! I have outlived mine in the world, and your old age is ahead. What you kill, you will not return.

* * *
Before the holiday, the grandmother was busy until midnight in the kitchen. Ironed, cleaned, baked. In the morning, she congratulated the family, served clean ironed linen, gave socks, scarves, handkerchiefs.
Father, trying on socks, groaned with pleasure:
- You pleased me, mother! Very well, thank you, mother!
Borka was surprised:
- When did you impose it, grandmother? After all, your eyes are old - you will still go blind!
The grandmother smiled with a wrinkled face.
She had a large wart near her nose. This wart amused Borka.
- Which rooster pecked you? he laughed.
- Yes, she grew up, what can you do!
Borka was generally interested in Babkin's face.
There were various wrinkles on this face: deep, small, thin, like threads, and wide, dug out over the years.
- Why are you so painted? Very old? he asked.
Grandma thought.
- By wrinkles, my dear, human life, like a book, you can read.
- How is it? Route, right?
- Which route? Just grief and need have signed here. She buried children, cried - wrinkles lay on her face. I endured the need, wrinkled again. My husband was killed in the war - there were many tears, many wrinkles remained. Big rain and he digs holes in the ground.

He listened to Borka and looked in the mirror with fear: did he not enough cry in his life - is it possible that his whole face will be tightened with such threads?
- Go, grandma! he grumbled. You always say stupid things...

* * *
When there were guests in the house, the grandmother dressed up in a clean cotton jacket, white with red stripes, and sat decorously at the table. At the same time, she watched Borka with both eyes, and he, making grimaces at her, dragged sweets from the table.
Grandma's face was covered with spots, but she could not tell in front of guests.

They served their daughter and son-in-law on the table and pretended that the mother occupies a place of honor in the house so that people would not say bad things. But after the guests left, the grandmother got it for everything: both for the place of honor and for Borka's sweets.
“I’m not a boy for you, mother, to serve at the table,” Borka’s father was angry.
- And if you are already sitting, mother, with folded arms, then at least they would have looked after the boy: after all, he stole all the sweets! - added the mother.
- But what am I going to do with him, my dears, when he becomes free in front of guests? What he drank, what he ate - the king will not squeeze out with his knee, - the grandmother cried.
Irritation against his parents stirred in Borka, and he thought to himself: "You'll be old, I'll show you then!"

* * *
Grandmother had a treasured box with two locks; none of the household was interested in this box. Both the daughter and the son-in-law knew very well that the grandmother had no money. The grandmother hid in it some gizmos "for death." Borka was overcome with curiosity.
- What do you have there, grandma?
- I'll die - everything will be yours! she got angry. - Leave me alone, I'm not going to your things!
Once Borka found the grandmother sleeping in an armchair. He opened the chest, took the box and locked himself in his room. Grandmother woke up, saw an open chest, groaned and leaned against the door.
Borka teased, rattling his locks:
- I'll open it anyway!
Grandmother began to cry, went to her corner, lay down on the chest.
Then Borka got frightened, opened the door, threw the box to her and ran away.
- All the same, I'll take it from you, I just need this one, - he teased later.

* * *
Recently, the grandmother suddenly hunched over, her back became round, she walked more quietly and kept sitting down.
“It grows into the ground,” my father joked.
“Don’t laugh at the old man,” the mother was offended.
And she said to her grandmother in the kitchen:
- What are you, mom, like a turtle, moving around the room? Send you for something and you won't get back.

* * *
Grandmother died before the May holiday. She died alone, sitting in an armchair with knitting in her hands: an unfinished sock lay on her knees, a ball of thread on the floor. Apparently, she was waiting for Borka. There was a ready-made device on the table. But Borka did not dine. He looked at the dead grandmother for a long time and suddenly rushed headlong out of the room. I ran through the streets and was afraid to return home. And when he carefully opened the door, father and mother were already at home.
The grandmother, dressed up as for guests, in a white sweater with red stripes, was lying on the table. The mother wept, and the father comforted her in an undertone:
- What to do? Lived, and enough. We did not offend her, we endured both inconvenience and expense.

* * *
Neighbors crowded into the room. Borka stood at the grandmother's feet and looked at her with curiosity. The grandmother's face was ordinary, only the wart turned white, and there were fewer wrinkles.
At night, Borka was scared: he was afraid that the grandmother would get off the table and come to his bed. "If only they had taken her away sooner!" he thought.
The next day, the grandmother was buried. When they went to the cemetery, Borka was worried that the coffin would be dropped, and when he looked into a deep hole, he hurriedly hid behind his father.
Walked home slowly. The neighbors followed. Borka ran ahead, opened his door, and tiptoed past Grandma's chair. A heavy chest, upholstered in iron, bulged out into the middle of the room; a warm patchwork quilt and pillow were folded in a corner.

Borka stood at the window, picked last year's putty with his finger, and opened the door to the kitchen. Under the washbasin my father, rolling up his sleeves, was washing galoshes; water seeped into the lining and splashed onto the walls. Mother rattled the dishes. Borka went out onto the stairs, sat down on the railing and slid down.
Returning from the yard, he found his mother sitting in front of an open chest. All sorts of junk was piled on the floor. It smelled of stale things.
The mother took out a crumpled red slipper and carefully straightened it with her fingers.
- Mine, - she said and bent low over the chest. - My...
At the very bottom, a box rattled. Borka squatted down. The father patted him on the shoulder.
- Well, heir, get rich now!
Borka looked askance at him.
"You can't open it without the keys," he said, and turned away.
The keys could not be found for a long time: they were hidden in the pocket of my grandmother's jacket. When his father shook his jacket and the keys fell to the floor with a clang, Borka's heart sank for some reason.

The box was opened. Father took out a tight bundle: it contained warm mittens for Borka, socks for his son-in-law, and a sleeveless jacket for his daughter. They were followed by an embroidered shirt made of old faded silk - also for Borka. In the very corner lay a bag of candy tied with a red ribbon. Something was written on the bag in big block letters. The father turned it over in his hands, narrowed his eyes, and read aloud:
- "To my grandson Boryushka."
Borka suddenly turned pale, snatched the package from him and ran out into the street. There, crouching at someone else's gate, he peered for a long time at grandmother's scribbles: "To my grandson Boryushka."
There were four sticks in the letter "sh".
"Not learned!" thought Borka. And suddenly, as if alive, a grandmother stood in front of him - quiet, guilty, who had not learned her lesson.
Borka looked around in confusion at his house and, clutching the bag in his hand, wandered along the street along the long fence of someone else ...
He came home late in the evening; his eyes were swollen with tears, fresh clay stuck to his knees.
He put Babkin's bag under his pillow and, covering himself with a blanket, thought: "Grandma won't come in the morning!"

- I want to go for a walk! Volodya said. But Grandma was already taking off her coat.
- No, dear, we walked, and that's enough. Dad and mom will be home from work soon, but I don't have lunch ready.
- Well, at least a little more! I didn't walk up! Grandmother!
- I have no time. I can not. Get dressed, play at home.
But Volodya did not want to undress, he rushed to the door. Grandmother took the spatula from him and tugged at the white pompom of her hat. Volodya clutched his head with both hands, trying to hold on to his hat. Didn't hold back. I wanted the coat not to unbutton, but it seemed to unbutton itself - and now it is already swinging on a hanger, next to my grandmother's.
I don't want to play at home! I want to play!
“Look, dear,” said Grandmother, “if you don’t listen to me, I’ll go away from you to my house, that’s all.” Then Volodya shouted in an angry voice:
- Well, go away! I have a mom!
Grandmother did not answer and went to the kitchen.
Behind the wide window is a wide street. Young trees are carefully tied to pegs. They rejoiced at the sun and turned green somehow all of a sudden. Behind them are buses and trolleybuses, beneath them is bright spring grass.
And in the grandmother's garden, under the windows of a small country wooden house, spring also probably came. Daffodils and tulips have hatched in the flowerbeds... Or maybe not yet? In the city, spring always comes a little earlier.
Grandmother came in the autumn to help Volodya's mother - mother began to work this year. Feed Volodya, take a walk with Volodya, put Volodya to bed... Yes, even breakfast, lunch, and dinner... Grandmother was sad. And it’s not sad because I remembered my garden with tulips and daffodils, where I could bask in the sun and do nothing - just relax ... For myself, for myself alone, how many things to do? Grandmother felt sad because Volodya said: “Leave!”
And Volodya was sitting on the floor, in the middle of the room. All around - cars of different brands: a clockwork little Pobeda, a large wooden dump truck, a truck with bricks, on top of the bricks - a red Bear and a white hare with long ears. Ride a Bear and a hare? Building a house? Get a blue "Victory"?
Started with a key. So what? The "Victory" crackled across the room, stuck in the door. Started it up again. Now it's gone in circles. Stopped. Let it stand.
Volodya began to build a bridge of bricks. Didn't finish it. He opened the door and went out into the corridor. I cautiously looked into the kitchen. Grandmother sat at the table and quickly peeled potatoes. Thin curls of peel fell onto the tray. Volodya took a step ... two steps ... Grandmother did not turn around. Volodya approached her quietly and stood next to her. Potatoes are uneven, large and small. Some are very smooth, but one...
- Grandma, what's this? Like birds in a nest?
- What kind of birds?
But the truth is, it looks a little like chicks with long, white, slightly yellowish necks. They sit in a potato hole, as in a nest.
“These are potato eyes,” Grandma said.
Volodya stuck his head under his grandmother's right elbow:
Why does she have eyes?
It was not very convenient for my grandmother to peel potatoes with Volodya's head under her right elbow, but grandmother did not complain about the inconvenience.
It's spring now, the potatoes are starting to sprout. This is a sprout. If you plant potatoes in the ground, new potatoes will grow.
- Grandma, how are you?
Volodya climbed onto his grandmother's knees to get a better look at the strange sprouts with white necks. Now peeling potatoes has become even more inconvenient. Grandma put down the knife.
- But like this. Look here. You see, a very tiny sprout, but this one is already bigger. If you plant potatoes in the ground, the sprouts will reach for the light, for the sun, turn green, leaves will grow on them.
“Grandma, what’s with them?” Legs?
- No, these are not legs, these are the roots that have begun to grow. The roots stretch down into the ground, they will drink water from the ground.
- And the sprouts reach for the sun?
- To the sun.
- And the roots stretch into the ground?
- Roots - in the ground.
- Grandmother, where are people drawn to?
- People?
Grandmother put an unpeeled potato on the table and pressed her cheek against the back of Volodya's head:
“People are attracted to each other.