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PEACH GARDEN – Orthodox magazine “Foma”

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100%

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17 min.

Code copied

We went on foot from Golden Sands to Nestinary and on the way to Alen Mak we went to rest in a small open cafe on the mountainside. The weather was wonderful, the sun was not yet hot, a calm, piercing blue sea lay below, and on the right, towards Varna, where small villas with funny names stretched along the highway, blooming gardens whitened like foam in a barely noticeable pink haze. A brand-new steel-coloured Alfa Romeo basked in the sun against the vine-covered wall of the cafe, but there was not a single customer in the cafe.

Archpriest Vladimir GOFMAN was born in the city of Gorodets, Gorky (Nizhny Novgorod) region in 1953. He graduated from the Rybinsk Aviation College, and after serving in the army – the Faculty of History and Philology of the Gorky State University. Lobachevsky. For 15 years he worked as a journalist in various publications. In 1993 he was ordained a priest, and in 2000 he graduated from the Moscow Theological Seminary. Cleric of the Archangel Cathedral in the Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin.

We went on foot from Golden Sands to Nestinary and on the way to Alen Mak we stopped to rest in a small open cafe on the mountainside. The weather was wonderful, the sun was not yet hot, a calm, piercing blue sea lay below, and on the right, towards Varna, where small villas with funny names stretched along the highway, blooming gardens whitened like foam in a barely noticeable pink haze. A brand-new steel-coloured Alfa Romeo basked in the sun against the vine-covered wall of the cafe, but there was not a single customer in the cafe.

— What a beauty! – I said to my companion Maxim, who ordered a cold mineral water at the bar.

He looked around and nodded his head.

— Praskova tsftya, — the young dark-skinned bartender said with a white-toothed smile and waved his hand towards the sea.

— What is he saying? I asked.

Maxim, who had once graduated from the philological faculty, understood Bulgarian a little.

– Says peach blossoms.

The bartender shook his head. I already knew what denial means for us, for Bulgarians it has the opposite meaning – consent.

– Tova tsftyat praskoveni hailstones at the seaside.

I smiled at the Bulgarian and looked at Maxim.

“Peach orchards,” he translated, accepting two small bottles of mineral water from the bartender. — It’s peach orchards in bloom by the sea.

My heart sank, and when we sat down at a table in the corner overlooking the sea, I immediately burst into tears.

— What’s wrong with you, what? Maxim asked in surprise, but I couldn’t say anything, I just wiped the tears flowing down my cheeks with my fists.

— What happened? Maxim moved his chair towards me, took my head in his hands and began to kiss my eyes, wet with tears.

— Salty! he smiled.

— How is the sea? I asked and sighed like a girl.

– Like the sea. They are the same color as the sea.

I sobbed again and took a sip of cold mineral water from the bottle.

— So what happened? Can’t you tell?

I took out a handkerchief from my purse and wiped away my tears.

– I can. I’ll tell you everything now.

This happened a little over ten years ago. I was then seventeen years old, I had just finished school and entered an art school, when Aunt Tanya, my mother’s friend, took me to church to be baptized. I conscientiously prepared for this event, because I went to be baptized consciously, with great desire and trepidation. Before baptism, the priest said that it is not necessary to have successors, that is, godparents, at my age, but I really wanted to have a godmother, like those who were baptized in childhood. And, of course, Aunt Tanya became her.

I remember Aunt Tanya as long as I can remember myself. She was always there. It was she who, when my mother had no time, took me from kindergarten, and later from music and art school, she took me to concerts and exhibitions, she taught me to believe in God and read the first prayers.

Both of them – both mother and aunt Tanya – were single women. Mom and dad divorced a long time ago. I don’t remember my father at all, but Aunt Tanya’s husband died in Afghanistan, they had no children, so I was the only child for two, and it’s hard to say which of them loved me more.

Mom and aunt Tanya worked at a music school – my mother taught piano, and my godmother taught solfeggio. It would seem a dry object, but if so, then it did not leave an imprint on my godmother. She was a humanist to the marrow of her bones: she loved music, painting and poetry. Now it seems to me that it is thanks to her, and not to my mother, that I became an artist. I remember how she always cried when she read Pasternak’s “Magdalene”:

People are cleaning before the holiday.

Away from this crowd

I wash with myrrh from a bucket

I am Your most pure feet.

I search and find no sandals.

I can’t see anything because of my tears.

A veil fell over my eyes

Strands of flowing hair…

— Do you hear, Marina-raspberry — that’s what she called me — do you hear the music? How precise and piercing!

I didn’t hear anything then, but these incomprehensible lines touched my heart.

I still remember how they sang Okudzhava with my mother:

… In the city garden, flutes and horns,

Kapellmeister wants to take off . ..

It seems to me that neither one nor the other had men. Probably not, but in any case, I never saw them, if they were.

All together we went not only to exhibitions and concerts, not only went out of town to the dacha of a friend of the deceased aunt Tanya’s husband, but also prepared for communion together and attended church. At that time, no one was embarrassed to go to church, more and more intelligentsia appeared at the services, Aunt Tanya and her mother met many acquaintances here. Already well-known books by Me and Kuraev, who had just appeared, were discussed, and the songs of Hieromonk Roman sounded on tapes. I was then immersed in this atmosphere. I liked going to services and experiencing a joyful feeling of lightness after confession, I liked reading morning and evening prayers, most of which I soon learned by heart without learning, and with the guitar I could sing not only Okudzhava or Mityaev songs, but also

My joy, the time for repentance is coming. ..

At home, in my room, the posters of popular bands have disappeared from the walls, and even Richard Gere, whom I adored quite recently, has taken a place somewhere between the volumes of Hermann Hesse and Kurt Vonnegut in the bookcase. On the other hand, a goddess appeared in the eastern corner with many icons and a lamp… In short, as a neophyte, I made noticeable progress. But gradually everything returned to normal, and I no longer dreamed of a monastic hood and a distant forest monastery on the lake. Jedem das seine. And thank God.

Then the classes at the school, drawing – the whole student life – began to move me away from the church. If it weren’t for my godmother, I would thus have moved very far away. But she reminded me of the most important thing – always unobtrusively and gently. And again, the three of us went to the temple, confessed and took communion. It was so good in my soul, so calm and joyful.

In my last year, when Aunt Tanya fell ill, I fell in love. Love carried me as if on wings, and I walked without feeling the ground under my feet. And again, I shared my secrets and experiences not with my mother, but with Aunt Tanya. No, of course, my mother knew everything, but I did not have such frankness as with Aunt Tanya. Probably, my mother was jealous of my godmother, but I did not notice this. We were all very friendly.

One evening, when I returned from school, my mother told me that Aunt Tanya was sick.

— This is serious, Marina. Tatyana has a tumor. And as the tests showed – malignant.

— Is a malignant tumor a cancer? I asked.

Yes.

— And now what to do?

– To be treated, of course. Don’t give up and hope in God. Early stages in oncology are treatable.

But the stage was not early, but too late to overcome the disease. I think the godmother understood this and, to her credit, did not lose her composure, did not rush about different healers and psychics, as believers often do. She was treated with what the doctors prescribed, except that she began to go to church more often and pray more at home.

Of course, I couldn’t even imagine that Aunt Tanya could die. At twenty, it seems that death, if it exists, is somewhere out there, outside the circle of relatives and friends. So, perhaps, everyone who has not yet met with death thinks. I ran on dates, passed tests and exams, and very infrequently went to visit my godmother. I didn’t even notice when she stopped getting up, how much she lost weight, how she lost her colors and dried up her sweet, always so lively face. Once, I remember, my mother said that Aunt Tanya depends on analgesics, painkillers, and I answered carelessly that my godmother would get better anyway. Mom looked at me reproachfully and sighed heavily.

— No, daughter, she won’t get better. I spoke to the doctor…He won’t get better. Unless, of course, a miracle happens.

The miracle did not happen. I never doubted that miracles happen, but you have to agree that you have to live in the world for a little more than twenty years to understand that they do not happen to us and not to loved ones . .. Unfortunately.

One day I went to see Aunt Tanya in the evening. I went in for a minute, because the one I was in love with was waiting for me at the entrance – the boy Tolya, a student at the Faculty of Architecture of the Construction Academy. I remember saying to him: “Just a minute. You will not have time to smoke, as I will return.

Aunt Tanya greeted me cheerfully as usual:

— Well, hello, Marina-malina, how are you?

I saw her yellowed face, and my heart ached:

— Everything is fine, aunt Tan. And how are you?

— And I’m fine, girl. With God’s help, alive.

– But how! You will definitely get better, and we will go together to the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, as we planned, right?

The godmother was silent, and I was about to admit that I had to go when she said:

— And I have a request for you, Marina.

— Bring something?

— No. Here’s the request. I recently read in a newspaper that cancer patients are cured by staring at a blooming peach orchard for a long time. You know, I have little faith in such advice, but then something in my soul swayed: I so wanted to see the peach orchard in bloom! …

– Aunt Tan, so where is …

– Don’t be afraid, honey, I’m not crazy. Here’s what I want to ask you. You are my artist … You have many, many interesting and original paintings ahead of you. For now, draw one. For me.

— What should I draw?

– Peach orchard. Blooming peach garden. Fine?

“Okay, I’ll draw,” I answered without hesitation.

— That’s great. I will look at your picture and imagine how you and I are walking among blossoming peaches…

— And you will get better!

— By the way, the Chinese believe that xian-tao gives a person immortality.

– Xian-tao?

– Well, yes, a peach. There is a legend: the peach tree in the gardens of the goddess of immortality Si-wang-mu bloomed once every three thousand years, and the fruit of eternal life ripened over the next three thousand years. Whoever managed to taste these fruits became immortal.

– Sounds good.

Yes. And it’s beautiful…

— I never thought that a peach is that same tree of life!

— Different nations have different ways.

I laughed.

— Aunt Tan, do you teach classical literature by any chance?

“No, math,” she smiled. “So, are you going to work?”

– I’ll start tomorrow.

Aunt Tanya wanted to say something else, but I interrupted, remembering poor Tolik.

— Aunt Tan…

— Run, run, he must have been waiting.

— Who?

– The one who is standing at the entrance.

I shook my head admiringly.

— In addition, extrasensory abilities!

– And then! It’s good to get sick sometimes, my dear girl.

“Maybe, but not like that, not fatal,” I thought, going out onto the landing. When I came to Aunt Tanya a few days later, she immediately asked about the painting. And, to be honest, I forgot about my promise and somehow laughed it off, they say, I’m looking for eyewitnesses of a blossoming peach.

“You know, Marisha,” she said, “I’ve obviously convinced myself, or something, that your picture will help me.” And I’m waiting for her. Self-hypnosis is a great thing!

– Placebo effect.

– Sort of.

I remembered O. Henry’s story “The Last Leaf”. Do you remember? But in life, not in a book – everything is simpler and scarier. I already, thank God, then began to understand.
Where to see that spring! We live in Russia. You will not find such a spring with any staff. I sincerely wanted to bring joy to the godmother, I tried and stood for hours at the easel, closed my eyes and tried to imagine a blooming peach garden, but my imagination betrayed only cherries and apple trees. All my book knowledge did not want to be transposed on the canvas. Gradually, the work captured me, but still what I was doing was missing the main thing – a living flowering peach garden. From that day on, I set to painting. The first difficulty arose immediately: I had never seen a peach tree, neither without color nor in blossom. As it turned out, among the acquaintances there were no eyewitnesses. I got into the encyclopedia, found special literature in the library – I read everything I could about the peach. Learned a lot of interesting things. For example, in mythology, the peach flower symbolizes spring, feminine charm, softness, virginity and purity. Not only among the Chinese, tradition associated this tree with immortality, the Japanese also called it the tree of life, and many other peoples used the peach tree in protective magic, made amulets and talismans from it, believing that the peach drives away evil spirits. Even among the ancient Christians, a peach with a leaf at the petiole symbolized one of the virtues – silence. I found a Chinese poem that ended with:

…Take the staff

And return slowly

Take the path

To the spring where the peach blossoms.
Finally the picture was ready. I covered it with a piece of cloth and did not approach the easel all day. In the morning I called my mother and took off the covers. We silently stood and looked at my creation.

“What, Mom,” I asked, “does this look like a peach orchard?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“You know, daughter,” she said uncertainly, “I’ve never seen a peach blossom. I guess what you wrote really looks like a peach orchard, but…

— What?

I wanted to hear from her what I myself could not formulate, to put into words my feeling. But at the same time, my other half wanted my mother to approve the work, and this would end all the difficulties associated with the unfortunate peach, which does not bloom in our area.

— You see… Everything is there, as in the photo of flowering trees… A very good photo. Maybe I’m wrong, sorry.

— No, you’re right. I feel it myself.

Mom’s words, of course, touched me, and I started work again.

I remember once I came to Aunt Tanya in the morning. My neighbor opened it for me. The apartment smelled of wax and incense. My heart trembled. The neighbor whispered that the priest was sick, she confessed and took communion. I dismissed my neighbor and sat down in a chair near the bookcase. There were art albums behind the glass, I saw them a thousand times, but today the look of glossy dust jackets upset me – next to such books, overflowing with reproductions of works by great masters, you especially feel like a mediocrity, unable to draw a simple peach tree. Shame and shame!

Voices could be heard from behind the door — the priest’s prayer a little louder, Aunt Tanya’s a little quieter. Finally, the priest in the stole, with a monstrance in a red velvet bag on his chest, left the godmother’s room and greeted me.

“Thank God, I took communion,” he said curtly.

After seeing the priest off, I put the kettle on the stove and went into Aunt Tanya’s room. She lay smiling and calm.

“With communion, godmother,” I said and, kissing her on the cheek, sat down on the edge of the bed. — Well, how are you?

“All right, Marinushka,” she replied. – Everything is fine.

Next to the bed, at the head of the patient, on a coffee table covered with a napkin, among vials and cotton swabs, lay an open box of Tromala, from which several ampoules rolled out, and right there, on the corner, perched a prayer book and a collection of poems by Tsvetaeva. Aunt Tanya noticed my look and said:

— See, I’m reading poetry.

I looked at the drug ampoules and felt a lump in my throat. In a quiet voice, penetratingly, as soon as she knew how, Aunt Tanya read:

It’s time to take off the amber,

It’s time to change the dictionary,

It’s time to put out the lantern

Over the door…

I grabbed her hand.

— What are you, Aunt Tan?!

The hand was dry and hot.

– It’s Tsvetaeva, stupid! Well? What are you? .. Tsvetaeva … Marina-raspberry, – she stroked my hand and turned away.

That day she didn’t ask anything about the painting, and I silently decided to finish it as soon as possible.

But it’s one thing to solve it, but it’s another to do it. I still haven’t been able to do anything. I even tried a mythological plot, made such a handwriting: the Taoist god of longevity, it seems his name is Shou-sin, comes out of a peach fruit. It was completely out of impotence and had nothing to do with the blossoming peach orchard.

The picture began to torment me. I missed several classes at the school and did not meet with Tolya, referring to ill health. Again and again I drew a peach orchard. Low trees, green grass, white and pink flowers – and in all this there was no life. A traveler-monk appeared in the picture, walking with a staff along the stream, but he seemed to me here a far-fetched figure. Finally, I realized that I could no longer add anything to what had been written, and I carried the picture to Aunt Tanya.

It was October. This year it was dry and sunny. There was a lot of light in the small room where Aunt Tanya was lying. The godmother has always been distinguished by her love for cleanliness and order. There was not even a speck of dust on the mirror. And only the lingering smell of medicines and boxes of Fentanyl and Morphine on the table by the head gave away that a sick person had been here for a long time. Now I have already seen how quickly Aunt Tanya gives up. It was hard to recognize her, only her eyes were the same – they shone like blue pools on her emaciated yellow face.

We kissed. The subtle, barely perceptible aroma of Light Blue, a perfume from her favorite Dolce Gabbana series, somewhat reassured me – a person who takes care of himself is not going to die.

“Here, Aunt Tan, a peach orchard,” I unfolded the painting and placed it at the head of the bed. “Sorry, how did you manage?”

She sat up on the pillows.

“No, Marisha, set it so that the light from the window falls,” the godmother said in a weak voice.

I transferred the picture to the dressing table and leaned it against the large oval mirror in a walnut frame, in front of which Aunt Tanya and I so often sat and, in her words, put our faces in order. Quite recently it was, and at the same time, it seemed, in some other distant life.

— Can you see it? I asked, feeling like an A student who didn’t do his homework.

– Good. So good.

We both fell silent. I looked out the window, behind which stood the entire pyramidal poplar that had already flown around. I didn’t want to see the picture.

“You go, girl,” Aunt Tanya said. – Go, and I … wander through the peach orchard. OK? And then look at me, and I will tell you about my impressions. Go, go, you have a lot to do… Yes, tell Mom to come in.

At the door, I looked back. Aunt Tanya, without stopping, looked at my unfortunate daub. Motes of dust floated in a sunbeam that stretched across the whole room…

Aunt Tanya didn’t tell me anything, because she died at night.

Mom and I took turns reading the Psalter at her coffin. And in the coffin lay a small, emaciated woman in a white handkerchief and with a paper whisk on her forehead – not at all Aunt Tanya. There was a funeral – a funeral service in the church, then a cemetery, a yellow mound of earth and flowers at the foot of a wooden cross. It started to rain and we all got covered in clay.

Why didn’t I cry? Mom cried, but I didn’t shed a tear. Why? Don’t know. Something seemed to freeze in me, and I became insensible, like a pillar.

And then her will was read to me. Aunt Tanya left everything to me: an apartment, her savings, even a house somewhere in a remote village, where she never went.

This is the story.

* * *

Maxim took my hand and stroked my fingers.

— And the painting? – he asked.

— Painting? It hangs on the wall in my room, next to the portrait of Aunt Tanya, which I painted in pastel in my third year.

“I don’t remember,” Maxim said, wrinkling his forehead.

– This is in my mother’s apartment, in another city … Perhaps we should go?

Maxim looked at his watch and nodded. We got up and walked towards the exit.

– Wait again, nie se radvame for guests! – the white-toothed Bulgarian bartender said goodbye, and without translation I realized that he was inviting us to come in again.

I waved to him.

The sun was setting. There, in Nestinary, a fire is probably already blazing, on the coals of which a little later, when it gets dark, barefoot dark-skinned Bulgarians, similar to gypsies, will begin to dance their famous dance. And then all the restaurant visitors will join hands and walk around the fading fire under the starry sky, and the orchestra will hit the folk “Wai, dudula”.

After the story, Maxim felt calm in his soul, as if after a confession, he felt as if the sun was shining through rain streams. Mushroom rain. I have not been to confession for a long time, when I return from Bulgaria, I will definitely go.

I took Maxim by the arm and looked back at the blossoming peach orchards against the cornflower blue background of the sea. I will definitely draw them now. For Aunt Tanya.

Drawings by Maria Zaikina

Private kindergarten Academy on Solnechnaya street – reviews, photos, prices, phone and address – For children – Samara

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Academy Private Kindergarten can look after your baby while you work. Here, children sleep, eat, walk, study and do other things according to the schedule, thanks to which they develop a conscious attitude towards themselves, develop useful habits and stabilize their behavior. And to make it easier for children to adapt to school life, educators help them learn the necessary skills. In the classroom, little pranksters perform tasks together and alone, little by little getting used to learning something new every day.

Parents gave Academy Private Kindergarten 4.43 points.

Kindergarten can be found at the address: Russia, Samara, Solnechnaya street, 8 (next to the Russian metro station). For information about developmental programs, call +7 (927) 260-27-21 or visit detsad163.ru. The doors of the organization are open Mon-Fri: 07:30 – 19:00.

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• 📍 Where can I find Private Kindergarten Academy?

  Address of the organization: Russia, Samara, Solnechnaya street, 8.

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  Contact number: +7 (927) 260-27-21.

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  Clients are accepted: Mon-Fri: 07:30 – 19:00.

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