I met the famous Orthodox writer Natalia Sukhinina in Kirov at the Trifon Readings. Natalia Evgenievna was invited to a meeting with readers who wished to see the author with their own eyes and talk with him. The Moscow guest was struck by the modesty and sincerity with which the Vyatka people addressed her. These questions allowed me to determine what interests an Orthodox person most of all in the life and work of an Orthodox writer: the path of life, the path to God, the fate of the heroes of the works ... Read about this in this story of hers.
Three months on the road to God
— My writing activity grew out of journalistic work. I was baptized as a child, but I truly came to God while still a correspondent for the Socialist Industry newspaper of the Central Committee of the CPSU. Somehow they sent me on a business trip ... on foot to Jerusalem. That business trip turned out to be fateful, everything turned upside down in my life. Then I had a crust on which was imprinted in gold letters: "Press of the Central Committee of the CPSU." Lord, how people were afraid of this crust! Only from this alone, according to young egoism, one could get pleasure - after all, the future of those with whom he met depended on the correspondent in the literal sense of the word. At that time, I was still a completely unbelieving person. Moreover, my father was the secretary of the regional party committee. Such are the communist roots, about which it is a shame to talk. There were also ambitions - I wanted to say my word in journalism, to do something that no one had done before me. And I made an adventurous decision - to walk to Jerusalem. One from Moscow. Somewhere I heard that there is such a Holy Land, I read about pilgrims, and I was very struck that people, overcoming the difficulties of the path for several months, or even years, reached the walls of the Holy City and, stopping in front of it, kissed the ground and returned back because they considered themselves unworthy to enter into it.
And so I come to the editor-in-chief and tell him that I want to walk to Jerusalem. I think he will now say to me: “Natalya, where are you going? Where do you actually work?” And he told me: "Come on!" He gave the go-ahead to this adventure - after all, this is exactly what was not there anywhere and on which it was possible to “light up” quite well.
And on July 18, 1990, Patriarch Alexy II blesses me to the Holy Land from the Trinity-Sergius Lavra. He had just been elected to the patriarchal throne, a few months before. I walked for three months. Some small sections of the road went. So I got to Odessa, and there I was already taken on a ship, and by sea I sailed to Cyprus, and from there it took 40 minutes by plane to Tel Aviv. From the road, I sent a lot of publications to the editor, I wrote almost on my knee. And everyone knew that I was going to Jerusalem with the blessing of the Patriarch. Then the level of my churching was practically zero. A photograph still hangs at home, where the Patriarch blesses me, and I stand in front of him without a headscarf. I hung this photo in front of my eyes for my own shame: how many times I pass by, so many times I feel ashamed.
There was a lot of noise from this my pilgrimage. They made programs on television, organized meetings with me. Now I joke that I fully satisfied all my vanity back then.
But it was this journey that became decisive in my life. Because when I was walking, I met with real Orthodox people, with priests, they impressed me very much, and I myself began to slowly become churched. Very many wonderful rural priests in darned cassocks sincerely envied me, a prosperous journalist, and asked: “If you are in the Holy Land, pray for us.” They gave a lot of candles for me to put them in front of the Holy Sepulcher. My backpack got heavier and heavier. Many asked to pray for their sick relatives and loved ones. And already on the road, I realized all the hypocrisy of this idea: I go to the Holy Sepulcher, I carry notes, and I myself am an unbeliever. But it was too late to retreat. During the trip, I was shown a lot of miracles, and it turned my life around 180 degrees.
Immediately after the trip, I decided to leave the party. And then it was even more difficult to do. And I was going to leave the newspaper, and in general from journalism, I wanted to sell icons in the temple. But by that time I already had a confessor, and he told me: “No, you better mind your own business, and others will sell the icons.” And since then, by the grace of God, I have been doing my job. She began to write stories for Orthodox publications, the magazines "Russian House", "Orthodox Conversation", "Martha and Mary", etc. And soon she left journalism altogether.
Prayer for neighbors will bring to Athos
This trip has changed more than just my life. My only son, a fashionable Moscow boy, literally a few days after my prayer at the Holy Sepulcher left the university for a monastery. He studied at the Faculty of Philology. When I left for Jerusalem, he was a very prosperous young man. In Jerusalem, I lived in the Mountain Monastery, talked with the nuns. We all sat together in the evenings, drinking tea, I told them about Russia. They were away from home for a very long time. And so I somehow expressed my pain for my son to them. “Mothers,” I say, “I walked around Russia, saw believers and I think: why did my son enter this philological faculty? It would be better to go to the seminary: how good it is to serve God! What an interesting life the priests have! They have such holidays!” And they tell me: “You are at the Holy Sepulcher, go pray to the Lord, ask for your son.” And I don't even know how to pray. And so she came to the Holy Sepulcher and in her own words began to ask the Lord to bring her son to the service ...
I returned home from Jerusalem, and suddenly he tells me that he wants to talk very seriously. I got scared. He had just come from the army, he was alone for three months in my absence, anything could happen to him. I think: what will he tell me now? And he says: “You know, mom, I decided to quit the philological faculty and enter the seminary.” And he left the university. He worked as a laborer in the Danilov Monastery, digging trenches for pipes there. He entered the church, graduated from the seminary, then the academy. Now he is Hieromonk Dorimedont, laboring on Mount Athos. When I worked as the editor-in-chief of the Holy Mountain publishing house, he translated all five volumes of Elder Paisios from Greek. He learned the Greek language while already on Athos.
Bouquet of white lilies to Elder Paisios
The work on the publication of the teachings of Elder Paisios was a happy time, an amazing period of my life. I didn't even want this job to end. But now, apparently, it will still end, because we have released five volumes, and the rest are no longer so interesting for the Russian reader, because some national issues are raised in them, about relations between Greece and Turkey and others. We also published a biography of Elder Paisios as a separate book. You read it in one breath - as if you are drinking living water. It would seem, well, what's the intrigue? There is nothing supernatural, but such grace! I sit, edit, I have tears of joy running down my cheeks.
The elder from God had a great obedience - to beg for cancer patients. He begged a lot of people, one might say, pulled them out of the other world, because people were doomed. Once a man came to him and asked: “Geronta, pray for my wife, she is seriously ill with cancer!” "Let's pray together" - "How?" “Pray that her disease will be transferred to me.” When he saw the embarrassment in the man's eyes, he asked him, "What, you can't?" "I can not". “Then I myself will pray that the Lord send her illness to me.” And he begged for cancer - he died from this terrible disease. Do you understand?! He is revered in Greece in the same way as St. Seraphim of Sarov is revered in Russia. Although Father Paisios has not yet been glorified there. He passed away recently, in 1994, and in Greece, in order to raise the issue of canonization, one must wait 60 years after his death.
Until today, I have worked for eight years as the editor-in-chief at the Svyataya Gora publishing house. We consider Elder Paisius the patron of our publishing house, for eight years we served him faithfully, and I always wanted to go and pray at his grave. Two years ago, I finally packed up and went to Greece.
His grave is near Thessaloniki, outside the city. I went there by taxi. She came, she prayed, she cried. I returned to the city and thought: why did I travel so far to the holy man dear to me and somehow met him in a non-human way; I should have come with a bouquet of lilies. I don’t know how to speak Greek, I got into the car and tried to explain to the driver, but he didn’t understand anything. Then I draw a flower for him in a notebook, saying that I need to buy flowers. He understood. He took me to a shop where flowers are sold. I go out and show the saleswoman that I need to buy these lilies. She is chattering something in Greek - I'm at a loss. And then I take out a photograph of Elder Paisius and show that the flowers are for him. She: "Oh, Paisia, Paisia." He takes another bouquet and gives it to me, they say, take this from me to the old man. And I again came to the grave with these two bouquets. Of course, this is an amazing saint. He is ours, Russian, all the problems that he talks about, we are going through. Especially in family life.
Continuation of the Jerusalem meetings
- In Jerusalem, I happened to visit the Church of Mary Magdalene and venerate the relics of Elizabeth Feodorovna. This temple is on the territory of the monastery of the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia, in which Mother Varvara was the abbess. Back then, the ROC and ROCOR were not friends. They were like the "white" and "red" Churches. And it was impossible for me, as a pilgrim who came to our Mountain Monastery, to go to the Church of Mary Magdalene. But still, on the sly, they let me in there for noon. Matushka Varvara greeted me very warmly, took me around the monastery, and we drank tea with her. Her parents lived in Russia, then emigrated. She was the daughter of a Cossack chieftain. We moved to Chinese Harbin, then to America. There she became a nun, from there she was appointed abbess to Jerusalem. Her mother dreamed all her life to go home with her, to show her Russia. And when she got old and realized that she would no longer be able to go, she punished her: “You must see Russia!” And the daughter fulfilled the order, came to Moscow. It must have been ten years since my trip to Jerusalem. The phone rang at my house in Moscow. An old female voice is heard in the receiver: “Hello, I need Natalia Sukhinina. You were at our monastery, remember me?” "Of course I remember".
So at the age of more than seventy, at the end of her life, mother Varvara decided to come to Russia after all. Before that, she was in Ukraine, in the monasteries of the Pskov and Novgorod regions. I saw my note in the Russian House magazine and contacted me through this magazine. We met, she asked me to tell her about Russia. I told her a lot. She also wanted to go to Solovki, to Siberia. And just the next day I was taken a plane ticket, I flew to Siberia on my journalistic business. “Oh,” I say, “mother, I’m flying to Siberia tomorrow.” "Can I come with you?" - "Can". We bought a ticket, and even our seats were close by.
She was interested in everything. Then I published an essay about this trip of ours in the Russian House with a photograph of my mother with a sunflower, taken in Siberia. The woman was amazing. Communication with her taught me to love Russia, to appreciate that we live here. She was surprised at everything. We go by car: “Oh, who is there on a horse? What's in his basket? Those are mushrooms. Let's buy them." So enthusiastic, unearthly! And after Siberia, she traveled a lot more. I went to the Vladimir region, from there to Arkhangelsk, to Solovki, then to St. Petersburg. It is unfortunate that somewhere on the roads of the Nizhny Novgorod region, she had an accident. The father with whom she was traveling died immediately, and she was in the hospital in Nizhny Novgorod for a long time, I called her, then she never recovered. The patient went to Australia, I saw her off, and soon I was informed that she had died. Didn't have any surgery.
All my stories are from life
Everything that is written in my books is true. They say that in order to write something, a writer must have the gift of imagination. I don't have any imagination. Completely missing. I can never think of anything, and I don't need it at all. Because life is so rich, so amazing, there are so many things in it that you don’t need to invent anything at all. God forbid you write and use what you know, what happened in your life, tell about your amazing meetings. I have been doing journalism for many years, traveled around the country a lot, met different people. I still have chubby notebooks that can’t wait for me to start them, I will describe everything in some new works.
And one more thing: I have a lot of heroes with whom very good, friendly relations are maintained. Communication with them continues. I always try to keep in touch with those I write about. This is a lot of work, especially when they live in other cities.
Here, for example, is one of the last books - a story about the fate of women from a penal colony in Samara. When I started working on this book, during the ten days that I spent in the colony, every single day I went to meetings with prisoners, from morning to evening I talked face to face with women. Of course, I changed their names, but I kept the lines of their lives. The greater the sorrow, the closer a person is to God - I tried to convey this idea by talking about the fate of my heroines.
In my last book, Farewell to the Slav Woman, I turned to the topic of war. When I took it on, none of my relatives supported me in this endeavor. Everyone said that no one would read about the war. Those who fought will not want to stir up their pain, and the young do not need it. But together with the hero of this book, Viktor Georgievich Gladyshev, who survived the war as a child, we nevertheless dared to take up this work. Although at the last moment he admitted that he did not like this empty idea, because young people are now interested in other topics. And yet the book came out last year, and its circulation has already been sold out. Now we will repeat it.
After its release, we spent an evening meeting with Gladyshev, it took place in a huge hall, where more than half of the youth gathered: Suvorovites, cadets, guys from schools, high school students. And I saw that they needed it. Only one should speak on these topics delicately, so that in every heart of a teenager there is a corner where memories of the war would freely enter.
I dedicated this book to my father, God rest his soul, because my dad fought with me. He went from Moscow to Berlin, I also write about him here. But basically this book is about the children of war. About how the Lord kept them in the most incredible conditions. Here is just one case. The main character, Viktor Gladyshev, who was eight years old, was led by a German to be shot. At that time, an order was in force in the occupied territories: whoever raises a Soviet leaflet will be shot. And then one German saw the boy pick up a leaflet, and immediately led him to shoot. “I,” Viktor Georgievich recalls, “I am standing on a hill, I see a black muzzle pointed at me, and I don’t understand what is happening: for some reason my fingers folded themselves for the sign of the cross. I began to be baptized, to ask God for salvation. Suddenly I see how this German falls on his side. It turns out that at that time the cattleman Uncle Vanya saw how I was taken to the execution, came up from behind, knocked this German off his feet and shouted to me: “Run!” So he saved me and survived himself ... "
About the white crow and incredible coincidences
- I recently finished work on a new book, which will be called The White Crow. It is about the fate of a woman who rushed around a lot in life, searched for herself for a long time, having endured many sorrows, the loss of loved ones. And at the same time, she constantly made claims to God, asked Him: “For what?” But then little by little I came to faith, I understood where to look for the truth, where to get strength. Now this woman is in the monastery. Of course, I changed her name. At first she called Tatyana Voronina. Voronin, because at school she was called a white crow. But things didn’t go well for me - I didn’t write, I didn’t feel Tatyana at all. Then I took it and renamed it Natalya, and immediately everything changed for me. Moreover, I wanted to bring into this book some events that happened to me, my own feelings of life.
The book is fiction, but it's all true. This woman has a very unusual life, she suffered a lot, she was on the verge of death many times, but the Lord constantly protected her. When she got married, she gave birth to twins - a boy and a girl. The husband came to the hospital to congratulate her, and they tell him that his wife had just died. "This can't be!" He ran up the stairs of the maternity hospital into the corridor, where the body of his wife lay, covered with a sheet. He threw back the sheet and saw how his eyelashes fluttered. He carried her outside, hailed a taxi, and took his wife to the hospital. There he went to some doctor and said: “Save her!” It turns out that my wife's kidney failed during childbirth. The kidney was removed, and the woman slowly began to recover. But when once again her husband came to visit her, the doctor said: “Your wife has two days left to live, because the second kidney also fails. Prepare for the worst, there are no miracles." This poor man goes out into the street, sits down on a bench from impotence and hears that a woman is crying nearby on the same bench. "Do you have a smoke?" she asks. "I do not smoke". He sees that she, too, has some kind of great grief, went, asked a passerby for a cigarette, gave it to her. She lit a cigarette, calmed down and said: “I was just informed that my son had just died.” "My wife is also dying." “What about your wife?” "Her only kidney is failing." "I will give you my son's kidney." Imagine! They matched in seconds, and this woman survived thanks to this donated kidney.
When someone tells me that he is not a believer, I am always surprised: “What kind of life have you lived? Haven’t you ever had such a case, after which you would kneel and not say: “Lord, You can do anything!”
It is curious that in 1990 she went on foot to Jerusalem from Moscow. She was instructed to write a spectacular story for a newspaper. After this journey, she became a believer.
About "Flight of the Dandelions"
Perhaps every library should have books by an Orthodox author. In her works, it is as if one feels magnetism or a vision of miracles.
For example, the book "Dandelion Flight" touches on the difficult topic of a love triangle. In a situation of betrayal, it is very difficult to find a way out, but the writer is trying to figure it out.
According to the plot, there was no physical betrayal. The protagonist suffers, he tries to understand his goals, aspirations, he rushes about. In this book, the reader learns that a man meets true love.
Natalya Sukhinina tells the story of the formation of three people. From this book, the reader will learn how trouble will become the starting point for the spiritual growth of people. They will go through loss and through pain to become different people, to become better.
From Sukhinina's book, you can learn how to deal with problems and remain human, how to understand yourself and make the right decision. To solve his problems, the hero goes to Mount Athos. He was greatly helped by an old man whom he met.
About other works of the writer
- "What color is pain?"
- "Don't sell a pearl necklace."
- Where do happy people live?
- "Ticket to the End".
- "Lullaby for the wind".
- "Woman in colorful."
- "Where did the bullfinches go?"
- "Flight of Dandelions"
- "White crow".
Of course, you can download it, but it's better to hold the new books of Natalya Sukhinina in your hands and, together with her characters, plunge into the world of human emotions, look for the right solution, the right way out of various life situations.
When the library is replenished with good works, it always fills readers with useful information, since an Orthodox author helps in his works to find answers to important life questions.
Where to buy books by Natalia Sukhinina?
You can pick up all the books of Natalia Sukhinina in our online store. You can indulge yourself and read good books - we often have special offers, and you can also count on a 50% discount - it all depends on the volume of the order.
A nice feature of our online store is that we always have books in stock. There are special attractive conditions for religious organizations. More details can be found by contacting an employee of our Orthodox online store.
All our books are stamped by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church. This suggests that the publications are of high quality and do not contain information that contradicts the canons of the Orthodox Church.
Do you want to buy new books by Natalia Sukhinina? Select the appropriate product, click the "Buy" button, and your product will be in the "Cart". The operator will contact you as soon as possible. We deliver in Moscow in 2-3 days.
Now you know that in our online store you can buy books by Natalia Sukhinina at an affordable price and get your order as quickly as possible in Moscow or in another region.
She was once a successful secular journalist and, in order to write spectacular material for the newspaper of the Central Committee of the CPSU "Socialist Industry" (it was 1990 in the yard), she decided to walk from Moscow to Jerusalem. A few months later, Sukhinina returned a different person. Believers.
Natalya Evgenievna has the ability to attract (or see?) miracles: this is felt in her books. Yes, and in the life of Sukhinina there are no less miracles ...
– Your new book “Dandelion Flights” is dedicated to the “love triangle” situation. Maybe a way out of it? After all, betrayal is committed, relationships are broken ...
- The situation is not easy. Although there was no betrayal in the physical, generally accepted sense. The hero tried to understand himself, it was not easy for him ... But he really met a great, real, serious feeling.
However, he was able to accept and understand that such love had a right to exist before the appearance of children. As soon as the children were born, the main thing was the awareness of the duty to them.
This was accepted by Dasha, the girl whom Ilya was going to marry. Much went to Vika - his wife, she suffered, drove Ilya away from herself. This story of the formation of three people, and the trouble that united them, became the point of their spiritual growth. Through pain, through loss...
We are told what is possible and necessary. We know and stay the same. The main tragedy of modern Christians is that we all know, but we can't do anything.
This science is very difficult for me. I remember insults for a long time. This is also a question that I do not understand: I do not want to remember the offense, but I do. What should I do? No, I can not show resentment outwardly, I can say, as it is customary: “Save the Lord!”, “For the glory of God!” - we all know well what to say, especially in. And most importantly - what's inside. How to expel resentment from within?
I generally have the feeling that you are repeating the same thing in confession, but you don’t move from your place. And the years go by... Poor priests, how much they listen to this of ours!
What other problems do Christians have today?
- There was a "knurled": all-night service, liturgy, confession, communion, holidays - and that's all. . This is our problem.
When I had a period of active churching, my materials abounded in all sorts of Christian terms ... And then I became ashamed to declare all this. And now I have reduced the "terms" to a minimum. In my book The Seasons, there are few words about Orthodoxy; the actions of the heroes testify to it.
I have met a lot of people who are not churched, do not go to church, do not fast. But they are Christians by their actions. And we got carried away with the declaration.
I used to have a certain arrogance: here I am - a church person! Then I looked: there is no reason for pride.
In Pitsunda, my neighbor Seryozha, an Armenian, helps me a lot around the house. Once we went with him to Kamany on business, and he says: “Natalya Evgenievna, I really want to go to the temple!” He went in, and then worried: “Probably, he did everything wrong, he crossed himself in the wrong way, and not as many times as necessary.” How he was baptized - you should have seen! He put his soul into the movement of his hands. And we, churchmen, often waved our hands: everyone crossed themselves. And this Seryozha, who does not fast, can say a strong word, turns out to be closer to God.
In order to return to God, to Christ, we, the churched, need to analyze our actions, our attitude to life. And pull yourself out. After all, this is a dead end road. Everyone has read it, we know - it bounces off teeth, we go to confession - we know how to say, what to say, at what moment and how to take a blessing ... So what?
Apparently, this is a stage of the path that needs to be passed and reached a new level - Christian love. But it is not easy to take a step, and walking around the church annual circle without internal stress is somehow more comfortable ...
And people used to die for Christ. And everything is calm with us, hence our lukewarmness ... There is such an anecdote: a service begins in the temple, people in masks jump out of the altar, with machine guns: “So, quickly: who is ready to die for Christ, for faith - to the right. The rest are out of here." A minute later there are two people in the temple. “Well, now let’s start the Liturgy,” says the priest, taking off his mask.
We now do not live in the same danger as the priests in the 30s of the last century, who buried each other at. They definitely didn't care about each other! And we are relaxed that we live in such calmness. I think it will end...
What if the character gets offended?
- What is missing from your life?
- Directness, openness. Because, alas, I had to be beaten. And so there was a certain pose that I don’t really like. It is a pity that it is gone - sincere feelings please, first of all, the soul of the person himself. On the other hand, this is normal: age implies a certain fatigue, disappointment. We must learn to live with this and treat it reasonably.
- Usually people are afraid of loneliness ...
- In the book "Flight of Dandelions" I just talk about this: Dashenka could not get married. While skating, she thinks about loneliness, and says that if this is a stage in life, then there is no need to be afraid of it. Many girls do a lot of stupid things out of fear of loneliness. If you set yourself up correctly, they can be avoided ...
Loneliness at an older age is another thing. I treat loneliness as a reward. I liked it regardless of age. I always wanted to get away from noisy Moscow, I feel comfortable in small places. Here is the gorge for me - it's just happiness. Sometimes I don't see anyone for a week. I don’t say a word, the only thing is that I’ll wave my hand to the neighbors from the porch. I love it so much! Serving the summer bustle, when there are always a lot of guests, I think: everyone will leave, I will stay alone and write. Maybe all this is due to the fact that I am a person in demand. I do not treat loneliness as some kind of rock: it is a state that I can change at any moment. Apparently, there is slyness here: if you want to, how will I find myself among people ...
Writer Natalya Sukhinina is one of the nominees for the Patriarchal Literary Prize. The heroes of Sukhinina's works are the most ordinary real people (each has a prototype), with whom, it would seem, sometimes incredible things happen. Not external miracles, but miracles of inner rebirth...
In an interview with Pravmir, Natalya Evgenievna spoke about why she decided to write a children's book for the first time in her life, why she has been upset by what is happening on Forgiveness Sunday, and what topic she will never write about ...
- Now it is popular to discuss whether there is such a thing as Orthodox literature?
I'm not very inclined to think that this concept exists, because we don't call The Captain's Daughter, for example, "Orthodox literature", right? Although the work is imbued with a Christian, Orthodox spirit.
If there is some kind of moral lesson in a literary work of art, if there are some deep reflections about a person’s place in life, then this is probably what can be called Orthodox literature, but in a global sense. In essence, not in form. So there is no need to drive everything into some kind of framework, try to separate it, bring it under some kind of paragraph.
We have extremes, there are Orthodox cafes, Orthodox hairdressers, Orthodox real estate agencies.
Although, it would seem, wherever they work honestly and with the fear of God, this is all Orthodox work. It is the same in literature: if a writer writes with the fear of God, with the understanding that he will have to answer at the judgment of God for every word written, then this will probably be Orthodox literature. And church themes, external attributes that indicate faith, do not play a role here.
- Are there topics that you will never take up, no matter how much you would like to?
Many years ago, by the grace of God, I had a spiritual father, Archimandrite Georgy (Tertyshnikov), God rest his soul. I then worked at the Russian House, and Father Georgy read every note of mine. Everything that came out of me - everything came out as if with his blessing. Because I was terribly afraid that I could exceed my authority somewhere.
And then he told me: "Remember: there is no topic for you." That is - do not climb where you do not need to. And for me it is the law. Although it seems that everything can be beautifully written: a person approaches the Chalice, candles are burning ... But - you can’t. I will never allow myself to talk about Communion.
Actually, talking about it is scary. The only reasoning is reverent silence.
And you can’t explain in words, even to children, what Communion is. This is what is self-understood. Growing up in an atheistic family, no one explained to me what Communion is. But at one moment I understood, with my heart, and not after reading some books, explanations. And, thank God, I still understand.
We need to be reverent about this topic. When they show Orthodox films, broadcast services and demonstrate what is happening in the altar - I think this is wrong.
Daniel, born at a creative meeting
Your new book, which tells about the lives of the saints, is for children. Why did you decide to address an audience that is unusual for you?
There was a need to take on a children's theme, but I was afraid for a long time. Having already written nine books, I decided that I would still try to make the tenth book for children. Although it is still scary, it has only recently come out, there are not many reviews.
- When writing this book, did you have to change something in the approach to work?
Certainly. After all, these are the lives of the saints. The most difficult thing was to select the lives, because not everything can be told to children yet: a lot of terrible torments and sufferings are shown in the lives, and all this may be incomprehensible to children. Children need to be brought to this in a very dosed way.
Well, I had to not just retell the lives in children's language, but to introduce young readers into the book, to make the story entertaining. The author's text provides such an opportunity. For example, if I am talking about the holy righteous Procopius, which will also talk about falling stones, I first say that I have a collection of pebbles at home, and among these stones there is a special stone that was presented to me in Veliky Ustyug. And further - already about St. Procopius.
- The book is dedicated to the boy Daniel. Who is it?
Once, during my creative evening, a woman sitting in the hall went into labor. She was taken to the hospital, and soon the boy Daniel was born. When he was about two years old, he came to my creative evening with his mother with his own legs. He went up on stage, such a serious kid, with a tie. And I made a promise to him in front of everyone (there were 500 people there): "I will publish a children's book, it will be dedicated to you." Now she has fulfilled her promise.
- All the heroes of your works have real prototypes. Do you know their future fate?
I have a story called “The Time of Picking Figs”. About a man who was in prison for murder. In prison, he became a believer, became a church member.
He was given a vacation for good behavior, during this vacation he comes to the temple to the priest, tells (not in confession, of course) his story. Batiushka told it to my friend, who, unable to bear it, told me. I immediately wanted to write about her.
I called the priest to ask permission to write the story that he first heard, to which he answered first: “And by what right are you going to write, in general, who blessed you?” I answered: “Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. But I write on Orthodox topics.”
He asks: “And your last name is by any chance Sukhinina?” Having received confirmation, he continued: “Do you know that I have a box of chocolates for you for a year already? I,” he says, “I want to give it to you all for your books.” Then I understand that I have a chance. I say: “Father, allow me, please!”.
And he allowed. And then, later, I met in the courtyard of the temple with the hero of my story. He also gave his consent and did not even want the name to be changed in the book: "I want to be prayed for, that's how I am."
Six months pass, a phone call: "Do you remember, we were sitting in the courtyard of the temple." I say: “Of course, I remember you very well. What do you remind me, I'm worried like you are now. Where are you now?" He says: “In the monastery. But I don't have the blessing to say which one." I say: “Well, you don’t have to. What are you doing over there?" “I,” he answers, “is a worker, I work in the kitchen.”
After some time, he calls me again and says: “Natalya Evgenievna, I’ll tell you something now. I work somehow in the kitchen, I clean the fish, it's hard, it scratches my hands. And the woman who is in charge there began to scold me: “What are your hands, where do they grow from? Well, what kind of man are you? There are real men, I read about one in a book. And he begins to tell my story described by you. Some time passes, she comes running with bulging eyes and says to me: “What did they tell me! They say this guy is in our monastery!”
Director on her knees
Please remember the stories that have not yet been included in your books and which characterize modern people.
If we talk about good examples, then there are a lot of them. I remember when we stood in line at to say goodbye to the deceased. They stood for five hours. It was just a wonderful queue, everyone there loved each other, everyone helped each other. Debunking the allegations, suggestions that the Russians got drunk, lost faith.
I observed the following picture: not far from a clearly not poor man in a leather coat with a huge bouquet of roses, a poor grandmother was standing. She kept lamenting that she would not make it in time, and she needed to get on the last train to get home, to another city. And then this man said: “Granny, don’t worry, you will come to me, you will spend the night with me.”
That is, all this is good in people, and when necessary, it awakens. This is our genetics.
And there are many such moments. I had to travel a lot, I was in the North. The depth is so far away that even a mobile phone does not take. The village behind Kotlas, from which you still have to go and go.
I was told about a local woman - a former director of an oil mill. Being the boss, she behaved on a grand scale: she offended people, fired, did what she wanted with them. Lived, of course, comfortably.
And so, she came to God. Once she went through all the houses, in front of every person offended by her, fell on her knees and asked for forgiveness. Now she bakes prosphora in the temple, I saw her. I think I'll write a story about her later.
What do you dislike about modern life?
I am very worried about a certain conventionality of modern life. Young people say such a word - "type". Here we have - like you believe, like you love, like you start a family. There is some falsehood in this. Life is invented, and here we are, like, living. We know that there is some set of life conventions, and we spend energy on overcoming obstacles to these conventions in order to have some kind of status. It's the "type" that worries me the most. Still - insincerity hurts.
Unfortunately I am facing this. There are times when I really see that I am being used for their own purposes. And at the same time, everything is packed into some such beautiful words, into assurances of friendship. And I, as a sincere person, often fall for this. And then it hurts a lot.
On the other hand, how to be here? Trust no one? This is the other extreme. And how to understand right away who to believe, who not, I still have not learned, I don’t know. Human insincerity in relationships worries me a lot. Let it be better they be bad, but - openly, sincerely.
- What mistakes, in your opinion, do modern Christians make?
The biggest thing that just kills is . We are mired in this hypocrisy and we ourselves know it very well. Lately I've just been getting tired of what's going on in . Almost theater.
"God bless you, forgive me." “God will forgive, and you forgive me,” strangers say to each other.
Or I'm standing in line for confession. In a strange temple, I don’t know anyone at all. And now the woman standing in front of me turns to face me, bows and says, “I'm sorry!” Why? What are you guilty of before me, I see you for the first and last time. Some games are coming...
But when you need to ask for forgiveness from someone to whom you are really guilty, it gets stuck.
- The most interesting and significant recent meetings?
Oh, there are so many meetings, glory to You, Lord. I travel a lot, I am invited to meetings with readers in different parts of the country. And during these trips I see an amazing, wonderful life. Especially our hinterland - it keeps something important, real.
Of the brightest recent meetings, I can name a meeting with the abbess of the Nikolsky Monastery in the city of Privolzhsk - Abbess Anatolia. For me, talking with her, a surprisingly bright person, has become a real holiday. Now I know that she is praying for me, it gives me strength...
And from those meetings that took place a long time ago and which help to go through life - a meeting with Alexander Gennadievich Petrynin, director of the Center for Psychological Rehabilitation and Correction of Khabarovsk. We have known each other for more than 30 years, and I rejoice in his success, I am glad that he still has the strength to save "difficult" children.
For me, his habit, in the midst of enormous employment, a large number of cases, is very valuable, to call, just say: “Natalya Evgenievna, I love you,” and hang up. And I know that we are together.
In general, I am happy in friends whom I love very much and who are always ready to support me.
Current page: 1 (total book has 17 pages)
Natalia Evgenievna Sukhinina
WHERE DO THE HAPPY LIVE?
stories and essays
Foreword
ORTHODOX VISION OF THE WORLD
Russian people are Orthodox. And whoever is not Orthodox, in that his Russianness becomes doubtful. For many, this is already a common place since the time of Dostoevsky. But what does it mean to be Orthodox? It's not given at birth. No, Orthodoxy must be learned, educated in Orthodoxy. But as?
Of course, to go to church: whoever puts himself outside the church is inevitably outside the faith - to whom the Church is not a mother, God is not a father. This, again, has long been indisputable, although not for everyone, so it is useful to repeat and repeat the undoubted from time to time. It is obligatory to read Holy Scripture, testing yourself with patristic wisdom, for with your understanding you can read such heresies that it would be better not to take those books into your hands. It is necessary to comprehend the doctrinal foundations of Orthodoxy, the dogmatic truths. Finally, we must try to live according to the commandments, which is very difficult.
However, in following all this, we are in danger of transforming the necessary into the external, the formal, which does not take possession of the fullness of our being. One can become a scribbler, a proud Pharisee, but that will be of little use. After all, the Pharisee was very pious, fulfilling even more than what was required, and yet, by the Son of God Himself, he was placed lower than the sinner-publican.
In order to accept the truths of Orthodoxy, it is necessary, among other things, to assimilate them through one's own life experience - then they will become not an external dogma, but guidelines on the path to salvation. Why did our first parents sin? Because they had no experience of being outside of God. In fact, their punishment was a great boon, a teaching provided providentially for all mankind for the sake of gaining the most valuable experience, without which it is impossible to be firm in following the will of God. (Not everyone benefited from that experience, but that's another topic.)
However, one cannot comprehend the complexity of life with one's own experience. The sea of life is too immense and boundless for one person. But you can use for your own good the spiritual experience of your neighbors, both good and negative. Therefore, those who collect such experience bit by bit and make it public property do a great job. It is especially valuable if everything collected receives Orthodox, that is, true, illumination and interpretation.
I confess that it is always with great apprehension that I undertake to read works in which the author sets such a goal for himself. For Orthodoxy is often understood externally: it seems that it is worth remembering the name of God, piously touched - and that's enough. And what comes out is mannerism, lisping, false piety, sugary exaltation, deliberate cloying. Orthodoxy does not tolerate exactly this, rolling eyes and picture poses are contraindicated for him. Those works where a word is not said in simplicity, but all with a "pious" grimace, only harm the cause, tearing away souls that do not tolerate falsehood.
The book of Natalia Sukhinina to anyone who reads it with indifference will give a lot of useful things necessary to enrich their own experience, since it offers a strict, sober, courageous, sometimes tough and at the same time wise, genuinely kind outlook on life. Here the most valuable experience is collected, revealing not speculatively, but on living examples - being with God and without God.
Su khinina teaches Orthodoxy. Not dogma, of course, and not church canons - there are special books for that. She teaches the Orthodox comprehension of life on simple everyday examples. And this is simply necessary for the reader, since worldly experience is unobtrusive, but sometimes more conclusive than the most reasonable edifications.
Who, for example, does not know the truth of St. Seraphim of Sarov, “Acquire the spirit of peace, and around thousands will be saved”? You can talk long and hard about it. In Sukhinina, this is revealed on a negative example, in an everyday situation recognizable by everyone (the story “The Last Flowers from Our Garden”): an unpeaceful spirit, despondency - poison everything around them, make neighbors unhappy, filled with the spirit of malice. And there is not a single mention in vain of God's name, there is no reference to the Holy Fathers, but the patristic wisdom " despondency is the delight of the devil" (St. Tikhon of Zadonsk) is too obvious to doubt it.
There is no need to retell the meaning of all the stories - you just need to read them. The author teaches to peer into people, to see the inner essence of characters and actions behind the outside. And teaches love, which begins with sympathy for even the most unattractive person. Teaches in humility to forgive when it is so difficult to forgive.
Every believer knows: God helps him in all life circumstances, in trials, turmoil. It is only necessary with faith to seek such help. And if doubts prevail? But read about the true stories that happened in the lives of the most ordinary people - is this not a living testimony?
You read the book and involuntarily strengthen your conviction: with faith it is good and easy to live (not in the ordinary sense, but in the spiritual sense), without God it is painful and hopeless. Russian people have known for a long time that without God it is not up to the threshold. And all these stories are another confirmation of this.
And involuntarily one side argument comes to mind, which, probably, was not included in the author’s calculation: how criminally those who still fight against faith, who speak with hatred about Orthodoxy, think and behave. What do they doom a person, the entire nation, to, trying to drive into the minds of everyone their depressingly vulgar stereotypes about the self-sufficiency of a person, about pluralism, about consumer ideals? Those who are hysterical should start talking about the need to teach children the basics of Orthodoxy, dooming the people to degeneration and death. The statistics are frightening: we are in first place in terms of suicides among the youth. And do not deceive yourself: in unbelief, in godlessness, this will become more and more aggravated. What do those who fight with faith achieve? Don't know what they are doing? Someone in their own complacency and stupid self-confidence really does not know, but someone ...
A person is led through life, protecting from falls (and we often resist this - and we fall anyway), the providential will of God. One should not, however, assume that this simple thought is primitively simple. It just often requires a genuine feat of faith, because the Orthodox requirements for a person are sometimes severely paradoxical and unacceptable at the level of everyday consciousness. In this sense, the story “A sad flutist at a merry bakery” becomes a kind of test for testing our faith. Our whole being opposes the choice that the participants in the told story humbly made, obeying the will of the elder. But after all, the spiritual wisdom of the elder is only a consequence not of his own arbitrariness, but of the spiritual comprehension of Providence. To oppose Providence is to always doom oneself to the coming disaster. It's easy to say, but go and try it when it touches you. After all, we judge everything from our limited time space, and everything seems to us as if we know better than anyone where our good is. Providence determines everything according to the laws of eternity, and from eternity, no matter how wise, it is always clearer. Not accepting this with our own limited mind, we get burned, being in a lack of faith. And if we accept, even in spite of our inner protest, we get something for which we may have long lost our hope (the story “Dress Overgrowth”).
It is not our task, we repeat again, to list all the good lessons that can be learned from reading the stories of Natalia Sukhinina. Whoever reads it will see and understand everything himself. Finally, it is necessary to say about the undoubted artistic merits of the proposed book. This is very important: a bad form can make any good intention meaningless. Sukhinina, on the other hand, skillfully masters the form, concisely builds the narrative, capaciously selects the most accurate and expressive details, clearly builds the composition of the story, correctly chooses the right intonation.
The mastery of verbal drawing can be judged at least by the following passage (the story "The Evil Old Woman with a Blue Reticule"):
“She was small, nimble, with a small wrinkled face, deep-set eyes that burned the world around her with embers. She quickly, with the gait of a hurried, very businesslike person, entered the church gates, solemnly crossed herself on the domes and minced to the front door. At the door she made three more low bows and entered under the temple vaults. And the work began with the elbows. Elbows were sharp, she herself was nimble, and therefore slipped quickly through the crowd. Forward to the salt, in the center
In the limited space of the text - nothing superfluous. But how visibly the description is given... We not only see the appearance of a person, but already guess the character, correlating it with what we ourselves know from experience. And like an unexpectedly and expressively created word: it slipped through the crowd... This is the highest aerobatics of verbal art.
The book of stories by Natalia Sukhinina is necessary, useful, kind. Anyone who reads will inevitably agree with this.
Mikhail Dunaev,
Professor of the Moscow Theological Academy
PURE GOLD EARRINGS
Mary is seven years old. She walks, or rather, runs in the first class. Why is he running? Do not know. Probably because she can't walk. The legs carry themselves, thin, dexterous, agile legs, they barely touch the ground, tangentially, almost in a dotted line, forward, forward ... Maria is black-eyed and sharp-eyed, coal gimlets look with curiosity at God's world, rejoicing at the bright colors of earthly existence and sadness from inexpressive colors. Does she like her name? She loves him. Maria... How can you not like such a name? Of course, Masha, Marusya, Manya are not so harmonious, sometimes you don’t even want to respond, but she responds. You won’t respond, but she was called to where it’s interesting. Maria lives in an Orthodox family, she has three older sisters and no younger ones. The family loves her, but they don't spoil her. Maria herself understands that pampering will not lead to good and learned from the cradle that one should be content with little. She was content until that unforgettable day came.
She jumped through the puddles, and the knapsack gently pounded on her back, that's fun, so fun: they didn't ask her in mathematics today! And at home today - pies! Maria went to school, and her eldest sister Lena put the dough:
- You come home from school, and they are hot...
There are such days. Everything is going well, even jumping through puddles easily and gracefully, now I’ll run away ... And - I got up. And the black gimlet eyes lit up with delight. A beauty walked towards Mary. Her ashen hair flowed over her shoulders, her gait is light and independent, in her eyes there is a generous condescension to all human weaknesses combined. And in the ears - earrings! Insanity, not earrings! Twinkling, shuddering lights in the sun. Maria even thought they were ringing. Like spring droplets - tinkle, tinkle ...
The girl's heart began to beat under the blue jacket, on a synthetic winterizer, louder than this tinkle, tinkle ... The sun faded. The taste of the expected pies became out of place and coarse. The beauty walked past, gracefully bypassing a large puddle sparkling in the sun. And Maria stopped in front of a puddle in impotence - not to jump over. Lightness in the legs was replaced by lead weight. She dragged herself home and threw her knapsack at a green furry hare, peacefully sitting on the sofa and indifferently staring at the wall calendar with views of the winter Toronto. The hare humbly subsided under the weight of Mary's tricky textbooks. And she herself, as she was in a jacket, curled up next to the hare, turned to the wall and wept bitterly. Mom came and sat next to me. Silently she put her hand on her daughter's heated head. The eldest sister came and placed a plate of pies on the table beside her. The youngest of the older sisters came, frightened:
- Well, what are you, Mash, what are you?
There was no dad, he worked the evening shift, and another sister, she was at the institute. Those gathered around the sofa were waiting for Maria's explanations.
And they heard them:
“I want earrings,” Maria squeezed out, sobbing, “small ones, made of pure gold.” But you will never buy them for me…” and she roared again, bitterly smearing her tears over her unfortunate face.
In the evening, when everyone had gathered, and Maria, tired from the shock of the day, was fast asleep, the “council in Fili” began in the kitchen on the right tactics and wise strategy. Of course, the family budget will not be able to handle earrings for Maria. And why does a little girl need such pampering? Three daughters have grown up without these whims, and Masha will get by, you need to talk to her strictly. To whom? Dad? Big sister? Mom? Mom.
“You know, this is a very expensive thing and we cannot afford it. And if you see a mink coat on someone, do you also want to? This is not good, we are Orthodox people, luxury is not good for us. You grow up, you learn, you go to work...
Maria was horrified by the long way to her cherished dream. Go crazy - grow up, learn. I wanted earrings now. Bright lights, golden drops burned through the heart, and in sweet languor it ached and murmured against maternal logic.
- A hundred years will pass. And now I want! Don't buy me anything, neither boots for the winter, nor a sweater, well, buy earrings...
- Stop whining. Look at the fashion took - to demand. You won't get any earrings.
The jumping girl was saddened, saddened. And she had to meet with the beautiful temptress? And here’s what’s interesting: mother’s cruel sentence “you won’t get any earrings” inflamed her heart even more. She only wanted to talk about the earrings.
She stood in front of the mirror and imagined herself happy, smiling, with earrings in her ears. Ding - turned to the right, ding - turned to the left.
- Buy it...
- Masha, stop it.
“Well, I don’t need winter boots.
- How much can you say about one thing?
- Oh please...
Received a slap from the youngest of the older sisters. I cried. And - again for his own.
The decision came unexpectedly. She realized that she would never pity those who were persistent in their hard stubbornness at home. We must go the other way. And the path was determined by her.
Sunday was gray, heavy, slushy.
- I'm going for a walk.
- In such weather? But not to long.
Running, without looking back, to the train. I got up in the vestibule, buried my nose in the glass, if only not the controllers. She only has four stops. She is in Sergiev Posad. In Lavra. To St. Sergius.
A huge queue to the Trinity Cathedral to the shrine with the relics of St. Sergius. She stood in the tail, a small, black-eyed reed girl with the most serious intentions. She will ask the Reverend for earrings. They say he is a great prayer book, he hears everyone, he consoles everyone. And she is Orthodox, baptized, her mother takes her to church, takes communion, she even tries to fast. Does she, an Orthodox Christian Mary, have no right to ask the Reverend for help? Rain is coming. The woman in front put her under the umbrella. Slowly, slowly, towards cancer...
An elderly woman fell to her knees with tears of despair - help!
Maria doubted her decision for a moment. People are in trouble, they ask for help in trouble, and I - earrings ... The Reverend will not even have time for me, there are so many people, and everyone is asking - about serious things!
But as soon as she climbed the step in front of the cancer, she forgot about everything except the earrings. The children's knees were knocked down by pure sparking prayer. The eyes were dry, but the heart was tremulous.
At home they were worried. But Maria resolutely went to the kitchen and asked for food. The family looked at each other and let go. And the next day she went to the Lavra again. Right after school without coming home. There were fewer people, and she quickly found herself in front of the holy shrine. Again she asked - stubbornly and persistently. Third time - failure. Maria in the Lavra was discovered by a friend of Lena's elder sister.
- You're alone? Do they know at home?
Well, of course she did. “Do you know, your Masha ...” Maria received for self-will in full. She was stubbornly silent when her family asked why she went to the Lavra. Finally, she could not stand it and shouted:
- Yes, I asked the Reverend for earrings! You don't buy me. Earrings!
Long pedagogical conversations began. Mom said that one should ask the Reverend for diligence in studies, he helps those who are weak in the sciences. And you, Masha, don't you have something to ask the Reverend? Are you good with math, for example?
And again Maria became sad. Mom's truth shamed her, is it up to the earrings to the Monk Sergius, if from all over Russia they go to him about tests, exams, tests?
And it was evening, quiet and warm. A sunny day managed to warm the earth and it now gave away what it had accumulated to the gentle twilight, which arrived in time for the shift. Mom entered the house mysterious, silent and beautiful. She looked at Maria for a long time, did not rush, as usual, to the kitchen to rattle dishes, fry and steam, but sat down on the sofa and hugged her daughter.
“Give me your hand,” she asked softly.
A small, cozy box fell into Maria's palm. And in her...
- Earrings ... Mom, earrings! Did you buy? Expensive? But I don't need anything, boots for the winter...
- No, daughter, this is not my gift. This is what St. Sergius gave you.
At night, when the shocked Maria, carefully hiding the treasured box under her pillow, was sleeping, the hushed household listened to the story...
Mom was in a hurry towards the train and a friend caught up with her. Have not seen each other for a long time, how and what, how is the house, how are the children?
Oh, don't ask. We have a military environment at home. Maria does this. I saw someone's earrings on the street and - I want these and that's it. Gold, not any. And persuaded, and punished, nothing helps. So what did she come up with? She began to go to the Lavra and pray at the shrine of St. Sergius so that he would give her earrings!
The friend stopped in amazement.
- Earrings? Did you pray to the Reverend? Miracles...
A quiet friend walked her mother to the train, and when she had already entered the vestibule and wanted to wave her hand, she suddenly quickly took off her earrings:
- Take it! This is Mashke.
The door closed, and the confused mother was left standing in the vestibule with earrings in her hands. She reproached herself all the way for her tactless story. Went the next day to give. But she doesn’t take it: it’s not from me, from St. Sergius.
The husband of this acquaintance, Natalia, is a deacon of one of the churches near Moscow. A lot of time has passed, and he still has not been ordained a priest. And they would have to decide on their arrival, to improve life. And Natalya went to ask for help from St. Sergius. Also, like Mary, she stood in a long line, also knelt before the holy shrine. Help, saint of Christ! And suddenly, in prayerful zeal, she promised:
- I'll donate my gold earrings to you, help ...
Soon Natalya's husband was ordained. He became the rector of one of the churches in the Moscow region. It's time to deliver on the promise. She came to the Lavra, walks in confusion: where does she go with these earrings? You can’t leave it on cancer, it’s not supposed to be passed on to someone, but to whom? She walked and walked, but never figured out how best to thank St. Sergius with her golden earrings. She left the Lavra, and there she met Maria's mother. And I couldn't believe my ears:
- Our Mary goes to the Lavra so that the Reverend would give her earrings ...
She took off her golden droplets-lights. With the blessing of the Reverend. And Natalya cannot break that blessing.
But Maria was not surprised at the especially expensive gift, the child's heart opened to meet the holy elder and sincerely hoped for his help. Prayer is special work. It has its own secret, its own laws and its own craft. An expensive gift from St. Sergius in a small box. The special joy of the black-eyed girl, who confirmed with her pure faith and earnest, without prying eyes, prayer, the natural order of a life in God that has been adjusted for thousands of years.
Mary's ears are not pierced. And her mother is afraid to allow her to wear earrings to school. It is indeed risky. While they were pondering how best to proceed, Priest Maxim called. The one whose mother prayed to the Reverend. And she promised to donate an expensive gift.
“Listen, Maria, this is the case,” he said seriously. - Our cathedral needs to be restored, there is no end to the work. The frescoes are in serious need of restoration. I want to ask you to pray that the Lord would give us the strength to work for the glory of God. And as soon as we restore the frescoes, I immediately bless you to wear earrings. Agree?
“Bless me, Father Maxim,” answered Mary, the servant of God, humbly.
She really wants this to happen as soon as possible. And every evening he rises to pray in front of the icon of St. Sergius, bows to the ground, and asks, and hopes, and believes. And the cathedral is called Trinity. And in that, too, the wonderful Providence of God is clearly visible. Saint Sergius is a servant of the Trinity from his birth until his blessed death. By prayers all the Trinity monasteries and churches of Russia live and grow stronger. And he will not leave this one without his spiritual guidance, especially since there is a special prayer book for the temple, a little girl with a beautiful name Maria. Black-eyed Thumbelina, who will really suit earrings made of the purest gold in the world.
PICNIC BY THE DEER RIVER
The sunflower turned out to be bolder than its notorious counterparts: they huddled together on a sunny hillock, and this one boldly lifted his freckled nose right at the curb. And he stands like a soldier, at attention, he does not bend his back even in front of the coolest foreign cars.
- The beauty! exclaimed Mother Barbara.
- Beauty, - confirmed our driver Volodya.
“Beauty,” I agreed.
We got out of the car to take a picture with the sunflower. Mother carefully hugged him, pressed him to her monastic dress, and looked into the lens through large glasses sad eyes framed by a black apostle.
I will take this photo to Australia...
Do not appease the sadness that rolled up to mother's heart. To cheer her up, I begin to philosophize:
- Here a sunflower lived on the side of the road, and on you, made a dizzying career and went to Australia. This is what it means to be in the right place at the right time.
We drive on, talking about the fate of the careerist sunflower. And Mother Siberia laid under our wheels an even tablecloth of homespun, but very good roads. And now I have a photo card in front of me: mother and a sunflower. And there is neither one nor the other nearby. Mother flew to Sydney, and the sunflower with her to the envy of those timid losers who remained on the Siberian hillock. It makes me sad to look at the photo. But sadness is good, it brings back good memories.
Phone call to my apartment. A middle-aged woman clearly and slowly pronounces the words:
- I'm Mother Barbara. Many years ago we met with you in Jerusalem. I was abbess in the monastery on the Mount of Olives, you came to us ...
I remember feverishly. Mother Barbara? Yes, yes, eleven years ago, when I first came to the Holy Land, I really went to the Monastery of Olives for a couple of hours, I really met the abbess there, we talked a little. But eleven years have passed.
- Do not be surprised. By chance I saw a post signed by you. I thought, suddenly remember. The editors gave you your phone number.
- I came to Russia from Australia, I would like to see ...
All my plans were instantly adjusted for this amazing meeting. We hugged like family. Mother Varvara has never been to Russia. Her parents left immediately after the revolution. No, no, the word “left” is wrong, it is too prosperous, calm. There was a family dinner, the first one was served. But then excited neighbors came running; in two hours the train was asked to pass - you need to leave. For a couple of weeks, no more, the city is restless, anything can happen.
Her father was a Cossack ataman. Indeed, anything could happen. They got up from the table, not recognizing the taste of Sunday soup. In what we were (two weeks is not a period, we can manage) hurried to the station.
And to this day, these two weeks drag on. Parents spent two years in torment, deprivation, incredible suffering to get to Harbin. The Chinese land has sheltered many unfortunate, persecuted Russians. It also became a haven for the family of the Russian Cossack ataman, who loved Russia as children love their only, God-given mother. It was here, in Harbin, that the girl Zhenya was born. A little time will pass, and she will know that she is Russian, and that life in China is forced for her family, and that the hour will strike and they will return. But time passed and mother increasingly began to repeat to her growing daughter:
- Probably, I can’t visit Russia anymore, but you must definitely see it ...
Then there was monastic tonsure with the name Barbara, monastic obedience to the glory of God, hegumenism in the Olivet Monastery, years of life in Australia. And now, for the first time in more than seventy years, mother sets off on a journey, to fulfill the order of her late mother, to see Russia resurrecting from the darkness of godlessness.
- I was afraid to go. Twenty-eight hours of flight, but that's not the point. The main thing is how they will meet me, whether I can see what my late mother wanted to see.
It turns out that Mother Varvara is not sitting in Moscow:
- I want to see the depths. Was in Ukraine. In the Pskov region, Novgorod. I really want to get to Solovki, but especially to Siberia.
And I'm flying to Siberia the other day, I've already bought a ticket. A Moscow acquaintance, whose parents live in Minusinsk, promised to meet me and take me around Siberia. He is staying with them and invited me to stay with them. I tell my mother about this and remember that my Moscow acquaintance once studied in Australia.
- His name is not Volodya by any chance? - asks my mother and looks at me intently.
“Volodya,” I murmur, already realizing that something important is about to happen.
- Volodya, Volodya ... - mother rummages in a notebook, - they gave me the phone of one Volodya, but I call, but the phone does not answer.
A familiar set of numbers. Phone of my Volodya.
- He won't answer. He is in Minusinsk, with his parents, and in three days I fly to him ...
“I brought him a bow from a priest in Sydney. And it hasn't been delivered yet...
- Mother, we must fly to Minusinsk! With me on the same flight. We must fly to Siberia! After all, you so wanted to see the Russian hinterland! - I worry,
I'm afraid that my idea will seem crazy to my mother, but she calmly answers:
- I would fly, but would it be polite, because I don’t know Volodya, his parents.
“I'm sure they'll be happy. And give my regards...
The plane took off. Night Moscow spread out
under us a huge black spot. Mother Varvara is sitting next to her in an armchair. Lord, bless us on the long journey!
I look at the photo and remember. Maybe mother is now in her distant Australia, also looking at the same photo? And the yellow sunflower between us is like a cheerful exclamation mark that forbids two Orthodox hearts to be sad: no kilometers between us, no continents, no time zones, but prayer. Prayer bridge from heart to heart, saving, comforting, durable.
Do you remember, mother? We were sitting in a small courtyard near the Minusinsk Church of the Savior Not Made by Hands, and two Russian women, Elena Ivanovna and Lyubov Vasilievna, Sunday school teachers, were talking to us about the children they teach?
“They are better than us. They are cleaner than us. They will save Russia.
And you cried, mother, and were embarrassed by your tears, but they still - from under the glasses in thin streams. And when the Siberians, having heard that you were from distant Australia, were surprised: “how well you speak Russian!”, You, mother, were embarrassed and always repeated the same thing:
- I am Russian. It is my native language. I lived in Harbin, but I am Russian.
I'm sorry, mother. The people didn't mean to offend you. For them, Australia is exotic with parrots and kangaroos, and a Russian man from Australia is also exotic for them. And about the fact that you are Russian every minute your eyes screamed, and your inquisitive mind did not want idleness:
What is this tree, maple? Does not look like it. And this rye is earing? Yes, yes, rye, I see. What are people selling in buckets? Chanterelles! Whole buckets, how interesting! Look, horse! And the boy sleeps in the cart, what an adorable baby. A herd of cows... Big, but why are they all red?
Matushka soaked up Russia greedily, like a traveler longing for a well. I remember when we went to rest at the house of the priest Father Vasily in the village of Ermakovskoe, my mother asked permission to look at their garden. She returned quiet and asked me:
- Please take a picture of a potato field behind the house, huts. A piece of Russia. I have to show a photo in Australia, there are a lot of Russians there! But not everyone can visit here.
Father Vasily's daughter, Nastya, we didn't even have time to blink an eye, she cooked soup.
- How old are you? Seven? And did you make soup? Can I open the lid? Dill, onion, carrot, but it smells like! Did you cook it yourself?
Nastya poured us a full plate. Mother was still surprised, and we were surprised at mother - well, what a miracle, the girl cooked soup?
- In Australia, children can't cook soup?
- Yes, from bags they can. I threw it in boiling water and it's ready, but the real one is unlikely.
We compared a lot - with us, with them. They give birth a little, they don’t want to, and after all, they didn’t come up with anything to help their mothers. Press the buttons in time and no problems. True, we have large priestly families, especially in the villages. But the urban Orthodox have now also come to their senses, giving birth, baptizing. And our churches are crowded, especially on holidays. Mother is like a sponge, absorbs everything, remembers everything, puts everything into a deep memory box. And Volodya's name day will definitely fall into it, into this piggy bank. Name days turned out to be noble, with homemade wine, gifts, pies. Volodya's mother, Lyudmila Ivanovna, undertook to cook pies, with blueberries, cabbage, and eggs. Mother volunteered to help. Does every hostess have her own secrets? Not always. It turned out that both Lyudmila Ivanovna and mother bake pies in exactly the same way. How many eggs do you add to the dough? And I do so much. How long do you knead the dough? And so am I. How do you bake pies? Oh, and I'm exactly the same! Two housewives are busy at the stove, two Russian women. They have different life experiences, different mentality, different destinies. But they are Russians, and for them the concepts of hospitality, cordial disposition towards their neighbor and the secrets of pies are the same. The name day is gone.
And tomorrow early in the morning we go to the Sayans.
“He who has not seen the Sayan has not seen Siberia,” said Volodya's father, Vadim Petrovich.
But my mother and I thought that we had seen Siberia a little. From the breathtaking steepness of the cliff, the mighty taiga seems like a raging sea. It seriously foams with waves, and it seems that you are not standing over a cliff at all, but are making a brave flight in an airplane over the ocean depths. In the distance, mountain peaks covered with snow, like longed-for shores, beckoning with a saving firmament.
“Look, there is a sleeping Sayan,” Volodya points towards a long mountain range.
Indeed, the giant frozen in stone lies on his back, arms folded obediently on his chest, legs extended. His sleep is deep and long, for how many centuries neither the cold Siberian winds, nor the roll of thunder have awakened him, he is indifferent even to this God's beauty. Sleeping Sayan is the highest point of the mountain pass. Mother gathered a bouquet of bright pink willow-herb, yellow St.
- In contact with 0
- Google+ 0
- OK 0
- Facebook 0
