Anna Fiodorovna let out a heavy sigh as she placed a pot under the thin trickle of water leaking through the dilapidated roof.
— What a calamity! she murmured, looking up at the ceiling as if hoping to still catch a glimpse of the sky through the cracks. — When will this end? This storm just keeps pouring without stopping! Could it be that even God has a leak in His roof up there?
In the past, during earlier rains, a few basins had sufficed to catch the water. Now, she had had to gather an arsenal: four buckets, a cauldron, and even an old enamel bowl — nothing was too much.
— Let’s hope the roof doesn’t collapse, she breathed, sweeping her eyes across the room, scrutinizing the twisted beams. — It would crush me, and no one would find me under those ruins!
With a familiar gesture, as if to chase away dark thoughts, the old woman crossed herself, but a crack of thunder suddenly shook the windows.
— Oh my God! she exclaimed, clutching her rosary tightly to her chest. — I haven’t known such a storm in… at least twenty years!
Anna Fiodorovna was used to having long conversations… with her cat. A gray-furred, mustachioed guardian perched on the stove, its green eyes glowing in the gloom like two embers.
— Are you scared, my furry one? she whispered soothingly. — Don’t be afraid: this storm won’t get us.
Barely had the words left her lips when the door creaked open. A male figure, soaked through, appeared in the doorway. The old woman jumped, her heart pounding.
— Fear not, madam, said a hoarse voice. I come in peace.
She squinted: the man looked exhausted, his pale face betraying fatigue.
— Very well, come warm yourself, she muttered, stepping aside.
He barely advanced before collapsing onto a stool, panting.
— Water… please… he gasped.
Quickly, she dipped into a barrel to pour some apple kvas and handed it to him. The man drained the bucket in one go and, eyes closed, caught his breath.
— Do not fear me, he finally explained. I had to flee to prove my innocence. But I cannot go on: I have been wounded. May I wait here? In the cellar, or better, the attic…
Anna Fiodorovna approached, examining his battered face.
— If you speak true, stay. If you lie, God will punish you, she said sternly, pointing to the door of the back room. — That is where there is space.
The stranger called himself Nikolai. He dragged himself to the bed and collapsed there, his suit soaked with blood.
— Damn it… he muttered through clenched teeth.
He painfully removed his rags, fell onto the pillow, and immediately fell asleep.
When Anna Fiodorovna returned with a basin of warm water in hand, she noticed that his wound pierced through his side. She carefully washed the injury, then applied a herbal ointment.
— Sleep, my child, she murmured. It is what you need most.
The next morning, a ray of sunshine woke her. No more sign of the storm: birds sang, the air was fresh. Nikolai, his memory restored, tried to sit up. A sharp pain forced him back onto the bed as Anna Fiodorovna entered.
— You’re awake! she exclaimed. Don’t rush, your wound is still fresh.
— How long have I slept? he asked hoarsely.
The old woman laughed, with a maternal note in her voice.
— More than twenty-four hours, my boy! Are you hungry?
— Oh yes… he replied, famished.
She guided him to the table: a large plate of steaming borscht, a pot of sour cream, and a slice of bread. Nikolai devoured it all.
— I am Anna Fiodorovna, she said, placing a cup of bitter herbal tea before him. — And you?
— Nikolai.
— Interesting… she murmured, thoughtful.
After the soup, she asked for his story. He began:
— I had everything: house, family, money. Then my wife wanted my possessions more than me. She and her lover ran someone over at night and denounced me as the driver. An influential journalist manipulated the justice system: I have been in prison for three months. I had to flee, but I don’t know how to reach my friend who can help me.
— If you speak true, justice will prevail, Anna Fiodorovna affirmed.
— I will need your faith, he sighed.
The old woman took out a worn deck of cards and began to read them while murmuring ancient spells. Nikolai watched skeptically.
— In three days, you must leave at the hour I give you, she announced finally. Then you will reach your friend.
He closed his eyes, incredulous, as she spoke of his parents, his unfaithful wife, and the one who hunted him. Everything resonated so true.
Three days passed. Nikolai regained strength, and at dawn on the fourth day, Anna Fiodorovna woke him:
— It is time, she said. They are waiting for you.
He thanked her and left by the back exit, following her directions toward the train station.
That same day, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had come. Anna Fiodorovna cleaned the buckets, looked at the new damp spots on the ceiling, and thought the roof wouldn’t hold much longer.
Suddenly, there was a loud noise of engines in the yard. She stepped outside and saw a truck followed by a black car.
— Could it be war? she murmured, clutching her cross.
The vehicles stopped. In the sedan, Nikolai appeared, a broad smile on his lips:
— Hello, Anna Fiodorovna! he said. I promised you we would see each other again.
She dropped her bucket.
Later, around a large table set outdoors, Nikolai, his companion Larissa, and the old woman shared a meal with the small team of workers who came to repair the roof. Anna Fiodorovna spread out her cards again, offering Nikolai one last prophecy:
— Your return was necessary to right a wrong, she explained. And now… marry her. A child needs his father.
That night, under a starry sky, Nikolai asked for Larissa’s hand, plucked a flower from Anna Fiodorovna’s garden, and promised to present a ring the next day. The old woman, a smiling witness, made the sign of the cross:
— Everything is finally in its place, she murmured.
