Anna Fedorovna let out a weary sigh, sliding another pot beneath the steady drip leaking through the worn-out roof.
— What a misery, — she muttered, staring up as if hoping to glimpse the sky through the cracks. — When will it end? The rain’s gone mad — it just won’t stop! Maybe even heaven’s roof has sprung a leak above the Lord Himself?
In earlier storms, a couple of basins were enough. Now she needed an entire arsenal: four buckets, a small pot, and an old enamel basin — every vessel pressed into service.
— As long as the roof doesn’t cave in, — she whispered, glancing at the sagging beams. — Otherwise it’ll bury me alive, and no one will ever find me under the rubble!
She crossed herself out of habit, as if warding off dark thoughts. Just then, a deafening thunderclap rattled the windows.
— Lord have mercy! — she cried, clutching the cross on her chest. — I haven’t seen a storm like this in twenty years!
Anna Fedorovna was long used to talking to herself — or rather, to her cat, who never answered. The gray, mustached guardian perched on the stove, his green eyes glowing like coals in the dim light.
— Frightened, furry one? — she said gently. — Don’t worry, thunder won’t hurt us. I’ve lived through worse…
But before she finished, the door creaked open. A tall figure, soaked through, stood on the threshold. The old woman gasped and stepped back, her heart racing.
— Don’t be afraid, mother, — came a hoarse voice. — I mean no harm.
She looked closer. A gaunt man stood before her, pale-faced, exhausted.
— If you mean no harm, then come in, warm yourself, — she muttered, moving aside.
The stranger staggered a few steps and collapsed on a stool, breathing hard.
— Water… — he rasped.
She hurried to the barrel, filled a ladle with apple kvass, and handed it over. He drained it in one gulp, set it down, and closed his eyes, gathering strength.
— Don’t fear me, — he said at last. — I had to flee to prove my innocence. But I can’t go farther — I’m wounded. Could I stay here a while? Even in the cellar or attic…
Anna Fedorovna stepped closer, studying his face.
— If it’s true, then stay. But if you lie — God will punish you, — she said firmly, pointing to the far room. — There’s a bed there. Rest.
He introduced himself as Nikolai, dragged himself to the bed, and sank onto it. His robe was half-soaked in blood.
— Damn… — he whispered, teeth clenched.
Struggling out of his wet clothes, he collapsed, as if falling into an abyss.
Moments later, the hostess entered with a basin of warm water. She cleaned the wound, found it had passed through, spread thick herbal salve, and whispered:
— Sleep, dear. That’s what you need most.
Nikolai woke to a sunbeam across his face. The storm had passed; birds sang, the air was fresh. For a moment he forgot where he was — until the pain in his side reminded him. Just then Anna Fedorovna appeared.
— Awake at last! — she rejoiced. — Don’t rush. The wound’s fresh; let it heal.
— Grandma, how long was I out? Eight hours? — he asked.
She laughed warmly.
— More than a day! Hungry?
His stomach answered for him.
— More than hungry!
— Then slowly, — she smiled.
She set the table: steaming cabbage soup, sour cream, fresh bread. Nikolai eyed the modest portion, but she chuckled.
— Don’t hurry. If you manage, potatoes are simmering in the oven.
He ate greedily, and she watched quietly.
— I’m Anna Fedorovna. And you?
— Nikolai.
— I see… — she said thoughtfully.
Halfway through, he was full, but ate on. She set a mug of dark broth before him.
— Drink. Bitter, but it’ll help.
He grimaced but obeyed.
— Now tell me, Nikolai.
He sighed.
— I had everything: home, family, money. But my wife wanted only the wealth. One night she and her lover hit a man with the car and fled. She swore it was me driving. He’s a journalist with ties everywhere. In a day I was convicted. I lasted three months in prison, then escaped. I need to reach one man — but I don’t know how.
— If it’s true, justice will find you, — she said firmly.
— If only I had your faith… — he muttered bitterly. — When I had money, everyone bowed. When trouble came, everyone vanished.
She cleared the table, then suddenly pulled a worn deck of cards. Laying them out, whispering, she read them carefully.
— Leave in three days. At the hour I say, you’ll find your man.
He frowned — never trusted fortune-telling. But her voice silenced him.
She laid the cards again, then said:
— You’re an only child. Your parents are alive, waiting by the road, crying for you. They don’t know you’re in prison — you never were.
Shame burned him. He hadn’t seen them in three years.
— Your wife is beautiful — and a liar. She always had others. And she didn’t want your child. You could’ve had a son… but not fate.
He bowed his head.
She continued:
— Your friend is searching for you. Others too. But he’ll help you, forgive the past offense.
Nikolai nearly fell from his chair. She even knew of Larisa — his friend’s sister he abandoned for Svetka. The old fight, the reconciliation. How could she know?
The grandmother gathered the cards. He exhaled.
— Incredible…
She laughed, youthful and ringing.
— I used to be famous, the best fortune-teller in the region. But it’s hard, Kolya. People come only in despair. And most often, what do you see? The end.
Thunder rolled again outside.
— Enough already! — she groaned. — A week of storms!
The cat curled on the stove. She set the basins beneath the drips as if by instinct.
— Hardly anyone left in the village, — she sighed. — Before, townsfolk came for readings, and I could ask men to patch the roof. Now — no one left. What will come first, I wonder: my death, or the ceiling falling on me?
Three days later, Nikolai was stronger, the wound closing. On the fourth dawn, she woke him.
— Time, Kolya. They’re coming.
He rose easily, hugged her tight.
— We’ll meet again. Thank you…
— Go, or I’ll start crying, — she muttered. — We’ll meet again, I know.
She showed him the path to the station. Long she stood at the door, watching the gloom swallow him.
— What a summer… what a misfortune, — she whispered.
She emptied the buckets, glanced at new wet spots spreading on the ceiling. The roof was nearly gone.
The rain ceased suddenly. That summer, the weather seemed mad: heat, flood, heat again.
She stepped outside with the basins — and froze.
A truck rolled up, loaded with boards, tiles, red sheets of something like slate. Behind it, a black sedan.
— War? — she gasped, crossing herself.
The cars stopped. From the sedan stepped—
— Nikolai!
The bucket slipped from her hands. She hobbled forward, disbelieving.
— Hello, Anna Fedorovna! — he beamed. — I told you, we’d meet again!
— Three months later — that’s “soon”? — she scolded.
— They held me again, till the trial. Just a month. But I didn’t come alone!
He opened the door. A young woman stepped out, smiling shyly.
They feasted outside, three big pots for the crew. While Larisa set the table, the old woman spread her cards. Nikolai asked:
— Well, what now?
— You did right, fixing the past. Your cruelty caused it before. But now… — she squinted. — Marriage?
— Even now! Only… what if she says no?
— She won’t. A child can’t be born without a father.
Kolya turned to Larisa in shock. She blushed, smiling.
That night, when all were asleep, Larisa and Nikolai sat in the car.
— Lar… would you tie your life to an ex-con? — he asked softly, eyes on the stars.
— Is that a proposal? — she whispered.
— Yes.
— Not the best choice: a husband in and out of jail, me with children… — she teased, then laughed at his panic. — Of course yes! I’ve waited years. Though… no ring, no flowers?
Nikolai darted out, snatched a lily from the grandmother’s garden, and returned.
— Flowers! Ring tomorrow. And we’ll visit my parents.
— Of course.
From the kitchen doorway, Anna Fedorovna watched, smiling and crossing herself.
— That’s good. Now everything’s as it should be.
