Old woman Trunikha

[themaximillyan]

It happened 35 years ago, when the author was still very young. I was brought to the village at the end of May, where my roots were, where my grandmothers and grandfathers were still living at that time. So, I lived “between 2 houses”, at one and then the other, independently moving around the village, accumulating my interesting impressions. Sometimes, my grandfather Nikolai, a participant of World War II, would bring me to my mother’s parents on his bike. As best he could, he explained to me the essence of the phenomena and events happening around me on the way. Honestly, I can hardly remember anything he said at the time as valuable and helpful. Little of his “lectures” helped me in life situations and so on. May my deceased grandfather forgive me! But something emerged later in life, and sometimes I critically treated his statements and advice, but somehow kindly, because he was a man of his era, with the prejudices of Soviet times, which can be observed even today in many revelations of old people who sincerely misunderstand, being “utterly” “killed” by Soviet propaganda with its medieval twists. So, on one of those days, my grandfather Nikolai, seating me on the frame of the “URAL” bike, took me to Tuzovy (mother’s parents). Yes, it was admiration and joy at the same time. Although the granddad was old and had “sick legs” that had walked across half of Europe, it was still a holiday. I was sincerely proud of him at that moment. I still remember that clean air filled with the aroma of blooming lilac, which intentionally peeked out from every village fence, shamelessly spraying cologne fluids. It was all somehow sublime, you wanted to sing and laugh at the same time. I chattered to Grandfather about my feelings, and he nodded his head, I suppose he was also happy at that moment. And then suddenly, in all this magnificence and sublime perception of the world, like a thunderstorm on a clear day, a horrifying picture appeared, which still haunts my consciousness with its absurdity and the wretchedness of our existence. While passing by one of the houses, the old man slowed down a bit and saluted, greeting the old woman driving a donkey cart. The old woman, as far as I can recall, cursed at the old man and told him to go away. It was impossible to determine the age of the old woman, but I thought she was around 80 years old. Her clothes were torn and dirty, and her appearance reminded me of Baba Yaga from the tales of Romm, brilliantly played by Millar. I had never seen elderly women who didn’t wash up or take care of themselves, let alone ride in carts pulled by donkeys. Why was there such a discordance? A dirty old woman against the backdrop of such a celebration of life. I couldn’t understand it. By the way, as I later realized, it was a female donkey. Nearby, her little donkey was grazing, which looked to me like a big rabbit. After seeing this ugliness, I didn’t take my eyes off the old man for the rest of our journey, bombarding him with questions: “What and why?” What did the old man answer? Honestly, I don’t remember. He explained something about the old woman Trunikha surviving from her mind, so we shouldn’t pay attention to her. That’s the whole story.

Later, when I was an adult, about twenty years ago, I asked someone to comment on this episode, asking for information about the old woman Trunikha. Why did she go crazy and ride on a donkey? It turned out that, according to my still-living grandmother Nyura, Trunikha was a rural version of the surname, Trunyov “grave”. She had to endure four funerals at once! That’s how her husband and three sons died. Unfortunately, I didn’t establish the details of how and when they died at that time, and now there’s no one to ask. Besides, is it necessary? The fact of these deaths, which emerged in my consciousness after so many years, completely clarified everything. It became clear to me that Trunikha could not enjoy life but only curse it, sending curses to her fellow countrymen. Her mental state was easily explained; it simply could not be otherwise. Yes, she was crazy, how else could it be? I remembered this when I recently watched the Hollywood film “Saving Private Ryan.” In the plot, the mother receives ten funerals for her sons, and the youngest is saved because U.S. law grants him the right to withdraw from the theater of military operations. For some reason, I imagine that the prototype of the film’s heroine, if she existed in reality, received the dividends due to her deceased sons, was invited to various events dedicated to World War II, and her name was probably inscribed in golden letters in the historical past of the United States dedicated to World War II. But I don’t think anyone outside river Ural, in the country Burlin, knew about Trunikha. Although the fates of both women echoed their grief, and they lost the most precious thing to them, their sons, these stories had different endings. And I’m not entitled to judge: why?