Голубые ступени / Stepping into the blue - стр. 16
«And at your age!»
«At my age I can do everything! I can go for a walk alone at night, even on the Sabbath!» Suddenly she gave a start and took a first step.
«Aha, it’s comin’!» the worker chortled. «Well, now, granny! How many years you got under your belt?»
«Ninety,» she answered, to the amazement of all.
«How many?» Filippovich echoed.
«You don’t believe me?» After a pause, she added: «It’s exactly seventy years today that we’ve been… like together.»
«What do you mean, ’like together’?» Filippovich marvelled, looking at the dates on the headstone.
«You don’t know how to count! Can’t count! Those years that went by – every one of them counted as two. So they add up to many more!»
While she felt a swelling in her legs, and wondered whether, indeed, she would make it home now, she was nevertheless completely free of not only fear but even concern. True, the thought did cross her mind that once at home she might go crazy, but since that had happened a number a times already, she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. In any case, she had done everything right. They had been so little together in life that Ziama was probably in full agreement with her.
«Bring the three-wheeler, on the double!» Filippovich barked, and the worker quickly set off back down the allée. He presently returned with a rattling three-wheeled mini-truck sporting a fresh mat on the seat of the cab.
«Okay, granny, get in!» the worker chortled, and he and Filippovich lifted the old woman over the low running-board and sat her down on the seat of the cab.
«Head for the office!» Filippovich commanded as he started to follow them. Upon reaching the office the woman waited until he could catch up with them and help her out.
It took them quite a while to decide what to do next. She flatly refused to take a taxi, asking only that they accompany her to the bus stop. After extensive negotiations she finally agreed that Filippovich could take her as far as the trolleybus near her home, as it was on his way, but after that she would be on her own.
«My grandson wants to write the story of my life,» she told him as they drove. «I tell him there’s no point: we all lived the same kind of life, nothing special, and the fact that I’ve managed to stick around longer than others in this world, well, it still remains to be seen whether that’s an advantage.»
«Mm-hm!» sighed Filippovich, and took a good look at her. «You don’t look a day over seventy! You’re sure you’re not kidding me?»
«What for?» the old woman asked in surprise. «Just think: I was born when Alexander III was on the throne – I was born in the residency perimeter.»
«And what might that be?»
«What was that? A za jahr af mir! (I should have lived like that!) What was that, indeed? A perimeter for Jews.»
«What kind of perimeter?»
«Designating where we could live, where we couldn’t!»
«Some kind of border?»
«It’s obvious, isn’t it – you have to agree I’ve got to…»
«Got to do what?»
«Tell my story, of course! Seeing youngsters like you don’t know anything! Where did you go to school?»
«I graduated from the Bauman,»14 Filippovich boasted.
«What’s that supposed to mean?»
«I was an engineer!»
«An engineer, and here you’re looking after a cemetery?!»
«Gelt (Money),» was Filippovich’s only answer.