Anna Fedorovna sighed deeply as she positioned yet another pot beneath the raindrops that stubbornly pierced through the ceiling. The old woman shook her head, as if conversing with the sky itself.
— What a nuisance! And when will it ever stop? The rain seems endless. Could it be that, up above, God’s roof has started leaking?
During the previous bout of bad weather, she had arranged only a couple of basins, but now she had to set out four plus a kettle, and even one directly on the floor so that the corner with the stove wouldn’t flood.
— As long as the roof doesn’t collapse, or else I’ll be crushed and never found!
Out of habit, the old woman made the sign of the cross as another peal of thunder roared outside, as if the Thunderer himself had decided to test her endurance.
— Oh, Lord! What is happening? It hasn’t been like this in twenty years!
Anna Fedorovna had long grown accustomed to talking to herself—and to the cat, although, as usual, the cat did not join the conversation. It sat on the stove in fear, its eyes glinting as if watching a play that had long ceased to surprise it.
— What, are you scared? Don’t be a coward; we won’t perish in this storm.
No sooner had she finished speaking than the door burst open, and a male silhouette appeared in the doorway. The old woman shrieked and recoiled, clutching her hands to her chest.
— Don’t be alarmed, ma’am. I come in peace.
— Well, if it’s peace you bring, come in.
The stranger took a few steps and then literally collapsed onto a stool, as if the last of his strength had abandoned him.
— I need a drink.
She scooped and handed him a wooden ladle filled with apple kvass from an oak barrel. The man greedily drained it, as if trying to drown not only his thirst but also his pain. Setting down the ladle, he lifted his gaze, filled with exhaustion.
— Do not fear me. It just so happened that I had to flee to prove my innocence. But I am too weak to run any further. They wounded me. Is there any chance I might rest a bit in your cellar or attic?
Anna Fedorovna approached, scrutinizing the fugitive. Her eyes, insightful and wise, seemed to see right through him.
— Well, if you speak the truth, then you may. But if you lie—God will punish you.
She headed deeper into the house, where behind an old door lay a room that had not been used for many years.
— Here, behind this door is an empty room. Make yourself comfortable, and the old woman withdrew, leaving him alone.
Nikolai sank onto the makeshift bed, feeling each movement radiate pain through his side. His head buzzed and his vision blurred. He carefully pulled his hand away from his coat—the entire side was a brownish hue.
— Blast you!
With difficulty shedding his rough attire, he simply collapsed onto the blanket. He felt as if he wasn’t falling asleep at all but drifting away, trying to stop yet unable to.
No sooner had Nikolai lost consciousness than the mistress entered the small parlor with a basin. Casting him a glance, she shook her head, cleaned his wound—verifying that it was a through-and-through injury—and then applied some concoction preserved in an old jar with an inscription, barely legible from the passage of time.
— Now, sleep. You need it more than anything.
Nikolai awoke to the sun shining in his face, with no recollection of the previous storm. He didn’t immediately remember where he was or how he had gotten there. When his memory returned, he attempted to sit up. The pain in his side shot through him, and immediately, as if by magic, the door opened and the old woman re-entered the room.
— Awake at last! Good. Do not get up too quickly, take it easy. You mustn’t, your wound is still fresh.
— Granny, how long have I slept? About eight hours?
She laughed, and her laughter sounded so warm and sincere that Nikolai couldn’t help but smile.
— A day with a hook! Perhaps you’d like something to eat?
Nikolai wasn’t just hungry—he could have devoured anything in sight.
— Absolutely!
— Well then, let’s go slowly.
He followed her, amazed that the pain was far less severe than he had expected.
The old woman set the table, placing before Nikolai a generous bowl of hearty cabbage soup and a small pot of sour cream, and she cut a loaf of bread. He looked regretfully at the small cast-iron pot from which his soup was ladled. The hostess smirked:
— You see… You won’t overcome everything. And if you do, I have some potatoes simmering in the stove.
He hastily scooped with his spoon. Then she said:
— My name is Anna Fedorovna, and what’s yours?
— Nikolai.
— Curious.
Somewhere midway through the bowl, he felt he had eaten his fill, yet his hand continued to bring the spoon to his mouth out of habit. The old woman settled opposite him:
— Now, Nikolai, tell me your story.
He pushed the bowl aside, and Anna Fedorovna immediately placed a mug in front of him:
— Drink up. It isn’t sweet, but right now it is vital for you
.
He sniffed the broth, grimaced, but took a sip, not even considering that the old woman might harm him.
— And there isn’t much to tell. I had everything: money, a family, and a good life. But in one moment, my wife decided I was no longer needed, while my money would certainly come in handy. At night, she, with her lover—hopefully by accident—ran over someone and then fled. And afterwards, she testified that she saw me return in a car at night and that I had covered up the tracks. Her lover—a journalist—knew everyone. Within a day, I was convicted, and I spent three months in prison. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I need to find a man who can surely help me, not just me but the truth. But while I managed to escape, I still don’t know how to approach him.
— Well, if everything is as you describe, then everything will work out.
— Oh, Anna Fedorovna, I wish I had your confidence! I wasn’t an ordinary man either: I thought that since I had capital, nothing more was needed, everyone would value and respect me. And when trouble came, everyone turned away. And it wasn’t even for the cause—it just happened.
The hostess got up, cleared away the dishes, and pulled out a worn deck of cards. He watched with surprise as she laid them out and mumbled something to herself. Finally, she gathered the cards into a neat pile.
— In three days, you must leave. If you go when I say so, you will reach your friend.
Nikolai had never believed in fortune-telling or psychics. Yet she kept laying out the cards—again and again—as if they were living beings that could reveal something to her. Her fingers, etched with wrinkles, deftly glided over the worn deck, and her eyes seemed to see beyond the confines of that room. Only after several long minutes of silence did she finally speak:
— You were born far from here, the only child. Your parents are alive, living far away; they gaze upon the road with tears. They all wait for their son. But the son is slow in coming—not because he is imprisoned, but because he never hurried before.
Nikolai looked at her, and a deep sense of shame washed over him. Every word was like a hammer blow to his conscience. Yes, it was all true. He sent money to his parents but hadn’t visited them in three years. He knew they were aging and lonely, but for some reason, there was always an excuse—work, business, Sveta…
— Your wife is a beauty, but a terrible deceiver. She always had many men: before you, during you. And she even got rid of the child. You could have had a son, but she refused to bear one.
He sat there, as if struck by lightning. And yet he had suspected it! But Sveta had explained everything away as “women’s problems.” She even moved to a guest room for a couple of weeks, and then began frequent trips to the clinic. Back then, Nikolai chose to step aside, attributing it all to her “affairs.” How could he have been so blind?
— And your friend, he worries about you and is searching for you. He has even managed to set things right. He will help you, bail you out, never holding a grudge against you or his family.
Nikolai almost fell off his chair. The old woman seemed to know too much. How could she have known about Larisa? About the time when I left her for Sveta? They had a terrible fight with my friend—indeed, even a brawl—but later reconciled. Nikolai had always believed that it was Larisa’s idea—to forgive him and maintain the friendship. But now he began to doubt.
Anna Fedorovna folded the cards and looked at him with a slight smile:
— Incredible!
She burst into a clear, resounding laugh—a laugh that was warm yet tinged with sadness.
— And what did you expect? I used to be known as the best fortune-teller in the region. But now… now I no longer practice. It is so hard to witness other people’s fates, and rarely do people come to have their fortunes told when all is well. But when everything is at its end, when all seems lost, then yes. You understand what one sees when someone comes to you? More often than not—it’s the finale.
Outside, the storm roared again. The thunder reminded them of its presence, and Anna Fedorovna, with a sigh, began arranging the basins again. The cat, as usual, jumped onto the stove, curled up in a ball, while Nikolai watched the hostess in wonder. She seemed to know exactly where the water would leak. And sure enough, amidst the merry tinkling of the drops and the peals of thunder, they continued their evening.
— There are hardly any people left in the village. In the past, when townsfolk came to see me, I could call for help. But now there is no one to ask. Every time I wonder what will happen first—whether I will pass away or the ceiling will collapse.
Three days later, Nikolai had regained his strength in the village. No new faces appeared—only once did a local automotive shop pass by. Early in the morning, the hostess roused him from sleep:
— It’s time for you to go, Kolya. They will come looking for you here.
He got up easily and embraced Anna Fedorovna:
— We will see each other again, I promise! Thank you!
— Go now, or I’ll be crying all day over these goodbyes. We’ll meet again, I’m sure.
She explained how to get through the garden to the station, to catch a bus or preferably a commuter train, and watched long into the pre-dawn darkness as he left.
The downpour ended as suddenly as it had begun. That summer, the weather had truly been tropical: scorching in the morning, then a downpour, and then warm again.
Anna Fedorovna gathered the basins, emptied them, and carried the buckets into the yard. Stepping onto the porch, she froze: a large vehicle was approaching the house. Anna Fedorovna had never seen one like it—a truck, perhaps, but with some kind of basket-like structure on top. Trailing behind it was another car—a passenger car, yet also quite large.
— Could it be war?
Anna Fedorovna made the sign of the cross. Both vehicles stopped. Now she could see that in the first truck’s cargo were boards, some large packages, something scarlet resembling slate, though clearly not slate. From the second car, Nikolai emerged.
Anna dropped her bucket and hurried over to her lodger.
— Hello, Anna Fedorovna! I told you we’d see each other soon.
— Not so soon—it’s been three months already.
— It wasn’t entirely up to me; I was arrested again while my friend was sorting things out. Only for a month, while the courts and other matters were handled. And I’m not here alone.
He returned to the vehicle, opened the door, and out stepped a young woman who smiled shyly:
— Hello.
They decided to dine outdoors. Larisa, Anna Fedorovna, and Nikolai prepared three enormous pots of food for everyone. While Larisa set the table, Anna Fedorovna spread out the cards. Kolya sat down beside her:
— What do they say?
— They say, Kolya, that you made the right decision by going back in time and correcting your mistake. It was your cruelty that set everything awry. But… — He looked at the old woman in fear. — Are you planning to get married?
— Yes, even now, though I’m afraid she might reject me.
— She won’t reject you—after all, a child without a father should not see the light of day.
Kolya stared at the smiling Larisa. After dinner, when Anna Fedorovna had already gone to bed and the workers had retired as well, Larisa and Nikolai settled down for the night in the car.
— Lar, what do you say about tying the knot with an ex-con?
She looked at him in surprise, but Nikolai, as if following a sudden inspiration, began studying the sky just as she had.
— Is that your original proposal?
— Well, yes.
— I don’t know… The prospect isn’t great: I’d be raising a bunch of kids while my husband hops from one prison to another. — She sighed dramatically and turned to the stars.
Nikolai jumped up so abruptly that his forehead nearly hit something, and Larisa laughed:
— Yes, of course! I’ve been waiting for those words for so long. I even thought everything would be proper: with a ring and flowers.
— God willing, Fedorovna won’t kill me. — Nikolai dashed outside, looked around, stole a lily from the garden in the old woman’s palisade, and hurried back to the car:
— Here are the flowers! And the ring will be from the city. And also, Lar, we’ll visit my parents.
— Of course, we will.
Anna Fedorovna, having observed everything from her summer house, sighed and smiled:
— Now that’s good, now everything is right.
