Tatiana never shared with anyone what had happened to her many years ago. She lived quietly, minding her own business, trying not to interfere in others’ affairs. If people asked for help, she always responded. If not, she never forced herself upon them.
Despite her blindness, Tatiana could sense the world more keenly than many sighted people. By smell, the sound of footsteps, or a person’s breath, she could understand more than others could with their eyes. She could detect emotions in a voice, fear in the rustling of clothes, pain in a barely perceptible sigh. Her perception had become deeper, more precise.
One of the doctors who happened to visit her was amazed:
“How can you do that? I even took a shower before coming, put on clean clothes. It took me half an hour to get here—no sweat, no hint of being outdoors. Yet you still knew everything…”
Tatiana replied softly:
“I can hear the scent of despair. It’s there in those who’ve lost hope. You just need to learn how to recognize it. It’s hard… almost impossible. But possible.”
The doctor cautiously asked:
“You help so many people… I didn’t just come here for nothing. But why not help yourself? Sorry to be blunt, but it seems unfair.”
Tatiana shrugged slightly:
“It can’t be healed with herbs. And it’s not really an illness. It’s more of a scar. After great fear or grief, the brain can shut off anything—voice, speech… I lost my sight. It happens.”
Those were the longest words she had ever spoken about herself. And she said them only because the person who came to her exuded such desperation that it seemed like he might burn to the ground at any moment. His time was running out.
That day, as usual on weekends, Tatiana went to the forest. Alongside her walked Murat—a large, shaggy dog, loyal and intelligent. Sometimes, he allowed himself the joy of puppy-like excitement, suddenly running, rolling in the grass. But as soon as Tatiana called, he would immediately return, pressing his side against her.
In the village, everyone knew her as “Old Tanya.” No one guessed that she wasn’t even fifty yet. But Tatiana didn’t mind—let them think what they wanted. It meant fewer questions.
She suddenly stopped, frozen as if rooted to the ground. Murat immediately stopped next to her, no sound, no movement. Only silence and tense attention.
Tatiana listened. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of an engine was growing louder—dull, strained. The sound got closer. It seemed like the vehicle was coming straight to them.
Murat nudged her leg with his cold nose—his way of saying, “I’m here, don’t be afraid.”
“Could be just passing by…” flashed through Tatiana’s mind. But no—the engine stopped right by the gate.
A chill ran through her. Something was wrong. Normally, when someone came to her for help, her heart responded with warmth. But now, it contracted, cold as ice.
The car door slammed. Voices followed—sharp, full of suppressed fury.
“Why did you do this?!” a man’s voice rasped. “What kind of nonsense is this? Do you think this local old woman is going to help me? Do you have any idea how much has already happened?”
The woman’s voice was sickly sweet, almost like honey with yeast:
“Well, darling, you’ve completely lost your mind! All the doctors gave up, and here I am, desperate, rushing to the last hope! I’m taking you to this… local witch. What if she works a miracle? Imagine the story—loving wife didn’t leave him in his time of need! And it’s better here in nature than at home… Maybe you’ll get to see the sunset one last time.”
The man bitterly laughed:
“Well, I didn’t expect such foresight from you. But… the account’s already blocked. To the last penny.”
The woman giggled unpleasantly:
“Don’t worry, I can wait. Once I inherit, the block will disappear, and life will get better. Oh, you’ve really become tiresome! You have no idea how much!”
A pause. The man sighed deeply. His voice turned cold, like a winter wind:
“I’d rather be here, among the forest animals, than next to a hyena like you. Go away.”
Footsteps. The car door slammed. The car screeched and drove off.
Tatiana stood still, as if turned to stone. That woman’s voice… she recognized it. That same woman had come a year ago, asking for herbal remedies to “help her husband’s health.” She had offered sums that would have made others bow in submission. But Tatiana never accepted payment for her help. Especially when she saw death in someone’s words.
And then—a new voice. Close. Behind the gate.
“Hello…” it sounded with pain and confusion. “Excuse me… they threw me out. Right here. And I… I can’t go anywhere.”
Tatiana jolted. She knew that voice too. But she couldn’t place it—somewhere deep in her memory, a shadow flashed, but she couldn’t find the face. Just emptiness.
“Hello…” she said, trying to keep her voice steady so as not to reveal her trembling.
Tatiana and Murat moved closer. The dog growled cautiously, tensing up. Tatiana felt it with every fiber of her being. She understood his reaction: the man was sitting on the wet ground, looking unwell. He needed help. She needed to move him to a chair—someone had mentioned a wheelchair.
Tatiana moved her long stick in front of her, feeling the space. There it was—the chair. Leaning down, she felt the familiar levers, clicked them a few times—the mechanism unfolded. She had dealt with such cases before: many tourists in wheelchairs had come to her for help! She rolled the device closer to the man and said gently:
“Please, sit.”
“How can I…” the despair in his voice was clear. “I can’t hold myself up… They don’t hold me.”
“Murat, help!” Tatiana commanded firmly, not leaving room for argument.
She heard the man snort in disbelief—felt the sound in her skin. But soon a stunned, almost reverent sigh escaped him:
“A dog? You… you’re smarter than many people! Certainly more than some!”
There were some grunts, groans, efforts—and finally, the man was settled into the chair. A heavy sigh of relief.
“You’re not going anywhere now,” Tatiana said quietly but confidently. “And don’t even try. Your pressure is jumping like crazy. It’s going to get worse soon.”
She carefully, almost weightlessly, placed her palm on his forehead. Cold, cool skin. The man flinched at the unexpected touch.
“How do you know all this?” his voice mixed with surprise and disbelief.
Something sharply pricked Tatiana inside, as though a splinter had pierced her chest. Again! Now! Somewhere on the edge of her memory, an answer flickered—so familiar and known… But it disappeared again, dissipating like morning fog. She cursed softly to herself.
An intense, helpless anger boiled inside her. For the first time, she couldn’t recall the sound, the voice, the face. Something she’d always remembered, every rustle, every leaf, every voice she had ever heard… But now—nothing. It felt like her mind had decided to play a cruel joke on her. A curse!
It had been so long… It felt like an eternity. Thirty years. To be exact—almost thirty-one years since the tragedy.
Back then, Tatiana had been a young girl, beautiful, full of life, with eyes burning with an unquenchable fire. She had plans—big, grand ones. She had rushed to the city, as if on wings, to study, to work, to conquer the world.
And there, just two days later, her life had been turned upside down by one meeting. He had become everything to her: air, light, life itself. She felt his love with every cell of her being.
And then came happiness—the real one, the kind that makes you fly. She became pregnant. Ran to him, as if on fire, to share this joy, to announce the beginning of their shared happiness…
But instead, she saw him in bed with another.
It wasn’t just a blow—it was a collapse. The beginning of the end. A path covered in broken glass, leading into madness.
Tatiana ran out into the street, like a frightened cat. Where to? Why? She saw nothing around, just running, until her strength left her. Sometimes she stopped, doubled over from nausea—she was twisted inside out.
To run! To disappear! No one around!
Somehow, she made it to the river—their favorite spot, where she and Igor had often sat. She collapsed face-down on the dry grass, pressing against the cold earth. The sun beat into her eyes, but it seemed dull, dead, as though covered by a dirty veil.
Someone must have called an ambulance and the police. The girl lay motionless, but breathing. Her eyes were empty, like a scorched steppe.
Then came the darkness—long black days she didn’t remember. Only darkness, dense, sticky, surrounding her from all sides, and the animal fear that froze her blood. Faint figures in white coats, injections clouding her mind, indifferent examinations… Somewhere in the distance, someone mentioned a child… that she had lost him…
But she had nothing! No child, no life—everything had burned that day.
Everything that was before had been erased from her memory. And maybe that was for the best. Let it stay that way forever. It would never return.
She ended up here by accident—thanks to some kind old woman from the institution they sent her to—a shelter or a mental health facility. She often talked about her little cottage in the village, the healing herbs, the quiet, measured life.
Tatiana had no one then. And nothing. Only emptiness. Maybe the half-destroyed little house two hundred miles from the cursed city.
She made her decision. What was there to lose?
Nothing.
Tatiana started preparing. It was like preparing for a leap into icy water. Every day—a small training of spirit, body, and will.
The old doctor shook his head sympathetically: “How are you, girl, all alone?” “I’ll manage,” Tatiana replied, lifting her chin. “People live—so will I.” “Maybe the herbs, the silence, will help. Maybe my sight will return. Though… your case is unique. In my practice, I’ve only heard of one like it. But that woman… didn’t survive. Five years blind, and she took her own life. But don’t despair—miracles happen. They always do.”
And Tatiana tried. She climbed out of the darkness as best she could, clinging to every sound, every thought. She remembered snippets of the old woman’s stories, tried the roots, the leaves, listened to their language. Over time, it seemed that she could understand the herbs—intuitively, with her senses.
Once, she saved a man from severe stomach pain, another from a persistent cough that had troubled him for years. She never asked for money in return for help. If they left her grains, flour, or sugar—she accepted with gratitude.
One of those she had helped came back. And brought Murat to her.
The puppy was still clumsy, big-eared. But when he licked her hand, pressed his cold nose to her, Tatiana knew right away: here was her most loyal and faithful friend. For many years to come.
In her own home, Tatiana felt confident—she knew every corner, every floorboard that creaked with each step. But her unexpected guest, with each passing minute, seemed to feel worse: his breathing became irregular, raspy.
Tatiana quickly, as if she had done it a thousand times, brewed her herbs. The scent was sharp, bitter, the brew dark and rich. She placed the cup in front of the man.
“Drink.”
He grimaced, wrinkling his nose.
“Ugh… what’s that smell? It’s poison, isn’t it?”
“Drink, I said!” Tatiana’s voice was firm, without a hint of doubt. “As long as it still smells, there’s a chance. When it stops smelling, it’ll be too late. Completely too late.”
He hesitated for a moment but took the cup with trembling hands, drinking it in one go, grimacing from the bitterness.
Tatiana nodded towards the cot:
“Now lie down. You’ll fall asleep soon. The best medicine is sleep.”
Obediently, like a child, he moved to the wooden couch, covered with a thick homemade mattress. A few minutes later, Tatiana heard his deep, even breathing—he had fallen asleep.
She sighed in relief, letting her shoulders relax. She removed her heavy scarf from her head, then the smaller one. She put on a jacket that almost seemed someone else’s—she always dressed this way when going outside or receiving guests. She wanted to stay unnoticed, to avoid questions, to keep her soul to herself.
Who was this man? Why did his voice seem so familiar? And why did every word he spoke pierce her heart, like a splinter?
Tatiana carefully sat down on the edge of the chair beside the cot. Gently, almost afraid to cause pain, she placed her palm on his forehead. Hot…
And in that moment, her eyes seemed to burn—as if someone had poured broken glass into them.
She quickly pulled her hand away, as if burned.
It couldn’t be! Could it really be him?! The man from her past, from a life she had long buried? No, it couldn’t be!
Once again, with a trembling hand, Tatiana touched his forehead.
And again—pain, burning, as though a fire had started inside. Her heart pounded, blood roared in her temples, the buzz in her ears drowned out everything around her.
The man groaned in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible.
“Igor?” Tatiana whispered silently. That name she had never dared to speak even mentally.
The man on the couch suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze was clouded, full of disbelief.
“Tanya? It can’t be… This is a nightmare! You… you died years ago! I searched for you! I sent everyone after you! Even my mother showed me your grave! I almost went mad! Doctors stayed with me for months…”
And I died, Igor, her voice was quiet, but every word resonated in the room like the toll of a bell.
I died the day I saw you… with another. And our child died too. With me.
“What nonsense? In which bed?! What child?! I don’t understand anything!”
“I found out I was pregnant. We were supposed to meet that evening. But I couldn’t wait. I ran to your place, but there…”
“Wait!” Igor propped himself up on his elbow, his face twisted in a grimace of pain.
“That day I left early in the morning and didn’t come back until eight. I ran to get our clocks… I was waiting for you! I was getting the cuckoo clock you wanted. I wanted to propose with them, not a ring.”
Her eyes no longer burned with that fiery pain. Now it was as though heavy fingers were pressing down on them.
And they didn’t let go.