The Year 2005: A Charming Village Awaits
In the summer of 2005, a quaint village nestled deep within the vast Russian expanses fell into a tranquil slumber after lunch. The scorching July sun bathed the rooftops in a soft glow that made everyone retreat to the coolness of their shaded porches. The air above the dirt road shimmered like a living entity, rich with the scent of warm dust, wildflowers, and ripe apples from the nearby orchard. Amidst this heat haze stood an old, almost fairy-tale gazebo, bathed in the delicate shade of an ancient birch tree, a serene spot. Inside, two small figures, a brother and sister of five years, contentedly napped on a faded upholstered bench, their plump cheeks adorned with carefree smiles. Nearby, a middle-aged man reclined against the bench, rolling a cigarette, while a faint smoke lingered in the still air. His gaze, however, was distant, lost in the recesses of memory, back to the cherished year of 1972.
In the Bloom of Youth
A young man named Viktor had just graduated as an agronomist and returned to his hometown. The collective farm had long awaited his expertise, and his parents yearned for their beloved son to marry and fill their home with the laughter of grandchildren. Typically, he brushed off their eager suggestions with a smile, but one day he burst into the family home, his eyes sparkling with excitement, eliminating any doubt that something significant had occurred. His cheeks were flushed, and his smile radiated warmth.
- “Father, I’m getting married!” he exclaimed as he stepped over the threshold, addressing his astonished parents.
“Oh, how wonderful, my dear!” his mother chirped, clapping her hands in delight. “You’ll settle down, plant roots, and soon we’ll hear the pitter-patter of little feet in our home. How lovely that will be…”
“But hold on, Mother, let me finish!” his father interjected firmly, peering into his son’s beaming face. “But who have you chosen, son? Did a charming girl capture your heart at first sight?”
“Oh, Father,” the young man sighed, a slightly bashful blush coloring his cheeks. “She did, and firmly. Just one look into her eyes, and it felt like they pierced straight through to my soul. She is so captivating… I’d like to call her my wife right away. Shall we invite Uncle Stepan? He’s quite adept at matchmaking, a smooth talker.”
“Calm down, my boy,” his father cautioned, shaking his silver head. “Think this through. There are plenty of eligible girls in our village, like berries in the woods during summer. Just look at the beautiful ladies — tall and rosy, ready to be wed…”
“No, Father!” the son’s voice resonated firmly. “Please, go to the chairman, and I’ll dash over to Uncle Stepan. Let’s get the proposals rolling for my Lena.”
The conversation ensued with Viktor insisting eagerly, and without losing a moment, he dashed from the house, leaving his parents bewildered.
By the next hour, in the kindly household of the Krutovs, around a table laden with simple village delicacies, sat the esteemed matchmakers: Chairman Trokhim Ignatyevich and Uncle Stepan, the reputable wedding planner. Viktor’s father, Pyotr, flushed from home-brewed spirits, glanced from his bashful son to the cherished guests, pouring them more drinks. Meanwhile, his mother, glowing with happiness, propped her chin on her palm, trying to conceal her joyful smile.
Plans were quickly made for an early morning visit to the bride’s family the next day. Later that evening, the father and son escorted their rather tipsy matchmakers back home.
However, a regrettable misunderstanding occurred. The matchmakers, lost in their merry and uncontrollable state, failed to clarify which Lena they should approach. Viktor’s beloved was just a young girl herself, barely of marrying age, and everyone assumed they were referring to the other Lena, known as a popular name in the village.
“Viktor must have picked the wrong bride,” Uncle Stepan mused aloud as he walked alongside the chairman, who was still trying to shake off his confusion. “Lenka from the Chernov family is a fine girl! A true beauty. If I were younger, I wouldn’t be able to resist.”
The following day, Viktor was a bundle of nerves at home, anxiously awaiting news about the matchmaking.
“Why are you pacing like a madman?” his father teased. “The matchmakers know their business well. Don’t worry about the wedding!”
In the evening, Uncle Stepan appeared at the door again, looking much like he did the day before.
“That’s it, nephew!” he exclaimed, raising his arms towards the ceiling and then dropping them with gusto. “You’re officially engaged! We’ve secured your Lena. What did you expect? The girl had been alone in the market for too long, she’s over twenty already… Her parents were so thrilled to receive us; they practically carried us into the house as though we were kings. They treated us so generously…”
“Alone?” Viktor didn’t understand, fear creeping into his heart. “She’s barely turned seventeen… I was worried they might refuse to register our marriage at the council… My Lena… Which Lena did you propose to?”
Both parents stared at Uncle Stepan. He flinched, retreated, and lowered himself heavily onto a bench.
“Whom did we propose…” he stammered. “We proposed to Lena Chernova. A true beauty! You said ‘Lena.’ Thus, we sent for her. Did you mean another?”
“I meant Lena Belova,” Viktor gasped, and his head fell limply upon his chest. “What have you done? I want no one but my Lena! You’ll have to marry her, then, if you wish!”
Anger and bitter reproaches filled the room for far longer than two hours, while the parents sought to calm their distraught son. They pleaded with Uncle Stepan to go apologize to the Chernov family for this glaring mistake, but he flatly refused, citing an insurmountable embarrassment. When the chairman learned of the mix-up, he rendered his verdict:
“Viktor, you are a smart and educated young man,” he began, scanning everyone with a stern glance. “But this is not acceptable. The girl is already engaged. As is well-known, an agreement is worth more than money. Whether she’s crooked or limping, she’s still a beauty, and rumor has it, she has harbored feelings for you for some time. Once she learned you were courting her, she blushed, and her eyes sparkled like two bright stars in the night sky. Think it over, my boy. Maybe she is your true fate? The new house that the collective has built for young specialists rightfully belongs to you. You are an agronomist, after all. You’ll live splendidly, as if in paradise! You can decide, but I will not partake in this disgrace. Word will spread all over the village: engaged and then turned away. Where could she go after that? Where could she find peace?”
His mother, clutching her trembling lips, sat quietly, weeping softly in the corner. His father sighed deeply, gazing at his son’s pale face. Not receiving a clear answer, the chairman turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
A week passed. Viktor lay motionless on his bed, facing the rough wall. Suddenly, he heard the creaking of the gate in the yard. His mother peeked out the window and gasped in fear.
“What now?” Pyotr shouted, “Who has come?”
“It is Lena Chernova’s parents,” his mother shook her head, paler than usual. “The very same… What shall we do, Pyotr?”
Before they could gather themselves, the unexpected visitors stood at the entrance. They shifted nervously from foot to foot, exchanged glances, and stepped over the threshold smiling broadly.
“Greetings, dear hosts, future relatives!” boomed the resonant voice of Grigory, the bride’s father. “It has been a week since the engagement, and yet you give no sign of life. It’s high time we discussed matters about the wedding: how shall we celebrate, what dowry to prepare… And where is our groom, we’ve been waiting!”
“Come in, come in, dear guests,” the hostess fluttered, trying to hide her embarrassment with an awkward smile. “Please, sit down and rest from your journey. I will set up the samovar right away and treat you with whatever I have…”
Late in the evening, satisfied and slightly inebriated from a generous spread, the Chernovs departed from their future relatives’ house. Two months later, they celebrated a loud wedding, the talk of the village.
Viktor spent those days as if trapped in a thick fog. He didn’t live; he merely existed, performing actions automatically as if he were a deeply sleeping person who spoke but did not awaken.
Years passed, and the family welcomed two robust boys. He resigned himself to his fate, learning to be a good father and a diligent family man, yet deep within, memories of his first love lingered like a thorn in his heart. With time, word reached him that his Lena had engaged with another from a neighboring village. This drove Viktor to immerse himself in work, spending dawn to dusk in the fields. When he returned home, he invariably found his wife Lena busying herself with household chores. She greeted him with a radiant smile, bustling about cheerfully, her warm chatter filled with the details of daily life. The home, garden, and their two mischievous children relied on her strength, as if she could bear it all single-handedly.
Thus, two decades passed unnoticed. The children grew up, strengthened, and left the nest. Viktor hardly noticed when his restless wife began to fall ill. Stoically covering her malaises to avoid burdening him with worry, it was too late when they finally consulted doctors. A month later, Lena was no more.
At the age of forty-seven, Viktor became a widower, left alone in an empty house. His elderly parents had long moved to live with their eldest daughter in the city. He often recalled memories of youth and his first, unfulfilled love. He accepted that his life had passed him by, and now he awaited the end with quiet resignation. Increasingly, he reached for the bottle, seeking relief from the relentless yearning.
The year was nineteen ninety-nine. Warm, velvety days of Indian summer enveloped the village in a golden shroud. Lonely figures wandered slowly through the old, grass-overgrown cemetery. Viktor returned from his wife’s grave. The crunch of withered leaves underfoot echoed like whispers of the past. Ahead, a feminine figure sat on a bench by the path, and in her posture, in the tilt of her head, there was something hauntingly familiar.
As he drew closer, he instinctively greeted her. The woman looked up at him. That gaze burned him from the inside, like a flame igniting a long-extinguished lamp in a forsaken house. It was her. His Lena. Time seemed powerless before her. At forty-four, she blossomed, matured, and grew even more beautiful, like a rare flower that gains strength and splendor with each dawn.
“Hello, Viktor,” her voice rang out, sweet and warm, just as it had in their youth. “Are you lamenting your wife? You look so worn, I hardly recognized you. I buried my husband three years ago; he drowned while fishing, having fallen out of the boat in a drunken stupor. How are you doing?”
They engaged in conversation, walking slowly from the cemetery down the path leading into the village. Viktor poured his heart out to her, confessing all his mistakes, telling her about the fateful misunderstanding, revealing that it was she, his Lena, he had dreamed of calling his wife on that distant summer day.
“It all turned out correctly, Viktor,” she replied, her clear, wise eyes looking at him openly. “It was for the best that you married Lena. You might have caused her a lifetime of hardship with your reluctance. But now you have two fine sons, which I’ve heard. I have two children too: a son and a daughter. They live in the city and invite me to join them for a peaceful retirement…”
“Marry me, Lena!” he blurted out, suddenly kneeling right at her gate, pressing his knees into the soft earth. “Honestly, how long must we wait? Please marry me! I’ve carried you alone in my heart all my life!”
A month later, they quietly registered their marriage at the village council, without any grand celebrations, merely informing their children of the joyous news. A year on, Lena, astonishing the entire village, gave birth to twins. Viktor felt as if he had been born anew. He blossomed, revitalized like a wilted bush after a long-awaited, abundant rain. The sound of children’s laughter and the sweet voice of his beloved wife filled their once-empty and joyless home to the brim with warmth, happiness, and life itself.
The Aftermath of Regret
“Viktor, would you like some cold kvass?” his wife’s soft, tender voice pulled him from his reverie. She held out a clay mug, droplets of cool moisture glistening on its surface. “The heat is unbearable today… Look how sweetly our little ones are sleeping…”
He eagerly took several gulps, feeling the refreshing chill flow through his weary body. Handing the mug back to Lena, their fingers brushed in a warm moment of connection. Smiling, he gazed tenderly at the twins, peacefully slumbering in the shade of the birch. They nestled closely together, and in that simple gesture lay the fullness of the world. He embraced his wife, pulling her close and feeling the familiar, comforting warmth. He was happy. Happy in a way that only those who have endured many years of yearning and misunderstandings can truly appreciate, finally discovering their real, one true, and beautiful destiny. This profound, quiet joy surged within him like a mighty river, carrying its pure waters into the boundless ocean of eternity.