The river where Masha had cried, and where Maria Sergeevna had found her a month and a half ago, appeared at the edge of the river. The water was as clear and smooth as it had been that time, and, though there was no moon, it reflected a grayish gloomy light.
Another half hour passed and the place was hidden behind a bend in the river. They followed parallel to it, but at such a distance that the current did not sound too strongly.
The girl felt uncomfortable again: they were walking and not saying a word; maybe because there was nothing to say now?
Now the road went upward; the slope is so steep that, given its height of seven or eight meters, you can't see anything further. Only a lone birch tree peeks out with its branches — lively, vigorous branches, as if nature had decided to show its beauty here.
Climbing to the top, Masha saw seven wooden crosses. Each had flowers growing in an even rectangle in front of each cross. A cemetery.
Daddy had told her what it was, that the ancients buried their own in this way — they put up a cross as a symbol of faith. Only when she saw it with her own eyes could she understand what it meant to those who buried them.
Vladimir Ivanovich put his backpack on the ground, nodded to the deceased and began pulling out the weeds that occasionally grew between the uvets. Maria Sergeevna took a small steel spade out of her backpack and, sitting down by one of the graves, began to dig up the earth — in some places the flowers were growing unevenly — not toward the sky, but slightly to the side.
"Let me help," said Masha, seeing how much work there was around.
"Don't, my daughter. Sit down next to me. Have a rest. Let's talk about something," Grandma said in a way that made it seem as if all the words were lifting some stone stuck in her throat before they came out.
Looking at their eyes, at the diligence with which they shared it all, Masha felt how dear it was to them, that it was their need to take care of the graves of their departed relatives; that it would be harder for them to live without it.
— Do you come here often?
— Twice a month… We have to clean everything to make it pretty. They like it nice.
Masha had long wanted to know how old they were, how long they had lived together, whether they were having a hard time, but how to do it? It's not something you can just ask.
— Our daughter Lena doesn't look like me at all, I mean internally, externally there is a little bit: lips and cheeks, and also a nose… but internally — no. Vova wanted his daughter to be like him. That's how it turned out… And my sons, on the contrary, are both like me. Interesting, isn't it?
"True," the girl nodded.
— Here… We have three children… All are already there… They are well…..
— Are your children already dead?
— Yeah… Well, there's Lena's grave, over there is Gavi's. And there's Kolya's.
Masha did not immediately come to her senses: these people — how long have they been living here! It's just unbelievable.
— Go and see how Vladimir Ivanovich is doing, my daughter.
Masha barely got to her feet, walked around the row of crosses and approached Grandpa:
"Can I help you, Vladimir Ivanovich?"
— No, that's okay. Thank you, my daughter. Why don't you sit next to me and we'll talk about something?
They are like notes together, even responding in the same way.
Now Vladimir Ivanovich took out a leather tub from his rucksack and began to water the cross, wiping it with a sponge; he had already pulled all the weeds around it — apparently there were not many of them.
"This is Vasily Ivanovich. My great-grandfather, a metallurgist… I was born when he was no longer alive. I've never seen him, but I have such respect for him," my grandfather smiled.
— You must have been coming here a long time?
— Yes, a long time ago… First I went with my father, and then I met Masha. At that time only my ancestors were lying here, but she categorically said "I'll go" that I didn't even think of dissuading her. It was as if she knew that it would become obligatory at some point… Then we got married, we had children… And we started coming here as a whole family… Well, many years passed and we started coming here just the two of us, with my wife… Do you visit anyone? Masha shook her head negatively, "I don't know where to go… We just buried in the ground and didn't put crosses… We lived differently…" — Different? Have you ever been in love?
— I was. And it still is. I just don't know if it's the right one.
"Well, love is… well, it's like Bunin's. If you love a woman, you love her with everything:
with tears, and with hysterics… Love is when you think about her all day long, you think about her at night, it constantly disturbs your sleep, but you don't mind it. You still want to think like that all night and all morning… And then, the next day, to be happy and happy if she just looks at you… And if she smiles! That's it. — Vladimir Ivanovich made such an imaginative face, which showed simply indescribability of sensation. — But this is my love, and yours is more like Maria Sergeyevna's."
And Masha walked back.
"Well, how is Vladimir Ivanovitch?" — Maria Sergeyevna asked.
— He told me what love means. To him.
— Ahh. You said Bunin, didn't you? You like it with everything: tears and tantrums?
— Yeah, that's what I said.
— Bunin's is actually a little longer. And with tears, and hysterics, and thighs… But he always threw out the last part. I've always been slim.
Masha smiled at the way these people openly behaved with her: Maria Sergeyevna said that she threw out this part because she was slender, so "tears" and "tantrums" still happened and not once. Well, how can you do without it? It's also a component of love, as long as it doesn't go beyond the boundaries — tantrums are tantrums, but in the end it's still necessary to kiss.
— What do you think? What is love?
— When I first saw him, I didn't immediately realize that he was the one I was destined to live with for the rest of my life… Yes, sympathy… but nothing special… A day passed, maybe a little more, and there you go! I'm crazy about him. I don't know what it is, but I think about him all the time. I can't even imagine myself without him… I don't know how to explain it, but there was a moment when I became different… It's like cupid piercing me with an arrow, and there's no escape — it's like it's
supposed to be…
And, you know, it's still like that. I love him like I did then. Every time we are apart even for a few minutes, I miss him… and I can't wait to see him again… to hug him, to kiss him… and when that moment comes — when I hear that he is somewhere near, opening the door or the floor creaking with his footsteps, I just can't believe my happiness. I feel so at ease… I never wondered if this is the love that so many women want to feel, but I can't do it without my husband.
How close those words were! How close.
Masha thought about what kind of love is more like her love: the one when you think about your beloved all day long, or the one that makes you worry when you are apart and makes you happy when you meet? A very complex and ambiguous question. And the answer is the same: on the one hand it is both — everything is as they said, on the other hand it is neither so nor different — everything is in its own way, i.e. it is felt by one's soul, and it is not the same as theirs: all souls are different.
But still… Whatever love was: the beloved was dear. This "on the whole" made Masha angry, and she thought even more deeply. But no matter how many thoughts came to her, no matter how many sides she considered, she could not move from the spot — only the sense of time was gone.
"Mashenka, let's go, my daughter," the grandmother said as she approached the girl.