Anna Fyodorovna drew a deep breath as she positioned yet another pot beneath the persistent stream of water piercing through her dilapidated roof.
“What a misfortune,” she murmured softly, gazing up at the ceiling, as if trying to glimpse the very sky through its cracks. “When will this ever end? The rain seems mad—pouring without a pause! Has the Lord Himself lost His roof up there in heaven?”
Previously, during earlier downpours, a couple of basins sufficed. Now, however, she found herself employing an entire arsenal: four buckets, a small kettle, and even an old enamel bowl — every vessel was in use.
“Let the roof not collapse,” she sighed, sweeping her eyes over the warped beams. “If it falls on me, no one will find me beneath these ruins!”
Brushing away gloomy thoughts with a familiar gesture, Anna crossed herself broadly, when suddenly a thunderclap exploded outside, rattling the windowpanes.
“Oh, Lord, have mercy!” she cried out, clutching the cross on her chest tightly. “What kind of calamity is this? I haven’t witnessed a storm this fierce in over twenty years!”
Anna Fyodorovna was accustomed to holding long conversations with herself—or rather, with her cat, who, despite being her silent companion, never responded. His green eyes, like glowing embers, shimmered in the dim light as he perched on the stove.
“Scared, furry one?” she soothed. “Don’t worry, we won’t perish from the storm. I’ve survived worse…”
Just as her words left her lips, the door creaked open, revealing a tall man drenched in rain. The grandmother gasped and stepped back, her heart pounding wildly.
“Don’t be afraid, mother,” came a hoarse voice. “I come in peace.”
Squinting, she noticed a gaunt man with a pale face and eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“If you come in peace, then come inside and warm yourself,” she muttered, stepping aside.
The stranger took a few steps and suddenly collapsed onto a stool, breathing heavily.
“I… could use a drink,” he rasped.
Anna swiftly scooped some apple kvass from a wooden barrel and offered it to him. The man drained it eagerly, set down the ladle, and closed his eyes, gathering strength.
“Please don’t fear me,” he eventually said. “Circumstances forced me to flee to prove my innocence. I can’t go any further—the wound slows me down. Might I wait here? Even in the cellar or attic…”
Approaching him cautiously, Anna studied his face intently.
“If you speak truth, stay. But if you lie, God will judge you,” she declared firmly, gesturing toward a room at the back. “There’s space there. Make yourself comfortable.”
The man, introducing himself as Nikolay, struggled to the bed and lay down, feeling consciousness slipping away. He tossed off his damp robe; his side was soaked with dark blood.
“Damn it…” he whispered through gritted teeth.
After shedding his rough clothes, he collapsed onto the pillow, as if falling into an abyss rather than simply falling asleep, fighting to stay awake yet failing.
Just as his eyelids closed, Anna returned carrying a basin of warm water. Examining the wound, she shook her head apprehensively, carefully rinsed the injury—it was a through-and-through wound—then applied a thick herbal salve.
“Rest now, dear,” she whispered. “You need it more than anything.”
Sunlight’s bright beam woke Nikolay, shining directly into his face. The storm from the previous day was gone; birds chirped outside, and the air was clear and refreshing. For a fleeting moment, he forgot where he was and how he got there, but memories returned quickly as he tried to sit up.
A sharp pain pierced his side just then. As if on cue, the door opened, and Anna Fyodorovna appeared.
“You awoke! Thank God!” she said happily. “Don’t rush to get up, lie down some more. The wound is fresh; it needs time to heal.”
“Grandmother, how long have I slept? Eight hours?” he asked hoarsely.
Her laughter, warm and almost maternal, filled the room.
“More than a day, my dear! So, would you like some food?”
Nikolay suddenly realized how ravenous he was, ready to eat anything.
“Definitely!”
“Then let’s take it slow,” she replied.
He got up carefully and found to his surprise that the pain was less severe than anticipated.
Anna set the table, placing a large bowl of steaming cabbage soup, a pot of sour cream, and a slice of fresh bread before him. Nikolay eyed the modest portion regretfully, but the hostess only smiled.
“Don’t rush, dear. If you manage the soup, there’s some potatoes baking in the oven.”
He ate greedily, savoring a hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Anna sat opposite him, observing quietly.
“My name is Anna Fyodorovna. What about you?”
“Nikolay,” he answered.
“Interesting…” she murmured thoughtfully.
Halfway through the bowl, he felt satisfied but continued eating out of habit. Meanwhile, the grandmother placed a cup filled with a bitter dark brew before him.
“Drink this. It’s bitter, but it’ll do you good now.”
He sniffed, grimaced, but drank anyway, feeling no suspicion toward her intentions.
“Now, Nikolay, tell me your story,” she said softly.
He pushed aside the bowl, exhaled deeply, and began.
“There’s not much to tell. I had everything: a house, family, money. One day, my wife decided she didn’t need me, but she did want my wealth. One night, she and her lover—hopefully accidentally—hit a man and fled the scene. Then she testified as if I were the driver. Her lover is a journalist with connections everywhere. I was convicted within a day and served three months. I couldn’t stay; I need to find someone who will help me. I escaped, but I don’t yet know how to reach him.”
“If all is as you say, justice will prevail,” Anna stated confidently.
“Ah, Anna Fyodorovna, I wish I had your faith,” he smiled bitterly. “I thought having money earned respect, but when trouble struck, everyone turned away—not for reasons, just like that…”
She stood, clearing the dishes, then pulled out a worn deck of cards. Nikolay watched, fascinated, as she shuffled and laid them while whispering under her breath. After gathering the cards, she looked up at him.
“In three days, you must leave. If you go exactly when I tell you, you will reach the person you seek.”
Nikolay had never believed in fortune-telling, but something in her tone silenced him.
She shuffled the cards repeatedly, then spoke:
“You were born far from here, the only child in your family. Your parents are alive, waiting and crying as they watch the road. They await their son, but he’s slow to come—not because he’s in prison, but even before.”
Nikolay felt a burning shame wash over him. It was true—he had sent money for years but hadn’t visited his parents in the last three years.
“Your wife is beautiful but deceitful,” she continued. “She always had many men: before you and during. Also… she didn’t want your child. You could have had a son, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
His head lowered. This simple woman seemed to know more of his life than he did himself.
He sat stunned as if struck by lightning, his thoughts tangled and his head ringing. He had suspected something! Svetka once said she had “minor female ailments,” so she moved temporarily to the guest room and frequently visited the clinic, sometimes staying several days. It had been right before his eyes, yet he avoided digging deeper.
“Your friend worries and searches for you,” the grandmother added, sorting cards. “Others have looked for you as well. But he will help you, forgive the hurt you caused him.”
Nikolay almost fell from his chair.
Okay, maybe she was a good psychologist, but how did she know about Larisa? About him abandoning his friend’s sister for Svetka? How she left broken-hearted? He and his friend had once fought fiercely, almost breaking bones before reconciling. He had thought Larisa convinced her brother to forgive him.
Anna gathered the cards. He exhaled:
“Incredible…”
She laughed—a bright, youthful sound, more like a girl than an old woman.
“What did you expect? I was once known across the region as the best fortune-teller! Now…” She waved her hand dismissively. “Now I don’t read cards. It’s hard to see others’ fates, Nikolay. People rarely come when things are well, only when at rock bottom. And what do you see then? Mostly an ending.”
A thunderclap outside seemed to affirm her words.
“What on Earth!” Anna exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “A whole week of storms, like a curse! When will this madness end?”
The cat, as if taking a cue, slipped onto the stove and curled into a ball. Nikolay watched amazed as the caretaker skillfully arranged basins, clearly knowing where the leaks were. Thus, amid cheerful dripping and rolling thunder, the evening passed.
- Nearly deserted village due to the relentless storms.
- Fewer visitors and helpers for household repairs.
- Concerns about the aging, fragile roof falling.
“Few remain in the village,” Anna sighed. “In the past, when city folks came for readings, I could ask for help—men would come and fix the roof. Now, there’s no one to call. I wonder what will happen first—I die or the ceiling collapses on me?”
Three days passed. Nikolay grew stronger; his wound healed. No new faces appeared, except for a passing mobile store. At dawn on the fourth day, Anna woke him early:
“It’s time, Kolya. They’re coming.”
He rose easily, his body no longer burdened by pain. He embraced Anna tightly:
“We will meet again. Thank you…”
“Go on,” she muttered, turning away. “Or I’ll cry. We shall meet, I’m sure.”
She explained the way through the garden to the station and the best travel options—bus or train. Then she stood long at the doorstep, gazing into the pre-dawn haze where he disappeared.
“What a disaster…” she murmured. “What kind of summer we’ve had…”
The buckets she used for fetching well water had to be emptied again. She watched as new damp spots spread across the ceiling. Yes, the roof would not last much longer.
The downpour stopped as abruptly as it had begun. This summer’s weather seemed utterly unpredictable: scorching mornings, floods by afternoon, and stifling heat at dusk.
Anna stepped outdoors after collecting basins, and she froze.
Approaching the house was not just a vehicle, but a large truck with some kind of basket on top. Behind it came a big black car.
“Is it war?” she whispered, crossing herself anxiously.
They halted. From the truck’s bed, one could see boards, packages, and something crimson resembling but not quite slate. Then, from the car emerged—
“Nikolay!”
The bucket clattered to the ground. She hobbled toward him, unbelieving.
“Hello, Anna Fyodorovna!” he grinned broadly. “I told you, we’d meet soon!”
“Soon, you say…” She snorted. “Three months was your ‘soon’?”
“It wasn’t entirely up to me. They took me back while my friend handled things. Just for a month—court and investigation. I didn’t come alone!”
He opened the car door. A young woman stepped out, shyly smiling:
“Hello.”
They dined outdoors. Larisa, Anna Fyodorovna, and Nikolay prepared enough food for the whole crew—three huge pots. As Larisa set the table, the grandmother shuffled cards once more. Kolya sat beside her.
“So, what do they say?”
“They say you did right returning to your past and fixing your mistake,” she squinted. “It was your cruelty that caused everything to go wrong. But—” Nikolay tensed. “Are you planning to marry?”
“I’m ready now! But I fear she might refuse.”
“She won’t,” Anna Fyodorovna smiled slyly. “A little one can’t come into the world without a father.”
Nikolay stared at Larisa in shock. She blushed, but her smile remained.
Late that night, after the woman had gone to bed and the workers had settled down, Larisa and Nikolay sat in a car.
“Lar…” he suddenly began, looking at the ceiling. “How do you feel about marrying an ex-convict?”
She turned surprised, but he continued staring at the stars.
“Is that… a proposal?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Hmm…” Larisa feigned a frown. “Not the best prospect: a husband in prisons and me with a bunch of kids.” She sighed and turned to the window.
Nikolay jerked, hitting his head on the roof. Larisa laughed:
“Yes, silly, of course yes! I’ve waited years for those words. Though…” She made sad eyes. “I thought there’d be a ring, flowers…”
“Oh no!” He jumped out, looked around, and tore the first lily he found in Anna’s flowerbed, rushing back into the car.
“Flowers! We’ll get the ring tomorrow. And also…” he added seriously, “we’ll visit my parents.”
“Of course, we will.”
Anna Fyodorovna, watching them from the summer kitchen, smiled and crossed herself.
“That’s good. Now everything is in its rightful place.”
Key Insight: This tale highlights compassion, resilience, and unexpected alliances that illuminate even the darkest storms.
Through relentless rain and shadowy pasts, the strength of human kindness and the pursuit of justice shine forth. Anna Fyodorovna’s unwavering courage and wisdom created a sanctuary, while Nikolay’s journey underlined truth and redemption’s power.
Ultimately, this story reveals that even amidst chaos, hope and renewal await those willing to believe and persevere.