Visiting the Wise woman Leila.
I’ll grow up and teach you a lesson.
Reading the Russian press, I have often seen notes, articles and letters, focused on professional activities of a Wise woman Leila. It seemed that everything they wrote about was happening somewhere far away from me, and it would never touch my family. Sometimes, reading another story, I would spit 3 times over my left shoulder and knock on the table. I would proudly look at my husband and young son Solomon. I’m really lucky: having met a true friend, spouse and host of the family, I married him and gave birth to a healthy gold-haired boy, who has become the meaning of life for us. We worked tirelessly to ensure happy future for our son. Firstly, he was brought up by my mom, then, when she died, we hired a babysitter. Solomon was growing up as in a fairy tale – not by days, but by hours. The clothes, modern toys, natural food, resorts at least 2 times a year… Then there was a private school, where he showed character at first by beating two kids on the first day. In response to the question of why he did it, he fell into a terrible hysteria, and we had to calm him down for a long time. Since that day we had to change nannies – he tormented every nanny almost every month. Ready for anything to have at least some time of calmness in the house, my husband bought expensive computer games and modern electronics. I constantly blamed myself for not being able to give birth to a brother or sister to Solomon. Our son studied well – husband hired tutors when it was necessary. But the relationship with the son was reduced to a minimum for months: “Dad! I need money for a trip!” or “Mom! Give me money for pizza.” The rest of the time the son was locked in his room and played computer games. His circle of friends was limited to the children-schoolmates, with whom he often did not get along, and then just began to ignore everyone. “It’s nothing, he will grow – he will come to himself”, – said my friends. The teacher soothed, referring to the difficult transition to adulthood. Only the husband was silent, worrying about his every spoken word, every unpleasant conversation and every conflict. The son went to the 10-th grade. He was 16 years old. My husband and I agreed and gave him a surprise: invited to a restaurant a few of his classmates, with whom he communicated more or less, and a few neighborhood children. There was also a girl with whom he was friends in childhood. We knew that he liked her. The husband invited a good DJ, paying him lots of money. Solomon was pulled out of the house under the pretext that the three of us want to have dinner and celebrate his birthday and we arrived at the restaurant. All sang, clapped, started exploding firecrackers. The DJ turned on the music. For the first time in many months we saw the smile on the face of our son, but I worried that it was not a smile of joy, but a sort of evil grin. The husband didn’t notice, he was happy as a child. The children sat at the table, filled the glasses with juice. The girl began to make a toast, when suddenly Solomon stood and threw the glass on the floor. Then he went to the DJ and took his microphone and yelled to the entire restaurant: “I’m an adult and I’ll teach you a lesson! I hate you, die, you, bastards!” For a few seconds the hall was in silence, the children were in shock. The husband did not understand what happened at first, then, seeing the face of the son filled with anger and hatred, sighed and sat down on the chair. Everyone left without saying a word. I took my husband to the car. The son left and came home only in a week – for the funeral of my husband, his father, who had a stroke because of the stress. I was broken, I didn’t want to live. Didn’t want even to see my son. My friend came by almost every day, brought food for him and me. He, as if nothing had happened, kept playing computer games. Following my friend’s advice, I finally agreed to take a walk in the park. After the walk I asked her to take me to the grave of my husband. I don’t know why, I was asked to go to Leila on the way back. The friend came and asked to take me without an appointment. Seeing my expression, the people, who were sitting in the hallway, didn’t even argue with us. Probably they felt the heaviness and grief that I carried. After listening to me, Leila asked for a photo of my son. I gave her a photo taken 5 years before, when he still agreed to be photographed. Having carefully looked at the photo and taking the necessary information about him, Leila said: “Go. And, whatever happens, do not panic and do not be surprised. Don’t judge or berate, he will come back to you…” The week passed without changes.Every day I went out to get some air and drove to the cemetery. On the second week at midnight I was awakened by the noise. At first I thought that Solomon, as usual, was eating, but suddenly I heard heart-rending cries. I opened the door to his room and saw him all in sweat, writhing on the floor in pain, clutching his stomach. There was foam on his lips. I’ve seen it in the movies when people have an epileptic seizure. The son rolled his eyes. I thought I would faint. But perhaps the maternal instinct was stronger than fear, I remembered the words of Leila “Not to be afraid and not to be surprised”, and I dialed 911. At the hospital they did all the tests to the son, they were normal. It was not poisoning or epilepsy. The doctors said that he had nervous exhaustion, he needed to have a rest. They gave him a sedative and he fell asleep. In the morning Solomon had anal bleeding with pus, doctors also failed to determine the reason. I called Leila. “Don’t worry, take your son home and only feed him with warm chicken soup for 2 days,” – she said. I did that. On the 3rd day in the morning I left food on the table and went to the cemetery to my husband. It was cool autumn, but I didn’t care. I sat down on the bench. There was only one question: “WHY?”. Suddenly I felt someone came up behind me, and carefully threw on something warm on my shoulders. Solomon sat next to me. Carefully, as if he was afraid to scare me, he touched his jacket on me, and then for the first time, hugged with his huge hand and somehow quite unusual for me, said in an adult voice: “Sorry, if you can, mom. I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING.” Then we’ve been sitting for a long time, not saying a word, at the grave of my husband, thinking about personal things. Several years have passed after those events. The son became a grown man. He decided to make the military career, now he serves as an officer in the Canadian army, visits me and his father’s grave every six months, but we talk every week on the phone. “He has matured and wised up,” friends say. Yes, I answer, perhaps, had his fling.
Thank you, Leila, thank you…