An elderly woman, dressed in a worn-out drape coat, shuffled down a deserted evening street, barely moving her feet from exhaustion. Her brown hair, touched by premature gray, peeked out from under a beret that had long lost its relevance. In her hands, she held a heavy, well-worn bag that seemed as much a silent witness to her life as her entire appearance.
At the entrance of one of the five-story buildings, a group of teenagers whispered, casting mocking glances at her. Every evening she passed by this house to shorten the path to her old cottage, standing alone on the outskirts of the street. What used to be a private sector area was now replaced by high-rise buildings, but her home remained the last reminder of the past. The neighbors had been resettled, but her house, forgotten by everyone, continued to stand, needed by no one.
She walked slowly, eyes down, as behind her back the gossip ensued: “A pauper, how can one degrade so much? She could at least change her coat, walking in rags… And she works somewhere…” — “Probably spends it all on drink, hence saves on clothes…” — “She cleans staircases in residential buildings, morning and evening. Manages several houses…” — “So what? Is the pay that little? She could at least tidy herself up, disgusting to look at…” — “Her coat is from Soviet times, maybe it’s a keepsake…” — “A keepsake? Keepsakes hang in a closet, not worn out in public…” Women hissed, casting contemptuous glances at her stooped figure.
The younger children, on the contrary, saw something mysterious in her. They dreamed of getting closer to her house, but a high, albeit dilapidated fence, securely hid the yard from curious eyes. The kids believed she was Baba Yaga and were sure that something extraordinary — both terrifying and magical — was hidden behind the fence.
The teenagers laughed, looking at her as a relic from the past. Her perpetually gloomy, exhausted face, old-fashioned clothes, and slow, tired walk puzzled and mocked them. Each had their guesses about her life, but no one knew the truth.
The woman often heard the sharp remarks directed at her, but they seemed not to touch her. She continued walking, lost in her thoughts.
“Why do you all hang around her fence?” — once asked the older boys. — “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“We’re curious about who she is…” — replied the most spirited of the boys.
“We think she’s Baba Yaga,” — whispered a little girl mysteriously. — “And behind the fence is her magical house, and a cat, and…”
“What dreamers!” — interrupted her a guy. — “Want to find out who she really is? Set up a watch. Play Sherlock Holmes,” — he suggested, and the others laughed.
The boys exchanged looks. They liked the idea, and the next day they staged an ambush, hoping to peek into the yard when the woman opened the gate. But they saw nothing interesting.
Following her to the next block, they hid around the corner but soon got bored. The woman went down to the basement, came out with a bucket of water and a mop, entered the building. Half an hour later, she appeared again, poured out the water into the flower bed, threw away a bag of trash, and, fetching clean water, headed to another entrance. There was nothing mysterious about her actions, but the mystery surrounding her continued to stir the imagination of the children and provoke adult gossip.
The boys returned to the courtyard, tired and disappointed. Their faces expressed clear dissatisfaction, and their eyes dimmed from boredom.
“So, Sherlocks,” — asked the older boys with a smirk, — “did you uncover the mystery? Learned anything interesting?”
“Nothing special,” — grumbled one of the boys, — “just cleans the staircases, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s something,” — remarked an older guy sarcastically. — “Baba Yaga wouldn’t be cleaning floors.”
At lunch, the woman went out again, and the boys, without much thought, chased after her. They alternated between hiding behind trees, around corners, and catching up with her, trying to remain unnoticed. This time, they had to ride the trolleybus as “hares,” which added complications. They thought the woman noticed them but pretended as if nothing was happening.
When she entered the building of the clinical hospital, the boys froze for a moment. Fear gripped them, but curiosity was stronger. They timidly followed her, but upon reaching the lobby, they saw the elevator door close behind her. They managed to see that she went up to the fifth floor. The boys hurried there too, but they were not allowed beyond a small corridor.
“Probably cleans floors here too,” — grumbled one of them irritably. — “Let’s go home, I’m hungry.”
“Look!” — whispered another, pointing at a slightly open door.
The woman came out of the room, draping a white coat over her shoulders. In her hands, she held a bedpan and headed to the end of the corridor.
“Worse than we thought,” — sighed the third disappointedly. — “Here she doesn’t clean floors, but pots…”
The boys lowered their heads and, dejected, went home.
“Nothing interesting,” — they grumbled. — “And we thought…”
One day, idly wandering around the courtyard, the boys found themselves again at the fence of that same woman. At that moment, a man came out of the gate — neatly dressed, clearly from another circle. He headed to the trolleybus stop. The boys, without hesitation, ran after him. The man sat on a bench, waiting for the transport, while two boys sat next to him, surreptitiously observing him.
The trolleybus arrived quickly, and the man disappeared behind its doors. The boys hurried back to the courtyard to share what they had seen.
A few days later, the stranger appeared again in their courtyard. He walked towards the old house, and the kids started whispering among themselves. When he approached their entrance, a little girl loudly asked:
“Uncle, are you going to Baba Yaga’s? Aren’t you scared?”
“What?” — the man smiled and squatted next to the girl. — “What are you talking about?”
“Are you going to that house?” — she pointed toward the house of the strange woman. — “Baba Yaga lives there?”
The man laughed, and the kids, holding their breath, huddled around, waiting for his answer.
Noticing their genuine interest, the man sat on the bench and, casting a kind glance at everyone, began to tell:
“Yes, I’m going to that old house. But very good people live there…”
“People?” — could not hold back an older boy. — “There’s only one pauper living there…”
The man smiled, but a shadow of sadness flicked in his eyes:
“You called her a pauper without knowing how rich she is…”
Two women joined the crowd of kids, and curious faces began to peer out of the windows. Gradually, people started coming out of the entrances, drawn by the conversation.
“Does she have a treasure hidden there?” — asked one of the bolder boys.
“Yes,” — the man replied, — “she has a huge treasure in her soul.”
He sighed and, realizing that they wouldn’t let him go without an explanation, continued:
“My name is Kirill. I’ve known this woman, Maryushka, since childhood. I used to live here too. Right here stood my house. And over there,” — he pointed to a nine-story building, — “was Pasha’s house, my friend. Over here,” — he nodded to the adjacent entrance, — “grew a huge tree where we often gathered. And beyond that construction, we rode bikes… There were many of us, but especially close were the three of us — Maryushka, Pasha, and I. Both Pasha and I were in love with her. But she chose him… I had to accept her choice, but we’ve remained friends to this day. Now I live in another city, but I often come to visit them…”
“And where’s her husband?” — couldn’t hold back an elderly woman with a hefty figure, shouting from the crowd.
“And her husband…” — the man sighed and continued. — “Yes, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Seven years ago, when these high-rises were just starting to be built, they went out of town in their brand-new car. On the highway, a Kamaz truck came towards them. There was no avoiding the collision. Pavel did everything he could, but… alas. Everyone was injured. Maryushka spent several months in the hospital with various fractures. Pavel damaged his spine and is now bedridden. And their son… he suffered the most.
The man paused, as if gathering his thoughts, and sighed heavily.
“Maryushka, as soon as she was discharged from the hospital, quit her favorite job. She was the head of a workshop at a doll factory. She took a cleaning job to spend more time with her family. She took her husband home and has been caring for him since then.
And the son… the son needed many surgeries. They needed money, and Maryushka sold everything she had. She had antique jewelry passed down from her great-grandmother. She spared nothing. Even the gifts her husband gave her went towards treatment. They sent their son to Moscow, to Germany… more than once. And just recently, there was progress. Doctors said the boy would never walk. But he’s standing up! Maryushka achieved this. Day by day, she goes to him in the hospital, works with him, sends him to sanatoriums every year. And very soon, she’ll be able to take him home. All the surgeries are behind them, they were successful. And the boy is even studying, right from his hospital bed. Can you imagine? His mother bought him a laptop with internet.
The crowd listened, breathless. Some bowed their heads, some blushed with embarrassment, and some even sobbed. The man continued:
“A couple of years after the accident, I suggested that Maryushka put Pavel in a good nursing home, where they would provide care for him. I said that she was still young, that she needed to live for herself. But the way she looked at me then… I still reproach myself for those words. She said that she couldn’t live for herself if her loved ones were suffering.
The man paused again, then added:
“That’s who she is, your ‘pauper,’ as you call her…”
He got up and headed towards the old house. People stood silently, not daring to utter a word. Some looked at the ground, others sighed. Then, just as silently, they began to disperse. From then on, no one called her a pauper. Now they only called her Maryushka, with warmth and respect. When they met her, people bowed their heads, greeting her quietly and respectfully.
A few months later, Maryushka surprised everyone by inviting her neighbors to her home. Her son, contrary to all doctors’ predictions, returned home on his own feet. To celebrate this joyful event, she decided to throw a big party. In the yard of the old house, they set up a long table, laden with homemade pies, jam, and fresh buns. At the center was an antique samovar — the only relic left from her beloved great-grandmother. Its shine and warmth symbolized the warmth of her soul.
The neighbors gladly accepted the invitation. Each brought gifts, trying to give from the heart. Maryushka’s house, which had previously seemed so mysterious and inaccessible, now appeared to them in a new light. The yard was well-kept, clean, and cozy, and at the center, half-sitting in a wheelchair, sat her husband. He hugged Maryushka by the waist, and in his eyes was infinite gratitude. Thanks to her care, he could now sit and believed that one day he would stand on his feet — for her, his faithful companion.
At the party came Kirill, an old friend of the family. With a large bouquet of flowers for Maryushka and a new computer for her son. His appearance was another confirmation of how many people appreciated and loved this woman.
At the table, there was a warm atmosphere. People drank tea from the samovar, laughed, shared stories, and tried to get to know Maryushka better. Now her old clothes, which had previously been condemned, seemed quaint and cozy. She no longer reminded them of the “pauper” they used to whisper about behind her back. Instead, in her eyes shone such strength and kindness that everyone felt somehow special around her.
This day marked the beginning of a new phase in relationships with the neighbors. Everyone left the party thinking about how easy it is to misjudge a person by their appearance. Now they understood that behind modest clothing and a tired walk could hide a true hero who, despite all difficulties, continues to fight and give warmth to others. And that indifferent mockery can hurt those who most need support and kind words.