An elderly woman in an old woolen coat walked down an empty evening street, struggling to move her legs from fatigue.
Her brown hair, prematurely silvered, had escaped from under an out-of-fashion beret. A heavy bag, as old and worn as her overall appearance, habitually shifted from one hand to the other.
Boys at the entrance of one of the five-story buildings whispered and giggled, scrutinizing her from head to toe.
Every evening she passed by this house to shorten the path to her old cottage, which remained at the end of the street, the sole survivor after the demolition of the private sector. All the neighbors were relocated to new apartments, and high-rises were built on the site of their homes, but her house on the outskirts remained alone, unwanted by anyone.
She walked slowly, not looking up, while people behind her whispered: “A beggar, how can one let oneself go like that, at least she could change her coat, walking in tatters, she works somewhere,” “Probably drinks, that’s why she saves on clothes…” “She cleans the staircases in the neighboring municipal housing, three hours in the morning and in the evening, manages to clean several buildings.” “So what, do they pay little for that? She could change her wardrobe somehow, it’s disgusting to look at, a ragamuffin, ugh!” “Her coat is from the Soviet times, maybe it’s a keepsake…” “Yeah… Keepsakes usually hang in a closet…” The women hissed each time, piercing her stooped shoulders with scornful glances.
Younger children dreamed of getting close to this woman’s house, but it was behind a high, albeit old, fence, and attempts to find even a small crack to peek into the yard were futile.
The kids thought of her as Baba Yaga and were sure that behind her fence, one could encounter something extraordinarily interesting and frighteningly magical.
Teenagers giggled, looking at her as if she were a museum exhibit from the past.
Everyone had their assumptions about her. Her perpetually grim, weary appearance, old-fashioned clothes, tired gait, and the mystery behind the fence left many questions, but everyone found their own answers.
The woman often heard the sharp remarks and assumptions about her, but they didn’t bother her at all.
“Why do you all run around the fence of this beggar,” the older boys once asked the younger ones, “don’t you have anything better to do?”
“We… We’re curious, who she is…” replied the quickest of the boys.
“We think she’s Baba Yaga,” a little girl whispered mysteriously, “and she has a magical house behind the fence, and… a cat… and…”
“What fantasizers! – a guy interrupted her – if you’re interested in finding out about her, then organize a stakeout. Play Sherlock,” suggested one of the teenagers, and the rest supported him with laughter.
The boys exchanged glances. They liked the idea and the next day they sat in ambush, waiting for the woman to leave her house, trying to peek into the yard when she opened the gate. But they couldn’t really see anything.
Following her to the next block, they hid around the corner, but it was boring and uninteresting. The woman went down to the basement, from which she emerged with a bucket of water and a mop. She entered a building, and about thirty minutes later, came out, threw the water into the flower beds, took out the trash, went down to the basement again, and returned with a bucket of clean water, heading to another entrance.
The boys returned to their yard, disappointed and tired.
“Well, Sherlocks,” the older guys asked, “did you find out anything interesting?”
“She just cleans the floors in the staircases,” one of them grumbled discontentedly.
“There you go, something at least, Baba Yaga wouldn’t be cleaning floors,” the guy smirked.
At lunchtime, the woman went out again, and the boys ran after her, darting behind trees and corners, peeking out and catching up to her again.
This time they had to ride “hares” on the trolleybus, and hiding from the woman was harder; it even seemed that she noticed them but pretended nothing was happening.
When the woman entered the door of the clinical hospital, the boys were afraid to follow, but overcoming their fear, they rushed after her. But when they ran into the hall, she had already disappeared behind the closing elevator door. They managed to find out only that she had gone up to the fifth floor. They followed there too, but beyond a small corridor, they were not allowed further.
“Probably cleans the floors here too,” one of the boys grumbled disappointedly, “let’s go home, I’m hungry already.”
“Look,” another whispered and pointed to a slightly open door.
The woman emerged from a room with a robe draped over her shoulders, holding a bedpan, and walked down the hallway.
“Worse,” a third one exhaled disappointedly, “here she doesn’t clean floors, but bedpans…”
The boys hung their heads and went their way.
“Nothing interesting…” they grumbled, “and we thought…”
One day, while idly hanging around the yard, the boys were again drawn to the fence of that same “beggar” and they saw a man, decently dressed, from a completely different circle, coming out of her gate and heading towards the trolleybus stop. The boys ran after him. The man sat on a bench waiting for the transport, and two boys sat nearby, curiously examining him.
The trolleybus arrived quickly, and the man left very soon.
And the boys hurried back to the yard and told everyone about the marvel they had seen.
A few days later, the stranger appeared again in the yard. He walked toward the old house and the children began whispering among themselves, and when he approached their entrance, a little girl loudly asked:
“Uncle, are you going to Baba Yaga? 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 towards the house of the strange woman, – “Baba Yaga lives there?”
The man laughed, and the kids crowded around, waiting with bated breath for the man’s response.
Noticing the serious interest, the man sat down on a bench and, casting a kind glance at everyone gathered, began to speak softly.
“Yes, I’m going to that old house. But very good people live there…”
“People?” – a boy couldn’t hold back. There’s only one beggar living there…
The man smiled and frowned:
“You just called a woman a beggar without knowing how rich she is…”
A couple of women joined the crowd of kids, and people peering out of windows began to quietly come out of the entrance.
At the man’s last words, everyone looked at him with great astonishment.
“Does she have a treasure stored?” asked a boy not shyly.
“Yes, she has a huge treasure in her soul,” the man answered and sighed.
He was silent for a bit and, realizing that they wouldn’t let him go just like that, continued the story.
“My name is Kirill. I’ve known this woman, Maryushka, since childhood. I used to live here too. Right here was my house. And over there,” he pointed to a nearby nine-story building, “there was Pashka’s house, a friend. Right here,” he nodded towards the neighboring entrance, “there was a huge tree where we often gathered with the boys. And beyond that construction site, we rode bikes… There were many kids, but mostly the three of us were friends – Maryushka, Pashka, and me. Pashka and I were both madly in love with her. But she chose him… And I had to accept her choice, but we’ve remained friends ever since. Now I temporarily live in another city, but I often come to visit them…”
“And where’s her husband?” – a heavy elderly woman couldn’t hold back and shouted from the crowd.
“Her husband… Yes, I wanted to tell you about that. Seven years ago, when these high-rises just started being built, they went out of town in their new car, a Kamaz truck jumped out onto the highway, and they couldn’t avoid the collision. Pavel did everything he could, but alas. Everyone was injured. Maryushka was in the hospital for several months with various fractures, Pavel damaged his spine and is now bedridden, and their son was injured the most…”
The man paused and took a heavy breath.
Maryushka, as soon as she was discharged from the hospital, quit her beloved job, she was the manager of a doll factory, and got a job as a cleaner to have more free time. She brought her husband home and has been taking care of him since.
And the son needed many surgeries to undergo. Money was needed, and Maryushka sold everything – she had many antique jewels inherited from her great-grandmother. She spared nothing. Everything her husband had given her, she sold. Sent her son to Moscow and Germany not just once. And recently, there’s been progress. Doctors said the boy would never walk again. But he’s getting up! Maryushka achieved this, day after day she goes to him in the hospital and works with him, sends him to sanatoriums every year, and very soon will be able to bring him home. All the surgeries are successful and behind them, and the boy is even studying from his hospital bed, can you imagine. The mother bought him a laptop with the internet.
Everyone listened with their mouths open. Some lowered their heads, some blushed embarrassedly, some even sobbed, and the man continued.
“A couple of years after the accident, I offered Maryushka to help place Pavel in a good nursing home, where they would provide care, she, after all, is still young, and should live for herself, but she looked at me then, I still blame myself for those words. She said she couldn’t live for herself if her loved ones were suffering…”
The man paused again, then added:
“That’s who she is, the ‘beggar’ as you call her…”
He got up and headed towards the old house, while people stood long in silence, not daring to say a word, looking at their feet and sighing. And then, silently, they started to disperse. And from that time on, no one dared call her a beggar, but only warmly referred to her as Maryushka, bowing their heads when meeting her and greeting her respectfully.
A few months later, Maryushka invited everyone to her home. Her son returned home on his own feet and she decided to throw a grand celebration. She set up a table in the yard, baked pies, and placed a large antique samovar – the only thing left from her beloved great-grandmother.
Everyone happily accepted the invitation and brought heartfelt gifts.
Her house was well-kept, the spacious yard was clean and cozy, and her husband was seated semi-reclining in a wheelchair, hugging his Maryushka around the waist, thanks to whose efforts he could now sit up and believed he would be able to stand up, he must, for his loyal wife… The family friend Kirill also arrived with a large bouquet of flowers for Maryushka and a new computer for her son.
People drank tea, chatted, and laughed, trying to get closer to Maryushka.
And now her old clothes seemed very dear, and she didn’t look like a beggar at all.
Thus began a new chapter in their neighborly relations. And everyone made certain conclusions for themselves that one should not judge a person by their clothes and one should not indifferently laugh at someone who might need a warm word…