The old man was still standing there, frozen in front of the painting Burlaki na Volge—watching the eleven barge-pulling men languishing in the hot sun and the point of destruction on the bank of the river—until the museum guard woke him from his reverie. The keeper of the museum informed the old man named Andrey Dmitrov that the museum would be closing soon.
He was immediately out of the museum and found that the snow had filled the hood of his old jeep. At the end of this year, it snowed more than usual. A moment later, Andrey's car cut through the streets, as it was getting dark, and he entered a housing complex where he lived. Snow was also seen covering the roofs of people's houses in the area, while the howling of dogs could be heard from the end of one of the alleys.
A moment later, he was in front of his house, turned the old jeep aside and covered it with a tarp. Because Andrey's house does not have a garage, if it snows, he just covers his car with a tarp measuring 10×25 meters. The old man walked towards the door, his steps slow, leaving a rather deep footprint in the snowy courtyard. It looks like a blizzard is coming soon.
He did not immediately hang up his coat, but headed for the fireplace to make the atmosphere warmer. It was really dark when Andrey sat on his sofa, holding a glass of vodka in one hand, while his gaze fell on the rows of matryoshkas arranged in a sideboard under the maple tree that hung in front of him. Suddenly the phone rang, and a voice sounded very familiar to his ears.
"Hello, Andrey," said the person from across the phone.
"Sergey—? Is it you?" ask Andrey.
"Yes, of course it's me. How are you?" the man on the other end of the phone asked.
"Yes, yes, of course I'm fine," replied Andrey.
"Your voice sounds very old and heavy, my friend," said the man called Sergey.
"Ha-ha, you too, my friend," Andrey replied, "—how is Mischa, is she okay?" Andrey continued.
"Yeah, she's fine, though she's too old to even bake a loaf of bread for me. She's fine. Um, how about you? Sorry—" Sergey sounded doubtful.
"—yes, I'm fine, sure. Polina has found the best place on God's side," Andrey sounded wise.
"—yes, we all wish the same thing. I'm sorry that I couldn't come to the day of his funeral," said Sergey.
"It's okay, I understand, your house is far across the ocean. I'm grateful that you called," said Andrey.
"Yeah, lately, Mischa is quite difficult to walk, her back often cramps. We can't be far from home. I'm lucky Anthony and his wife are at home at the moment, we feel very helped," said Sergey.
"Oh—. Oh, yeah, how about Ivanka and Mila?" asked Andrey.
"Oh, Ha-ha-ha, they're unruly grandsons. Ivanka likes to make fun of me bald grandpa, while Mila, she even dropped Mischa's favorite flower pot and made her granny fuss all day. Ha-ha-ha, You know, I'm sure you will laugh if you see the guilty look on Mila's face in front of her grandmother," said Sergey.
"Oh, ha-ha-ha," Andrey was happy to hear the story from his old friend.
"I'm serious, ha-ha-ha. Whenever I have a chance, I will take my two grandchildren there, for sure," said Sergey.
"Oh, —good to hear that, Sergey, I'll be waiting," said Andrey.
"—um, are you all right, Andrey? —Sorry, I was too excited to tell you about my grandchildren," Sergey sounded regretful.
"*Hey, don't worry, I'm fine with all that," Andrey replied.
"I feel bad. But, oh you know, if you need anything I can help you with, just say it, don't hesitate. I can do my best, my friend," Sergey offered.
"—thank you, but, for now, I don't think I need anything, but thanks for your offer," replied Andrey.
"—um, okay, Andrey, I'll call you again sometime. Get some rest, friend, you need it," Sergey wanted to end the conversation.
"Yes, I think so. You know, the current weather is not conducive for old man like me to be outside the house. Thanks again for calling me, Sergey," concluded Andrey, hanging up the phone.
Andrew sighed. He was silent for a moment, peering out through the window of his house. Some of the corners of the window were covered with snow. He could see the snowflakes falling into his yard. The light from the street lamp on the other side reflected light on the 20x30 square meter courtyard. In the corner of the courtyard, there is a chair, which Andrey had made at the request of his wife, Polina.
After fixed the fire in the fireplace, the old man was again sitting on the sofa with a glass of vodka in his hand, and looked back at the matryoshka collection beneath the maple painting. It seemed like the night would be so long, while soon the storm would arrive, bringing back snow for the umpteenth time, especially for Andrey, even though it's October.
© 2021 Hive/Mosin-Nagant
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Description |
| Tittle | Snow in October |
| Author |  @mosin-nagant |
