Sesrobon Gilber Biography

The old man in the garden went through the laurel grove, the old man fell into the kingdom of the sun. He hesitated a little, looking at the black gloomy shadow, his shadow. I always stayed with them. It’s just that my parish became more a great mood. Those who watched him from behind the purple curtains of high windows saw how he walks, shaking his head, among flowering trees and singing birds; He seemed to make them some friendly signs-then he disappeared from sight.

He walked along the dazzling May garden and, half -swagging his eyes, with a smile on his lips plunged into the past. The shadow in Sutan, the "village cure", led him along. And then: fields, gray -haired olives, mourning cypresses, entwined with wild grapes and white glycia. A little boy will guard the sheep there, and this is he. When the gates of the shepherd open, they fell upon him with an impatient, plaintively shining stream.

He began to speak, and they calmed down. Only one who was not a shepherd believes that all sheep on one face! He remembered each profile and every speck; He distinguished the character traits where others saw only a fearful aching pile of wool on four thin legs. He gave the name to each ram and every sheep. And then he closed his eyes and was amused - no!

Seventy years later, walking along the grab alley inhabited by birds, the old man, closing his eyes, was desperately trying to hear the newly mournful whips of that disappeared herd. Not in his power to even recall the intonations of the voice of his own mother. From her and from the deceased relatives, not living faces, but portraits, are preserved in memory, because time is a spring that turns to stone.

But suddenly he felt the familiar smell of a shepherd, yes, the sharp hot aroma of the Kvelev drowned the fragrance of roses and lilies in the garden, felt so clearly and vividly that he barely reached the bench and collapsed at it - an old fat man who looked into his childhood. Here, in the grab alley, behind a green wall of hedges, he was reliably covered from prying eyes.

Unable to bear the unceasing concerns of the close associates, he once said: “To stay with birds and take a break from people for at least a few minutes! An old important person crouched on the edge of the bench. It seemed that he was leaving a place for a little shepherd, whose smile he had again found on his lips. A flying bird looked contemptuously at the old man who was coming to sleeping.

Suddenly his lips stirred: “Albina,” he said loudly. The missing Albina no one except him, of course, knew that he called one of the sheep far away, from Massino, an Angelus ringing - six hours. Turning away from the book, he believes the sheep alone is missing! The heart is pounding furiously, jumping up, counting, peering into each: there is no albin. A voice hoarse with excitement calls.

He rushes to the neighbor's pond and now the little shepherd collects a herd and makes a crazy speech in front of him: - Albina got lost, and I go to look for her. And you stand here. Just don't scatter! I trust you and he quickly walked away, but, reaching an olive grove, turned around: no one moved, all his eyes were fixed on him. Albina was not found right away, at an hour when a warm shepherd was already waiting for his wards, and he was a steaming stew.

Albina, a prisoner of prickly shrub, who, because of her desperate efforts, was dotted with white wool, like stars; Albina, powerless, dumb - and a small shepherd, barely holding on his feet from hunger and fatigue. They looked at each other for a long time, panting and crying from fatigue. Then, to the blood, he was stolen with thorns, he took the tormented body on his shoulders, feeling the beating of the heart in a warm, damp womb.

He did not doubt a minute that the herd would obediently wait. But he did not hope to meet his father and mother, concerned about the disappearance of his son. How nice to feel so little! How pleasant it was to bury his wet face in a dry rough fabric and the old man flinched: he suddenly felt the began the began the smell of a halomine shop, emanating from his mother’s clothes, whose features and his voice remained hidden for him.

He told, trying not to mention the name of Albina. Stupid calculation! And where, one wonders, the children have such thoughts! In the Gospel! The gospel is suitable only for Sunday. And on other days you have to go straight, without turning! .. I know what I’m saying, ”he shouted suddenly, noting that his son does not take his eyes full of horror from him.

Yes, I know what I say! They went home silently. Having lowered his head, like a meek sheep, the boy was seeded last. And now, many years later, the old man for the first time asked himself whether these reckless words of his father determined his fate, whether all his future was a response and a challenge. Sometimes a whole life goes to confirm or refute a few words.

Yes, and in the lowest and highest lobe you can follow the gospel: this is what he tried to prove. He folded his hands reduced by old age and rheumatism, into an eternal blessing gesture, and an old children's prayer was born in him: “Lord, bless the dad and mom’s word! The voice arose behind, because of the hedge, young, jerky, sharp. It seemed that from a long indecisive expectation, someone dried up in the throat.The old man, surrounded by such forgotten voices, did not even startle; He was almost not surprised at the unfinished guest.

And, without losing his composure, how he was famous for the whole world, asked: - What words could I say? Only then did he realize the exclusivity of what was happening, and good nature was replaced by severity. I’m just not used to talking with those whom I did not see my own rustling leaves, and a very young, emaciated, easily dressed person appeared in front of him, eyes sparkled feverishly under a storm of black hair.

Take care of your fairy tales for public speaking. We are alone here, and I do not believe in them. The old man looked at the stranger, and he became embarrassed for his fullness. He did not lower his eyes. The stranger shrugged and said with hatred: - Pope. I am alone. My hour has come, ”the dad thought. My heart was filled with glee, but doubts were mixed with joy.

To die as a martyr, at heart he always dreamed about it, at that moment a lonely sufferer dies from someone’s evil will on the lips at that moment in Africa. And I am sitting here, all in the monastery,“ Monzenor’s message in the newspaper, and just! What will he be killed by this unknown symbol? Let, but for what? Why did you decide so? I have never honored such an honor, ”said the old man, shaking his head.

He read deep sorrow on the stranger's face; A deaf voice said: - Everywhere a deception! Then what does this serve? With his hand, thin, like a claw of a bird of prey, he pointed to the crucifix hanging on a white papal outfit: - This! And, abruptly tearing the cross from the gold chain, threw it to the ground.

A heavy man collapsed to his knees and began to rummage over gravel. But as soon as he touched the crucifix, the other came from above. He was seized with despair. The stranger threw the cross with his foot with force, and he disappeared into the thicket. The old man rose with difficulty. He was tormented by shame for his grinding figure, because he had warned him warned from the slightest effort for many years that he, the elderly lord, was worn, he wore him to hedge.