Unable

Published 21.04.2024 | By Йосиф

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Unable

-You have a very undeveloped boy. And incapable. – Olga Ivanovna reprimanded Asya all her complaints regarding Dimka’s development with such an air that she wanted to fall into the ground. And Dimka stood nearby and smiled. He smiled brightly and joyfully. He was glad that Asya came to pick him up early today.

– Get dressed. – She asked.

– Yeah. – The son nodded and put his shoes on the wrong foot.

– Here you go. Do I need to say anything else? – Olga Ivanovna shook her head and retired to the group.

– Dim. – Asya nodded at the shoes.

He laughed and put them on correctly.

– It was more fun the other way. – Dimka sighed. – Noses in different directions. I was like Charlie Chaplin.

– Why did you refuse to do the appliqué with everyone else? Olga Ivanovna says he sat through the entire lesson on a blank sheet of paper.

– The scissors turned out to be dull, and I cut somehow poorly. And the sheet was so clean and beautiful. I was sorry to spoil it. Mom, do you want to see how beautiful the white sheet is at home?

Asya sighed. The birth was difficult.

– He has brain damage. – The doctors told her. – He may never speak and remain a vegetable altogether.

She cried and, out of despair, read poems by Akhmatova and Selvinsky to her son mixed with quatrains by Marshak and Barto, and turned on Schubert and Tchaikovsky on her phone.

At seven months he still couldn’t hold his head up well, but at eleven he suddenly started walking. At the age of three, he himself read children’s books with large letters.

In the sandbox, Dimka moved away from the other children. He was aimlessly digging sand while the other kids were making Easter cakes.

– Show him how to do it. – Asya was taught by compassionate mothers and grandmothers.

Dimka obediently turned over the molds, but immediately put them aside.

– At what depth should the underground passage be so that the road above it does not collapse? – He asked Asya, burying his small hand in the wet sand. Asya didn’t know.

– Give him to kindergarten. – Everyone spoke. – He needs to socialize.

Dimka was not good at socializing. When the children were running around the playroom, he stood by the window.

– Dima, go play with the kids. – The nanny told him kindly.

– It’s raining in the puddles there. – He answered her, pointing his finger at the circles from the drops. These are his traces. The rain has many legs, more even than a centipede.

– Samsonov, why are your cat’s eyes lower than his nose? – Olga Ivanovna demanded, showing him a sample of the craft.

– He’s in a bad mood. – Dimka explained. – He is sad, and everything is upside down in his soul.

– Your son is not able to perform basic actions that all children at his age do easily. He doesn’t even know how to hold a spoon! Should I feed him?

“Dima,” Asya was surprised, looking at how deftly her son handled a knife and fork, “in kindergarten they say that you don’t know how to hold a spoon.”

“I thought,” the son lowered his eyes, “if everyone decides that I don’t know how, then I won’t have to eat this nasty soup.” Mom, it was so tasteless, if you could only imagine.

* * * * *

– Uncle, you played wrong. – Dimka ran up to a man playing the violin in the park. Asya did not have time to hold her son.

– Wrong? – The musician lowered his instrument. -Can you explain why?

– Then the music runs up the steps. – The boy extended his hand up. – And with you it seems to be straight at first, then a little upward, and then jumps down. It is not right.

– Do you really know this melody?

– I know. Mom turns it on for me.

– Do you know what improvisation is?

– No.

– This is when a person brings his own to something well known, changes what is familiar. Understand?

– Understand. – Dimka nodded. – You did an improvisation.

He pronounced the unfamiliar word with difficulty and laughed at his own awkwardness. The man also smiled.

– Mom, can I play? – The boy pointed to a pile of red autumn leaves.

– Play. – Asya agreed. And she turned to the musician. – You will forgive him. He doesn’t usually act like this.

– Why should I forgive your boy? – He was amazed. – Does he play music? In musical school? Or with a teacher?

– No. – Asya shook her head. – We never thought about it. Yes, and he is still small.

– The baby has perfect pitch. This needs to be developed as early as possible. He can achieve a lot. In Japan, for example, they now practice education from the age of two, can you imagine. So by the age of five, a child is already able to play his own improvisation on the violin.

– Don’t know. – Asya shrugged her shoulders chillily. – Maybe later. So far it’s not working out for us with children’s groups.

– You can study individually. Do you want me to take it?

– You are a teacher?

– Not really. I once played in an orchestra, then taught a little. My solo career did not work out. I come out here to play for my own pleasure. True, I have never worked with such little ones, but I would be happy to work with your son. He is a very unusual little boy.

– Yeah, it’s unusual. In kindergarten I get scolded all the time because of this unusualness. – Asya fell silent. – Sorry, it came out.

– Nothing. We don’t like those who are different from others. People like this annoy everyone. So the about classes? Shall we try?

– It’s probably expensive?

– My classes will not cost you anything. Unless you have to waste your time. What is your son’s name?

– Dima.

– Dima is still small. And it’s better if you are nearby during our classes.

– Dimochka, do you want to study music? – Asya called her son. – Play like uncle?

– Want. – The son nodded happily.

– Dima, will you come with your mother to my lesson?

– For a real lesson? – The boy was amazed.

– The real one.

– Will.

– Then remember: my name is Georgy Alekseevich. We will need a music notebook and a simple pencil. We’ll learn notes at the same time.

– And the violin? – Asya caught herself.

– Don’t worry, I’ll pick up an instrument for Dima. I have such an opportunity. There you need a certain size.

At this time Dimka was turning a maple leaf in his hands, tattered and slightly curled.

– I’ll take it with me. – He announced.

– Dim, but he’s not handsome at all. – Asya pointed to a pile of leaves with which her son had recently been playing. – Look at the bright leaves there. You can pick up a whole bouquet. And you chose this one. Why?

– I feel sorry for him. – The boy answered quietly. – Look, he’s hunched over like an old grandfather. And he is also very kind.

Dimka turned the sheet over, and Asya saw a sleeping ladybug under the dry, curled edge.

– He covered her, see? So that the rain doesn’t get you wet.

Georgy Alekseevich looked thoughtfully at the boy and affectionately stroked his head.

– They scold you, you say, for being unusual? Foolish people. Not seeing such a miracle right under your nose. Where is the world heading?..

* * * * *

Asya and Dimka started going to classes. At first it seemed to her that her son was not succeeding at all, but Georgy Alekseevich, on the contrary, was pleased and always praised the boy. Gradually, Asya began to hear quite recognizable melodies in the cacophony of violin sounds. Sometimes Dima played something she had never heard before.

– What is this? – She asked.

– Your son is trying to compose music. – Georgy Alekseevich reported quite well. – And, you know, he does a good job.

In the kindergarten everything remained the same. Coming to pick up her son, Asya listened to further comments and advice to see a good psychologist.

– His fine motor skills are disgustingly developed. – Asya looked at the piece of paper with a discordant row of sticks. – And this? All the children sculpted a hedgehog. It is unclear what Dima sculpted.

“Why is it unclear,” she thought. – “It’s just that instead of several thick needles, as in the sample, Dimka stuck on a lot of thin ones.”

“Mom,” Dima explained, as if confirming her thoughts, “an adult hedgehog has about six thousand needles.” And they are also thin. I just wanted to make them, but they flattened.

He looked sadly at the failed figure.

* * * * *

Olga Ivanovna agreed to go to the competition for students of music schools in the city reluctantly. My sister persuaded me.

– Olya, please. – She asked. – No one goes to these competitions anyway, except relatives. The hall is empty. And children need spectators for inspiration. The mood turns out to be completely different.

She, of course, knew that her nephew Pavlik was involved in music. But I didn’t want to go to all these competitions and performances. Pasha has parents and grandparents who love such events. She was annoyed that Pavlik was constantly being boasted about like a trained monkey. Olga Ivanovna saw that the boy himself did not like it too much. But Pasha was used to doing everything conscientiously, so prizes and cups constantly appeared in their house.

And now Olga patiently listened to big and small future musicians, dreaming that the competition would end quickly. Pasha, as luck would have it, spoke at the very end.

Suddenly there was some confusion among the jury members.

– Five years? – The chairman became interested. – And what kind of music school? Not school?

A tall, elegant man with graying fluffy dark hair approached the table and, leaning over, began to say something.

– Okay, Georgy Alekseevich. I understand. – The chairman of the jury once again checked the lists and called. – Samsonov Dima. Teacher Georgy Alekseevich Ovchinnikov.

Hearing a familiar surname, Olga Ivanovna became wary.

The most problematic student of her group came onto the stage with a small violin. Yes, that’s him. And here is mom, standing next to the stage in the corner. Olga didn’t notice her right away. Samsonov… And she didn’t even know that this strange child was studying music.

Dima started playing. He played cleanly, and Olga Ivanovna was surprised at how confidently the boy held the violin. But suddenly, at some point, music poured into the hall, and it seemed to her that the gray walls and mountains of clothes piled on the chairs in the hall had disappeared somewhere. There was something light and free around me, swirling in an invisible dance. The melody was still going on, but the audience was already clapping. Not lazy and on duty, as in previous cases, but lively and interested. Dimka stood and smiled that same smile of his that usually irritated Olga Ivanovna so much.

“Dima,” the chairman of the jury turned to the boy, “tell me, what did you play now, at the very end?”

– This is improvisation. – Dimka said confidently, without ceasing to smile.

– You Georgy Alekseevich teach you to play this melody like this?

– No, I myself. – The boy was a little confused. – This music is about how leaves fly in the park. And alone, he cannot fly, because a ladybug fell asleep in him. I saw it myself in the fall.

– Friends. – His teacher stood next to the boy. He pulled the child towards him, and Dima trustingly pressed against his reliable hand. – Dima is still very small, but he already composes music himself. This is his first performance. Therefore, I ask you to support my student. You liked the way he played.

– Liked! Well done! – It came from the hall.

– Remind me, Georgy Alekseevich, how long have you been studying with the boy? – The chairman asked.

– A little less than a year. – Ovchinnikov explained. – You could say we’ve just mastered the basics…

– This is incredible. – The jury members looked at each other. And the young girl sitting on the edge suddenly asked. – Please play again, Dima. Can you?

Dimka looked uncertainly at his teacher.

– Play, baby. – Ovchinnikov stroked his head. – What you want now.

– Fine. – The boy easily agreed. – Then I will play about the rain.

Olga Ivanovna listened to how transparent drops fell, breaking on the glass, how they drowned in huge gray puddles, and could not stop their rhythmic sad dance. For some reason she suddenly remembered Dimka’s ridiculous cat with an “upside down soul” and she felt uneasy.

– Olya, what are you doing? – The sister looked at her in fear and bewilderment. – Did something happen? Why are you crying?

– Nothing. Just music. And the boy is so… Talented.
Marina Pivovarova-Gress

https://ecology.md/ru/page/nesposobnyj