— Glory to You, Lord! It has arrived!”
The grandmother panted heavily, yet her face shone with genuine happiness. Gently, she caressed her grandson’s face with her dry hands before resting them on the blanket.
“— You, Grandma, rest a bit,” pleaded Yurka. “Tomorrow is a whole day ahead – we’ll talk till our hearts are content.”
“— No, Yura,” the grandmother replied with a sad smile.
“— I had only one request from God – to see you. I need nothing more – I saw you and embraced you. Now I’ll rest a little, and we’ll talk.”
She closed her eyes wearily. “— Nikitichna, feed the boy – you’re coming from the road, after all.”
The grandmother was in poor health. She knew her time was short.
Yura was the only dear person to her, just as she was to him. Yura’s parents had passed into oblivion—first surrendering their movable property to the “green snake,” then the furniture, belongings, and even the apartment. In the end, they sacrificed themselves. The grandmother had managed to snatch her only grandson from the clutches of misfortune, had taught him in school, convinced him to get a driver’s license for both a passenger car and a truck, and had sent him off to the army.
And today, here he was—she had met him. She hadn’t wished to see her grandson like this, but there was no choice.
While Nikitichna—an old neighbor and friend of the grandmother—treated Yurka in the kitchen, the old woman, eyes closed, was carefully choosing her words to reach his mind and heart. But her memory was already faltering. She petted her cat—her beloved Musya, who had not left her side the past few days, sensing impending misfortune. Finally, she called:
“— Yura, come here.”
And when he sat down next to her, she began softly:
“— I wanted to play nanny with your children, Yura, but it seems that won’t be possible. You’ll be on your own. It’s hard to be alone. When a good girl comes along—don’t let her go. Choose her for life, for the long, hard road ahead. A life partner is never easy; that has always been the case and always will be. Avoid idleness and thoughtless merriment, and above all, beware of accursed wine! One man falls under its spell and all his loved ones suffer. Life offers many roads, Yura—choose the right one.”
The grandmother then fell silent—catching her breath, or perhaps lost in memories of Yura’s parents. But then she gathered herself and continued:
“— I have transferred the apartment into your name—so there will be a place for your young wife. I set aside money for the funeral—Nikitichna will show you where. The rest I have transferred to a card for you; it will last for a while. Take care of my little Musya; do not leave her unsupervised. She’s smart, full of soul. And you know it yourself—she was even brought in as a kitten… Well, I think that’s everything. Go on, rest, and I too will rest—I’m tired.”
That morning, the grandmother never woke up…
Yura found work as an installer of internet networks, on the recommendation of friends. His team—six people in all—was responsible for laying fiber-optic cables and connecting new customers. Although he grew tired by the end of his workday, the respectable salary and the satisfaction of a job well done made up for the hardships of the profession.
At home, Musya— a grayish cat whom he had picked up as a kitten on the street about eight years ago—was waiting for him. After the grandmother’s death, Musya sank into melancholy and stopped eating.
For whole days she sat in the old armchair—her grandmother’s favorite chair—staring with unblinking eyes into the doorway, as if expecting her mistress to appear at any moment. But the mistress never came.
Yura tried to rouse Musya, engaging her in long conversations while seating her on his lap and recounting his day, even trying to offer her tastier treats. But it took a month before Musya reacted in any noticeable way.
That very day, he received his first paycheck. His friends demanded that he “show off” – an unbreakable tradition, the violation of which was considered the height of stinginess. Yura invited them to a café where he treated them well—and even treated himself. He returned home late and a bit inebriated. At his doorstep, Musya greeted him.
For some reason, he did not want to meet her gaze—her large, green, understanding eyes. Yura averted his eyes, yet Musya persistently found his. Finally, upon realizing his state, the cat meowed sorrowfully and, with despair, hid under the sofa.
“— Musyanka,” Yura explained, “I couldn’t refuse my friends.”
After all, they were the ones who had set me up in the firm—and, after all, they’re my friends.
Somehow, he felt that he was not to be blamed before the cat, but rather before his grandmother.
The next day, Musya again met him at the doorstep and, seeing that her owner was fine today, joyfully rubbed against his legs, embraced him with her tail, and purred loudly. She ate heartily, followed him from room to room all evening, and finally slept near him, leaning trustingly against his shoulder.
“— You understand everything,” whispered young Yura, affectionately stroking Musya.
“— But don’t worry, I’m already an adult, which means I can take responsibility for my actions. Adults can only fail in that one respect—if they drink cheap, harsh alcohol. And I’m even afraid of that—it’s in my nature, you understand… It looks like I’ll have to change jobs—there the drinking is routine. A group like that is always gathered; there will always be reasons: for warmth, for exhaustion, for celebrations, right up to the day of the ‘faceted glass.’ Every Friday, without fail.”
“I refuse as best I can, but they already look at me askance. No, I need to find another job, but what? I’ve dreamed of becoming a driver—a long-haul trucker—since childhood, but my license isn’t sufficient for that. An auto-train is not just any truck; who will entrust me with one?”
On another Friday, Yura sat in a café with his friends. The group was cheerfully celebrating the end of the workweek. As usual, Yura drank mineral water and watched his overly exuberant companions with a hint of melancholy.
Their table was served by a young, attractive girl. Excited young men repeatedly invited her to their table, and the foreman grabbed her by the hand and pulled her over. The terrified girl tried in vain to break free. The young man was strong and rather tipsy, unable to control his strength.
“— Let her go,” Yura commanded, rising from his chair. Suddenly, the table fell silent – raising one’s voice at the foreman was considered utterly unacceptable! Surprised, the foreman loosened his grip; the girl managed to free herself but stepped a few paces away and halted, watching Yura with anxiety.
The café owner prevented the conflict from escalating—a huge man in a white chef’s outfit with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Upon seeing him, the young men began gathering their things, casting angry glances at Yura.
“— Don’t rush, kid,” the café owner said calmly. “Let them cool off in the fresh air; maybe they’ll start thinking clearly.” He looked kindly at Yura and continued, “— And what are you doing with them? You don’t drink—I saw. What need do you have for this sort of company?”
“— It’s the crew…” Yura shrugged. “We work together, we party together.”
“— Come off it,” grumbled the man, introducing himself as Mikhail. “What kind of partying is this? Especially with such ‘friends.’ Yulia, daughter, make us some tea—just the way you do. And I’ll take a break until there are more orders.”
“— Daughter?” Yura asked, watching Yulia leave.
“— Yes. She helps me after her classes.”
They sat at the same table, enjoying delicious, fragrant tea from a porcelain teapot. “— However, kid, you’ll have to change jobs; they’ll chew you up after today. Or worse—they’ll get you hooked on drinking. Do you even have a proper profession?”
“— I got my license before the army and worked on duty for a year behind the wheel. I dreamed of long-haul trucking, but who would take me?”
“— They won’t take you right away,” agreed Mikhail. “— But I think I can help. I have good friends—real long-haul drivers. And for now, come with me; you’ll ride on a Gazelle. There are even intercity routes, and you’ll help me out, and later—in time, you can upgrade to a heavy truck, though you’ll need to get a higher category license.”
“— Agreed!” Yura smiled. Uncle Misha became more and more likable to him – big, calm, and kind. Moreover, he was Yulia’s father, and that alone earned respect. Noticing that Yura couldn’t take his eyes off Yulia, Mikhail addressed his daughter:
“— Finish up, Yulia. Thanks for helping. Now go home – Yura will see you off.”
He added with a smile, remarking on how happily the young couple’s cheeks had flushed.
Five years later, Yuri was driving a heavy truck on a winter road.
He was headed to the city where his wife Yulia, his daughter Mashenka, and the family’s darling—the old Musya—waited, about thirty kilometers away. On the roadside he noticed the solitary figure of a man, wearing a light jacket completely out of season.
“Someone’s going to freeze here,” thought Yura, slowing down next to the lone traveler.
“— Foreman?” he inquired, as soon as the man took a seat in the passenger seat.
The man looked at Yura with the blurred gaze of a drunkard:
“— Ah, it’s you…” he mumbled. “I was a foreman, but that’s all behind me now. There’s no more crew; others have taken our place. And ours have been halved. One froze to death, another drowned—both while intoxicated; yet another got hurt by broken glass. The rest are like me, doing odd jobs.”
He produced a bottle of foul-smelling liquid from beneath his coat, took a swig, shook his head, and added, “— It’s nothing! We’ll manage!”
Yura dropped him off near the central street, looked back at him regretfully, and with a sad smile recalled his drunken bravado…
As Yura approached his home, he glanced at the apartment windows. The kitchen window glowed—Yulia was awake, waiting. Perhaps Nikitichna had come by as a guest to chat, to play nanny with Mashenka. Although, no—Mashenka had fallen asleep in her crib, above which hung a photograph of the grandmother.
The daughter loved sharing her childhood cares, news, and incidents at kindergarten with her grandmother. And what if the grandmother did not reply—her eyes were kind and understanding, and her smile was just as warm. Then there was little Musya, looking out into the dark of night from the windowsill. Seeing him, she got up, raised her tail, and disappeared—hurrying to greet her owner at the door.
“— I’m not alone, Grandma,” Yura whispered, smiling at the windows of his apartment. “Everyone’s home, all together, and you’re with us. This is my way.”
