Pain

I don't even remember the name of that book. I only remember that on the brown cover the pennant of a sailing ship was red in a long zigzag. I was not particularly fond of reading, but I enjoyed giving books from our home library to my classmates. Petka Solodkov pulled it out of the briefcase and put it on the table. We stood at the window and looked at the gloomy October sky, from which, like fluff, the rare snow fell.
-Sanyok, thanks for the book! I read all night today: I could not tear myself away! - Smiling with admiration, Petka said and shook my hand.
At that time, my classmate, Kolka Babushkin, entered the classroom. Nosed, lanky, awkward ... He did not have a father. He and his little sister were raised by his mother, a hysterical, loud woman who now and then came to school to deal with the offenders of her children. But such intercession only strengthened our contemptuous, arrogant attitude towards her miserable offspring.
When they saw Babushkin, everyone was sternly silent, and when he greeted us with a nod of his head, smiling, no one even looked at him. He put the chewed leatherette briefcase on the table and suddenly saw a book. She lay on his desk half. Grandma froze and reverently, like a shrine, took her in his hands.
-Sanyok, look! - Petka pushed me. I opened my mouth in indignation.
Grandmother leafed through the book, and a strange, enthusiastic smile appeared on his face. He looked at us and suddenly said:
- Thanks for the gift!
- Put the book back and don't touch someone else! - Coming out of stupor, I growled.
Babushkin gave a startled start and dropped the book. They all laughed. And he, ready to sink into the ground with shame, blushed deeply, hastily picked it up and, stroking the cover, pushed it away from him, as if apologizing for having dared to touch it.
- It's just that today is my birthday, and I thought that ...
Thirty years have passed since then. When I look back and see how many misfortunes and troubles surround us, for some reason I think that it’s not some historical patterns, not some higher powers, but the case with the book when I accidentally destroyed a huge house human faith, when I hurt another and did not find the courage to correct the mistake. And our life has taken a different path, where everyone is hurt and lonely, where there are no those who can lift the fallen.
And this book ...
Kolёk, yes, I would give you the whole library! Yes, we would give everything to you ... But only he burned down in a tank near Kandahar, in Afghanistan, when I was in my second year of university. Pain has become my inseparable companion, she looks at me through the eyes of a lanky eighth grader and patiently reminds me: human life is short, you may not have time, so never regret what you can give, and never take away what is asked of you.

© Victor Ivanovich Droganov