“Miss, may I help you?” he called out to the woman when he noticed her struggling with two heavy bags.
“Sorry to approach so suddenly, but it looks like those bags are about to slip from your hands.”
“Let me carry them for you.”
“Oh, really? Are you sure? They’re not too heavy?” the woman smiled timidly. “Thank you so much.”
The man easily picked up the bags as if they were empty and walked ahead with long, confident strides.
The woman, pleasant-looking and slightly plump, hurried after him, trying not to fall behind.
Together they looked almost comical: he — tall, strong, marching as if on parade; and she — small, soft, round like a fresh pastry, with curls bouncing at each step.
She had to take two steps for every one of his.
“Please, a little slower!” she gasped. “I’ve completely fallen behind.”
He turned around as if waking from a daze.
“Sorry, I was just deep in thought.”
“If it’s not a secret, what were you thinking about so intensely?” the woman asked, studying him closely.
Her name was Galina, and she immediately noticed that the man wasn’t dressed for summer — his clothes were worn, patched in places, and he looked lost, like someone who had stumbled into this world by accident.
Her curiosity wouldn’t let her just walk silently beside him.
“Come on, tell me — what had you so pensive?”
“Just thinking about myself… about life,” he sighed.
“And what’s wrong with it? Life hard?”
“No, not that…” he shook his head. “Just thinking a lot.”
“Maybe… you drink?” she asked cautiously.
“No, goodness no! I’m not that kind of person.”
“Thank God,” Galina nodded in relief. “And what’s your name? I’m Galina — but you can just call me Galka.”
The man hesitated, as if trying to remember something or forget something important.
“My name’s Vaska… That’s what they called me.”
“Called you? You don’t like your real name?”
“It’s not that…” he lowered his gaze. “I just don’t know what my real name is.”
Galina froze in surprise but quickly pulled herself together.
“You mean… you don’t remember?”
“Exactly. I have memory loss. They found me on the highway, barely alive.
Dirty, bruised, torn clothes. I was lying there like a thrown-out puppy.
Someone stopped, called an ambulance, and I was taken to the hospital.”
“My God… And you don’t remember anything about yourself?”
“Not a single memory. Sometimes vague images come to me — faces, rooms, fragments of conversations, flashes of light…
But it all feels like a foreign movie.”
“And what happened after the hospital?”
“They sent me to a shelter. Gave me a temporary name — Vasily. I’ve lived with it ever since.
At least I’m not on the street — I’ve got a roof over my head, food, some work.”
“And what do you do?”
“Whatever comes up. Manual labor: porter jobs, market helper, sometimes I help the butcher, do cleaning.
Don’t earn much, but enough to get by.”
“And before? Do you remember what you used to do?”
“Nothing. It’s like I was born again. Had to learn everything from scratch. Not crawling, but living.”
“You’ve had a rough fate, Vaska. But if you haven’t broken yet, you’ll make it through.
Memory is unpredictable: silent today, might return tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’re right…”
“Of course I am! Why torture yourself over something you don’t remember?
Live with what you have. And I can see — you’re strong, hardworking. Want to find a job?”
“I’d love to.”
“Then come with me. I’ll talk to my boss. She’s got a big house, too much work for us all.
Maybe we’ll find something for you.”
“Perfect. Let’s go, what are we standing around for?”
Only then did Vasily realize they had been standing in place for several minutes, drawing the attention of passersby.
“Is it far?”
“No, very close. I usually take the car, but the driver’s busy today — so I went on foot. The mistress ordered a turkey.”
“And what do you do for her?”
“I’m the cook. The job’s tough, but the conditions are good. The mistress is kind, though quiet.
She changed a lot after her son and husband died. But she pays well and treats everyone decently.”
“If she’s got a house like that and staff, she must be rich?”
“Probably. Not my business to count money. I just deal with pots and pans.”
They approached large wrought-iron gates. Behind them stood a two-story brick house nestled in greenery.
Jasmine bloomed on either side of the gate, filling the air with a sweet aroma.
Vasily suddenly stopped. Something stirred in his chest, like his memory was about to awaken — but it vanished like smoke.
“What are you standing there for? Come on, don’t be scared.”
They entered the house, walked along a neat path, and ended up in the kitchen — spacious, bright, cozy, filled with the smell of home-cooked food.
“Here we are. This is my little world — my pots and pans.
Take a look around. I’ll bring the mistress her lunch and ask her about a job for you. I’m sure we’ll find something.”
Vasily looked around. For the first time in a long while, he felt something strange — warmth, coziness, even a sense of familiarity.
“Sit for now, I won’t be long. And eat something — you must be hungry?” Galina smiled.
A few minutes later, a plate of hot food sat before him, steaming with a delicious aroma.
“Here, try it. While it’s warm. I’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you… I don’t even know how to thank you…”
“Oh, come on!” Galya waved her hand. “Just eat.”
Vasily took a spoonful and tasted it. The flavor made him close his eyes — it was homely, familiar, long forgotten.
He couldn’t remember the last time he ate like this. The feeling was almost frightening.
“Rimma, may I?” Galina asked quietly, peeking into the room.
The mistress was sitting with an old photo album. She often did that — sat and thoughtfully gazed at the past.
Until now, Galya had never seen what was inside — Rimma always hid the album from prying eyes.
“Thank you, Galya, you can go rest… or wait, did you need something?” Rimma asked, looking closely at her.
Galina shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with the hem of her apron.
“I did… Please don’t be upset, okay? I have an acquaintance…
He’s looking for work. Hardworking, young, doesn’t drink. I swear!”
“Does he have any documents?”
“That’s the problem — no papers. His story is complicated. But he’s a good man, diligent…”
Rimma was silent for a moment, then nodded:
“Alright, come on, show him to me.”
“Oh, Rimma Alekseevna, but you haven’t even eaten yet!” Galya exclaimed.
“I’ll eat later. Let’s go.”
They headed to the kitchen, where Vasily was still waiting. He was standing by the window, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.
“Vasya, come here, please,” Galina called.
The man turned around. At that moment, Rimma suddenly turned pale.
Her lips trembled, she gasped for air, and slowly began to collapse to the floor.
“Rimma Alekseevna! What’s wrong?!” Galina rushed to her in panic. “Vasya, help me!”
Together, they helped the woman into a chair and brought her water.
“Are you alright? Should we call a doctor?”
“No… no doctor… What’s your name?” she asked the man.
“Vasily.”
“And your real name? You’re not just Vasya, are you?”
“I don’t remember… I have amnesia.”
Rimma looked at him for a long time, as if searching for something deep inside.
“Klim…” she finally whispered. “Your name is Klim.”
“What? How do you know that? I don’t even remember my name myself…”
“Because I’m your mother. I gave you that name.”
Galina froze, stunned. Her hands clenched the apron tightly, her eyes darted between the two.
“But you said your son…” she whispered.
“I thought he was gone,” Rimma answered quietly. “Please bring me the photo album. It’s in the top drawer of the cabinet.”
When she opened it, her voice quivered:
“My husband and I tried for a long time to have children. We dreamed of a baby, but the doctors just shook their heads.
I cried, Oleg got angry. Until his father — my father-in-law Klim — took us to his village.
He said, ‘Leave this place, there’s only stress and hospitals here. Go live in nature, you’ll regain your strength.’”
She turned the page.
“And that’s when it happened. I found out I was pregnant. You were our miracle.
And I named you after your grandfather — Klim. He didn’t live to see your birth, but he knew he’d be a great-grandfather.”
Vasily listened, not taking his eyes off her.
“You were a kind, quiet boy. A favorite among teachers, an excellent student.
You loved animals, always hanging around the school’s nature corner. But then…”
Rimma sighed.
“Oleg wanted you to follow in his footsteps. To become ‘a man with a future,’ as he said.
I tried to protect you, but he was relentless.
You started rebelling: skipping classes, talking back to teachers, coming home in a bad state.
I begged you to stop, to go back to who you used to be.
But you wouldn’t listen. One day we had a terrible fight.
Oleg said, ‘Either he gets his act together, or he leaves and never comes back.’
I broke down. You slammed the door and said you didn’t need us anymore.”
“Three days later, we were told to identify a body.
The face was unrecognizable, but there was a watch, passport, phone… We believed it.
We buried you. And soon after, Oleg died too. His heart couldn’t take it…”
Tears streamed down Rimma’s cheeks. Vasily looked at the photo of a boy who seemed painfully familiar — like a reflection in water.
Flashes of memory surfaced: laughter, the smell of smoke from a campfire, the warmth of a mother’s hands…
“Mom…” he finally whispered.
