There are no normal people who, walking the path of life, would not carry with them a horse of bitter regrets about what they have done (or not done). I think that’s normal, and I’m not going to argue. If you encounter a man who does not regret any of his actions, my advice to you: run away from him as there is strength.



My grief, as you will see, is extremely heavy. I will tell you about one thing I did in my childhood. It still burdens me now. I probably won’t get anything by bringing him to your court. But I hope someone gets a little easier when they realize how much more terrible mistakes others are capable of. I have no brother. However, in August 1991, my brother was still there.



∗ ∗ ∗

Every summer, our parents plunged us, the puppy, into a terrible dust, to the village to Grandma by the mother’s line, for at least a month. This was motivated by the need to consume the gifts of nature and clean air. In fact, everything, of course, was more prosaic: the parents wanted to get rid of us and rest on their own.



This trip left a double impression in my memory. Of course, there was a lot of good and interesting. The little one has a lot of fun in the village, and you know this very well. But the feeling of a restless summer greatly ruined our grandmother. I write this word from the correct letter not just so. Our grandmother was as far away as possible from the image of a good fairy-tale grandmother, which will bake pins and tell a story for the night. Honestly – and years later I understand it even more clearly – Grandma was a disgusting, half-crazy, evil megera, who went to the grave of her quiet and gentle husband. I hardly remember my grandfather. My brother was three years older than me, and I remembered him much better, always talking about him with warmth. Per this was the reason that if my grandmother was still relatively tolerant to me, then my brother was frankly hated. The more difficult it is for me to understand the selfish attitude of our parents, who year after year give us care of this old and sick woman. Oh, they knew her character, especially her father. But to all the protests the answer was one: "Well, don't invent it," "Listen to grandmother, she's old, don't upset her." I was afraid of my grandmother.



∗ ∗ ∗

That summer, my brother and I were 9 and 12 years old respectively. Andrei, as an elder, was obliged to watch over me, so we spent almost all the time together. There were few other children of our age in the village, and we were satisfied with those games that we invented for ourselves: a house on a tree in the woods behind the house, pirates on a homemade plate, stealing raspberries from the neighboring garden - a traditional boy set. My grandmother imposed a very strict order of the day, and God forbid you to break it. For understanding: she was not ashamed to take the straw if we were late to the table for at least a minute, did not fulfill her orders in the garden quickly enough, or went "where it wasn't necessary", as she became aware of from talking neighbors. "No need" was virtually nowhere, under the ban were the forest, the track, the big oak, the neighboring village, abandoned cowboys, the selpo at the intersection and, of course, the river. Every evening we told her stories about how innocently we spent the day: holding hands, walking on the lawn and collecting strawberries. “Well, look at me, crabs,” she whispered, striking her eyes. “I will admit it anyway if you lie.” Things went their way when one day we were "lucky" to find a cave.



∗ ∗ ∗

Two days in a row, almost non-stop, it rained. The adventures of Tom Sawyer were read, and the small black-and-white TV showed mostly interference, as you do with the wire attached to the antenna's nest. To explore the same loft for the hundredth time was not interesting, and the attempt to smash the hose, throwing through the ceiling bar of wires, Grandma categorically stopped. Being with her in one small house was almost physically hard. Therefore, it was only necessary for the clouds to break up, we and the screams went out to freedom. They got chased for screams and were released "to the wool" due to the fact that the wet garden did not require water.



By the surrounding paths, every minute afraid of surveillance, we reached the wide, grown out of the fierce urticaria, through which once a tree had long since fallen. This tree and the danger of falling down from it, by themselves, gave a clear reason for entertainment. The whole village stood on a high (truly very high) hill, steeply sloping to the river. The hole of the hole went in the same direction, and was in some places at least a dozen meters deep. At the bottom of it you were waiting for coolness, shadow, rushing streams and inevitable scratches and urticaria burns, not to mention the mosquitoes. One of the sides of the rainbow was remarkable with pebble nests - there we headed, first on the slippery tree trunk after the rain, and then, with no less risk to curl the neck, under the sandy edge of the breeze, sowed with nests-norks. For a while we tried to see something in the nests (we found the skeleton of a puppy), and then the slumbering teaches suddenly attacked us, flying with the flock, touching the hair and face with their wings. Without expecting the foolish birds to do this, I made the wrong move and cried down.



When Andrew, clinging to the bushes and grass, cautiously came down to me, I was already considering my discovery, forgetting about a dozen fresh scratches and a torn shirt. Part of the clay slope (I drove to about its middle) as if slipped down under its own weight, opening a narrow horizontal gap of only half a meter in length. It was dark in the hole. From the Dulo. Per the gap had been there before, but most likely this two-day rains provoked the landslide. Great luck for young researchers.



We grabbed in the ground until dinner, and broadened the gap so much that I managed to climb inside. Almost immediately the cave expanded into the shape of a chamber, a grotto with walls of wet cold clay, where you could sit freely. There was not enough light, but I saw that the narrow passage went further and seemed to be turning.



Washing up near the street column, my brother and I vowed not to tell about the discovery of a single living soul. It is difficult to convey our interests to the pioneers. In addition, we now had the most secret headquarters in the world. This summer promised to be interesting.



∗ ∗ ∗

For two weeks, deceiving Grandma, we our secret. We had a light bulb charging from the socket, and the excavation tool (old moths and sink) was insidiously stolen from the shell. Every day, observing all possible conspiracy, we went into the coolness of the cave, in the entrance grotto of which we organized the headquarters: we made a supply of edible, leveled and covered the floor with cardboard, cut in the walls shelves and niches for a couple of candles from the nearest selpo.



The main task for us was to find where the cave ends - the crossroads clearly indicated the presence of a second exit. From the cave led a narrow and curved loop, initially more than enough for the boy, but further narrowing. We walked on him one after another. There was only one lamp, and it was handed over to the one who pulled first today. Gradually we expanded the tunnel and went further and further, but it went slowly: we went somewhere in a meter and a half in a day, hardly pushing back the accumulated clay. Then I had to blindly roll back, feet forward – and it was much more difficult. The width of the lace did not exceed the width of the children's shoulders, and in this dark, claustrophobically narrow space it was extremely difficult even to breathe deeply, and the worst of all, to handle a sovkom. Several times it happened that one of us was stuck in this hole, and it caused us to fear. But every time, rushing and pushing back with stretched hands forward (it was impossible to lower your arms along the body, clinging down too for nothing), it was possible to give up back, after which the excavations and the expansion of the tunnel continued.



The difficulties did not stop us. We carefully mapped the journey on a double notepad, and at night we whispered about plans for tomorrow. Overall, the cave went with the bow to the right, as if striving to return to the woods, and down. We encountered one branch, but it ended in a deadlock (crash) literally a couple of meters from the main trunk.



The speleological investigations continued until one day the brother, who was louder than usual, cried behind my back and said with a silent voice, “Weather... I’m stuck.”



∗ ∗ ∗

Per it was my fault in what happened. I walked first that day, we were eighteen meters from the entrance to the cave. I was so eager to advance further than the difficult section of the stones that had struck us, that I did not take proper care of expanding the tunnel in this place, but I passed forward. My brother...he was bigger than me. He was stuck in a narrow place and could do nothing, nothing at all.

Panic did not start immediately. But when an hour later Andrew could not move a centimetre forward or backwards, having tried all our techniques, hysterical notes appeared in his voice, and I tried to sneeze my nose more quietly.

Three hours later (at the top it was far after noon) we both, desperate, cried out and cried out "help" - without any meaning at such a depth. I begged Andrew to try again to grab my leg so that I could pull him forward, but he screamed that he was hurt, that he was suffocating. To help him. I tried to light on him, but I couldn’t even look around to look at him – we were scattered under the thickness of the earth, and now the task of exploring the cave didn’t seem so good to me. At some point, in an outstretched attempt to break out of the ticks, he turned the body a little - and stuck already finally, blocking the way back and me. We were trapped and nobody knew where we were.



∗ ∗ ∗

Andrei was the oldest. Trying to calm himself, he explained his plan. Our only way out was to move forward and get to the second exit, and then call for help. In general, nothing else was left to us, although the chances of success were minimal. But I had a sink and a lamp, and the tunnel in front of me, as much as there was enough light, expanded a little. We agreed to scream every minute, and I started stepping forward, curving like a earthworm.



Panic and despair overshadowed my memories, and I can only remember how indefinitely flying, and flying, and flying forward, shaking my arms, knees, and clothes. The screams of my brother from the darkness behind me became more and more silent, until they turned into meaningless, echo-distorted, deaf twists. I cried and tried not to scream anymore. There was light in front. I got out of the ground, throwing pieces of raw dirt at the very bottom of the same wreck, at its beginning, next to the stream and the pile of garbage that was thrown down by the inhabitants of the surrounding houses for years.



Crying out of happiness, I hardly got up on my feet and looked at myself. is terrible. Need to get help, but where? What will Grandma say? She will kill me. It will kill us both, absolutely. When I looked up with tears, I saw my grandmother’s head above the edge of the abyss. She looked straight at me, the dirty and miserable breaker of all her rules, and how evil her eyes were. I lost consciousness from shock.



∗ ∗ ∗

When I opened my eyes, I saw a dark sky above me. We missed dinner time. The whole body hurt. And then I realized that I just can’t. I can’t tell my grandmother (I just felt like I saw her above), what we did and what happened. I am a coward, a terrible coward. But nausea rolled to the throat with only the thought of confession. I said I was very afraid of her. Now you know how much. God right, I was just a scared child!

Of course, these are just cheap excuses. Swimming alone under the column, I swore to myself that tomorrow I would save my brother myself.



∗ ∗ ∗

Where is your brother? - Screaming, like a pair of rusted doors, the voice is calm and somewhat cold. Not a word about my appearance or my delay. I put my head in my shoulders.



We fought and walked apart. Has he not yet come? A sad, obvious lie.



But not yet. My hands and eat. A plate on the table.



Nothing more was said. I wrapped up in bed for a long time, depicting my brother there, captured in the cold land, as if buried alive. I had nightmares.



∗ ∗ ∗

I found a job in the garden in the morning, it was impossible to lick. I was gathering the Colorado larvae in a bowl under the heavily blinking gaze of my grandmother sitting on the doorstep in her chair. Having managed to get out only after noon, I went through the gardens to the oak.

Just as I got into the pit, I heard the whirling and the stone. I clicked on my brother and walked toward him, climbing to the feet of his shoes.

Oh my God, how glad I was. Asked when there would be help, and why so long, and whether the adults had gathered with the blades, something more about the rope - Andrei spoke on his chest, laughed and knocked his legs. He has been in the tunnel for 24 hours. And the night is one, in total darkness.

Getting stuck, I explained to him that there will be no help yet, that is, I will help him now, I will pull him out, I have the lamp charged... For a while he was silent, and then he hit me with my foot in the face. I rolled back as I could, trying to convince him that it would be better for everyone. He agreed. He had no particular choice.



I forged the ground and so on, ran after a long hole, dragged him by his feet under terrible cries of pain. He broke through the other side, through the outlet at the stream, and when we found ourselves face to face, he spit at me. I made a kick under his chest, told him to breathe out and pulled. I brought him candles and light bulbs so that there would be light in his cave (yes, I already called this place "his cave") - because the lamp I carried with me. He brought his brother water and a couple of apples, then pulled food from his grandmother’s kitchen.



But I could never pull him out. Neither this day nor the next.



On the second day of my attempt to save my brother, he vowed to kill me as soon as he left. He told me how he would break my fingers on my hands one by one, how he would scratch my eyes with his pearl knife. I was crying, and he too. I forged the ground, but my strength was lacking. “Help me!” He was screaming. “Help me!” As I walked out of the cave to have time for dinner, I heard my brother shouting and laughing in the depths.



After spending another night in the cave, Andrew stopped cursing me, only quietly shrugged and refused to let go of the remaining candlestick. Drinking water thirsty. I prayed to tell my grandmother. I prayed, but no hope. I apologized for saying I wasn’t his brother anymore. We have not spoken so much in our lives as we did on that day, in the light of a faint lamp in the narrow walls. At dinner, the grandmother said that once Andrew has never returned, it is necessary to call the police.



The sin of low-mindedness is the worst of sins.



As you can see, I didn’t say anything to anyone.



Half of the village’s population agreed to take part in the search for my brother. I lied as if it was the last time I saw him outside the garden near the forest. They scratched the forest and found our house on a tree. Andrei was not found. When I came to my brother’s cave, he had already spent the last candles I could find for him, and did not react to my appearance. I thought that in his exhausted dirty face, with his half-crazy eyes opened, something humanly very important was missing. He seemed to hide moisture from the walls and chew clay – I saw traces of nails and teeth around. I said I didn’t bring him food because he would lose weight faster and get out. Andrei agreed without any interest that it was reasonable. When I left, he made no sound, only lay there and looked me straight in the eyes. I slipped back on the touch, holding the lamp, and all looked at his moving face until it hid behind the turn of the tunnel.



The next day came a sad father and a crying mother. I was sitting in my room and I was strictly forbidden to go out. The police officer and father asked me again what had happened. I was disgusted with lying, and it was disgusted with the fact that in the depths of my heart I rejoiced that I was able to avoid punishment. But I rejoiced no matter. For four days, the search continued, some people came and went, accompanied by a heavy grandmother's gaze. Finally, in the evening, my mom approached me, hugged me and told me we were going home. In the morning, he will take us to the station. I asked her to let me walk alone for the last time, at least for a few minutes.



I stumbled into the entrance to the cave and sat there for a long time, not hesitating to go inside, so as not to defile the new clothes brought by my mother. From the black hole there was a hardly heard singing — more precisely, a whispering without words. There, deep under the ground, my brother was singing a song in the darkness and loneliness.



In the morning we left.



∗ ∗ ∗

I am now 35 years old, I have a wife and a son. My mom is very old, I bring her to us on the holidays. I have no brother. Like his father: his second heart attack in 2010; I think he suspected something until the last day. Her grandmother died in 2003, and no one bought her village house. I drove there a year ago: the barrel through the oak broke and fell. I went down to the place where my brother’s cave began, and stood: nothing but the grass-grown earth. The memory returned to me that strangest melody, singing without words.



The ugly old lady knew it all. Our dirty clothes and the ground in our hair – she was watching us. I saw her that day over the cliff. She put a plate on the table when I got home. She knew what was happening.



She never liked Andrew.