“Miss, do you need help?” the man asked, seeing the woman struggling with two heavy bags.
“Sorry to come up so suddenly, but it looks like you’re about to drop those. Let me carry them for you.”
“Really? Are you sure? Aren’t they too heavy?” the woman asked with a shy smile. “Thank you so much.”
The man picked up the bags like they weighed nothing and began walking ahead with long, confident steps. The woman—pretty and a little chubby—hurried behind him, trying to keep up. They looked a bit funny together: he was tall and strong, walking like he was in a parade, while she was short and soft, with bouncy curls. She had to take two steps for every one of his.
“Please slow down!” she panted. “I’m out of breath.”
Snapping out of his thoughts, he turned and said, “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you thinking about?” she asked, watching him closely.
Her name was Galina, and she quickly noticed his clothes weren’t right for summer—they were old and patched. He looked out of place, like he didn’t belong. She couldn’t help being curious and didn’t want to just walk beside him in silence.
Her name was Galina, and right away she noticed the man wasn’t dressed for summer. His clothes were old and patched, and he looked lost, like he didn’t belong here. She was too curious to stay quiet.
“Come on, tell me—what were you thinking about so deeply?”
“It’s about myself… about life,” he said with a sigh.
“Is something wrong? Is life tough for you?”
“No, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “I just think a lot.”
“Do you drink, maybe?” she asked carefully.
“No, never. I’m not that kind of person.”
“Thank God,” Galya said, clearly relieved. “And what’s your name? I’m Galina, but you can call me Galka.”
The man paused, like he was trying to remember something—or forget.
“They call me Vaska… it’s just a nickname.”
“A nickname? You don’t like your real name?”
“It’s not that,” he said, looking down. “I just don’t know what my real name is.”
Galina stopped in shock but quickly pulled herself together.
“You mean… you don’t remember anything?”
“That’s right. I lost my memory. They found me on the side of the road, barely alive—dirty, bruised, with torn clothes. I was just lying there like a stray puppy. Someone stopped, called an ambulance, and I ended up in the hospital.”
“My goodness… and you don’t remember anything about your past?”
“Not a thing. Sometimes I see bits and pieces—faces, rooms, short talks, flashes of light—but it all feels like I’m watching someone else’s movie.”
“What happened after you left the hospital?”
“They sent me to an orphanage. They gave me a temporary name—Vasiliy. I’ve been using it ever since. I’m just glad I’m not on the street. I have a place to stay, food, and some work.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Whatever I can find. Odd jobs—carrying things, helping at the market, sometimes working for the butcher, cleaning. I don’t earn much, but it’s enough to get by.”
And what about before all that? Do you remember anything?”
“Nothing. It’s like I was born all over again. I had to learn everything from the beginning—not how to crawl, but how to live.”
“You’ve had a hard life, Vasya. But if you’ve made it this far without giving up, you’ll be okay. Memory is a strange thing—today it’s gone, but it might come back tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’re right…”
“Of course I am! Why stress over things you can’t remember? Just live your life as it is. And I can see you’re strong and hardworking. Want a job?”
“I’d really like that.”
“Then come with me. I’ll talk to my boss. She has a big house and plenty of work—maybe we’ll find something for you.”
“That sounds great. Let’s go! What are we waiting for?”
Only then did Vasiliy notice they had been standing in one place for a while, and people were starting to look at them.
“Is it far from here?”
“No, it’s close. I usually take the car, but the driver’s busy today, so I walked. We ordered a turkey for my boss.”
“And what do you do for her?”
“I’m the cook. The job’s tough, but the conditions are good. My boss is kind but quiet. She’s changed a lot since her son and husband passed away. Still, she pays well and treats everyone nicely.”
They came to large iron gates. Behind them stood a two-story brick house surrounded by green plants. Jasmine bloomed on both sides of the gate, filling the air with a sweet smell. Vasiliy suddenly stopped. Something stirred inside him—like a memory trying to come back—but it quickly disappeared.
“Why did you stop? Come on, don’t be scared,” Galina said.
They walked in, followed a neat path, and entered the kitchen. It was bright, spacious, and cozy, filled with the smell of home-cooked food.
“Here we are. This is my little world—my pots and pans live here,” Galina said with a smile. “Come in and look around. I’ll bring lunch to my boss and ask if there’s work for you. I’m sure we’ll find something.”
Vasiliy looked around. For the first time in a long while, he felt something strange—warmth, comfort, even a sense of familiarity.
“Sit down for a bit. I’ll be quick. And eat—you must be hungry,” Galina added.
A few minutes later, she brought him a plate of hot food. It smelled amazing.
“Here, try this. It’s still warm. I’ll be back soon.”
“Thank you… I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it!” Galya said, waving her hand. “Just eat.”
Vasiliy took a spoonful. The taste made him close his eyes—it was so familiar, like something from a long time ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate like this. The feeling was so strong, it almost scared him.
Meanwhile, Galina quietly entered a room.
“Rimma, may I?” she asked.
Rimma, her employer, was sitting with an old photo album. She often looked through it, lost in memories. Galina had never seen it before—Rimma usually kept it hidden from others.
“Thank you, Galya. You can go rest… or wait, did you need something?” Rimma asked, watching her closely.
Galina nervously played with her apron.
“I just… Please don’t be upset. I know someone looking for work. He’s young, hardworking, doesn’t drink. He’s honest!”
“Does he have any documents?”
“That’s the problem—he doesn’t. His story is complicated. But he’s a good person.”
Rimma was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
“Alright. Bring him to me.”
“Oh, Rimma Alekseevna, you haven’t eaten yet!” Galya said, surprised.
“We’ll eat later. Let’s go,” Rimma replied.
They walked to the kitchen where Vasiliy was standing by the window, looking lost in thought.
“Vasya, come here please,” Galina called.
When Vasiliy turned, Rimma suddenly went pale. Her lips shook, she took a sharp breath, and slowly sank down.
“Rimma Alekseevna! What’s wrong?” Galina rushed to help. “Vasya, help quickly!”
Together, they helped Rimma sit in a chair and gave her some water.
“Are you feeling better? Should we call a doctor?”
“No… no doctor needed… What’s your name?” Rimma asked the man.
“Vasiliy.”
“And your real name? You’re not just Vasya, right?”
“I don’t remember… I have memory loss.”
Rimma stared at him for a long time, as if searching for something inside.
“Klim…” she finally whispered. “Your name is Klim.”
“What? How do you know that? I don’t even remember my own name…”
“Because I am your mother. I named you myself.”
Galina stood frozen, shocked. She held her apron tightly and looked between them.
“But you said your son…” she whispered.
“I thought he was gone,” Rimma said quietly. “Please bring the photo album. It’s in the top drawer.”
When she opened it, her voice shook:
“My husband and I couldn’t have children for a long time. We dreamed of a baby, but doctors said no. I cried, Oleg got angry. Then his father — my father-in-law Klim — took us to his village. He said, ‘Leave this place, live with nature, and get better.’”
She turned a page.
“That’s where it happened. I found out I was pregnant. You were our miracle. I named you Klim after my father-in-law. He didn’t live to see you born but knew he would be a great-grandfather.”
Vasiliy listened without looking away.
“You were a kind, calm boy. A teacher’s favorite, an excellent student. You loved animals and spent time near the school’s pet corner. Then…”
Rimma sighed.
“Oleg wanted you to be like him. He pushed you hard. You started to rebel: skipped classes, argued with teachers, came home hurt. I begged you to stop and be yourself again. But you didn’t listen. One day we fought badly. Oleg said, ‘Get your act together or leave and never come back.’ I broke down. You slammed the door and said we weren’t needed. Three days later, they told us to identify a body. The face was ruined, but the watch, passport, phone—those were yours. We believed it and buried you. Soon after, Oleg died. His heart couldn’t take it…”
Tears ran down Rimma’s cheeks. Vasiliy looked at the photo of the boy—it felt strangely familiar, like a reflection in water. Pieces of memories flickered in his mind: laughter, the smell of campfire smoke, the warmth of his mother’s hands…
“Mom…” he whispered, barely able to speak.