Returning home, Irina helped an elderly fortune teller carry heavy bags to her very door. As they were saying goodbye, she said quietly:
— On Friday, you be the first to open the door. A bad guest will come. If your husband opens the door, there will be trouble.
Ira just nodded, paying no mind to the words.
Irina Petrovna Volkova was walking down the evening avenue, struggling to move her legs after a twelve-hour shift at the city hospital. The autumn wind fluttered the hem of her old coat, and empty lunch containers rattled in her bag.
Forty-three years old, a nurse in the internal medicine department. Every day was like being at war: IV drips, injections, other people’s pain, and endless patient complaints. Her husband, Andrey, with whom she had lived for eighteen years, was waiting at home. She used to rush home, anticipating a quiet evening together, but lately, something had changed, and Irina couldn’t figure out what it was.
Near her apartment building, an elderly woman with two huge shopping bags was sitting on a bench. About seventy, at least, wearing a worn headscarf from under which gray strands escaped. She was trying to stand up, but the bags were clearly too much for her.
— Ma’am, need some help? — Irina stopped, although she could barely stand herself.
The woman looked up, and Irina met her surprisingly bright, almost translucent eyes.
— Oh, dear, if it’s not too much trouble! My granddaughter promised to come, but she’s running late. And I need to get to the fourth floor, in the next building entrance.
Irina took both bags, surprised at their weight.
— What’s in here, bricks?
— I live in the third entrance, so it’s on my way.
They entered the building and began to slowly climb the stairs. The elevator, as usual, was broken. The old woman took small steps, holding onto the railing, and Irina instinctively slowed her pace.
— Thank you, you kind soul! It’s rare to meet a helpful person these days. Everyone is always rushing, rushing, — the woman stopped on the second-floor landing to catch her breath. — You’re a nurse, right? I can tell by your uniform.
— Yes, I work at the third city hospital. It’s a tough job. And often thankless.
— You know, I was in medicine too when I was young, as an orderly. I remember how my legs would ache after a shift, I could barely make it home.
Irina smiled. The old woman was talkative, and it was actually pleasant after a whole day of hospital chaos.
— But now my strength isn’t what it used to be. I used to carry two bags like this and not even notice, but now every time I wonder if I’ll make it.
— Why are they so heavy?
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