Old house (part two)

Old house (part two)

I know how time-consuming the construction of the house’s wall is, how long the foundation of the new house settles and how carefully the bricks are laid. A man wipes the sweat from his forehead; he builds his future – his house!

I was one of those houses. I remember the touch of man’s hands, I remember how the roof was laid, I remember how men plastered my walls and painted them in bright colours and how people polished my windows. I remember my birth, my happy life and my death, when I was ruined by explosion during war. After that I stood alone for a long time, without seeing people or feeling their warm. But who cares about old ruins…

It was an ordinary morning – I was watching in dismay as time drifted by; people were in a hurry, detouring around a piece of land where my ruins lived out their final days. No one likes ruins, no one wants to remember his mistakes or war, but that is just what I remind them about. People never come too close to me. Usually never…But today everything changed. A girl came to me out of the crowd. She was so finely dressed, red-streak and smiling. Suddenly she released her mother’s hand and run toward me. She touched faded and hardly visible drawings on my wall. Then she called her mother to show her drawn birds and flowers. Somehow children can see beauty all around, clean it with their gladness from dust, pain and time. The girl laughed, scrubbed my dirty wall to see the drawings. Her mother didn’t stop her, maybe something was on her mind or maybe she understood that children see and know things adults don’t and maybe she was curious what had her daughter found. I heard the girl’s talks and remembered my twins, my boys that lived here before. I remembered how their parents painted my walls; they couldn’t paint, but they loved me and were trying to pervade their house with light and love.

Yes, I know they are dead now, all of them, twins and their parents. I know that war took everything from me, I know that, but I want to forget. Today this girl reminded me that we, houses, are born to give comfort, protection and warm and we are a reliable buffer between people and this cruel world. Oh, mother took the girl and they left… the girl glanced back and… waved to me!

It’s hard to say how much time had passed, but one day the girl came back. I recognized her at once, though she looked much older now. She wasn’t alone, she had a man with her. They milled around, examined my walls, my yard overgrown with weeds and untrimmed trees. The girl gestured toward me, nodded and signed a document given by the man and they left. Soon she came back dressed in boilersuit and brought a crowd of people with her. In an instant, saws jarred in the yard, machines buzzed and something was happening around: some people pottered around the garden, some reconstructed me and I’ve got a new roof! The girl helped everyone. And when all people were gone, she brought paints. She began to paint flowers on my walls. Among those flowers she draw beautiful white birds, they were my family that died in the war…

When she finished, she just stayed. And I understood that until at least one man has a desire to build houses, plant flowers and love life, war can’t win.

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