Italyanskaya Rivera

Alas, we do not spin the pattern of Destiny
And sad moments in our lives
Must also be,
No matter how much regret torments us about the fact,
That we are not there, not with those, and that life passed in a completely different way.
Once upon a time, the Master lived.
The whole world read his works and admired them!
He lived a long and fruitful life in the distant northern land.
But in his youth, Destiny threw him to the Italian Riviera.
And the inspired future writer did not forget the summer days spent there in bliss until his very last breath.
He often daydreamed about memories, and often said that if he ever died, it would only be there, among the curtains swaying from the breeze, the sun's rays that softly penetrate for moments, the singing of birds and the children playing in the yard. And occasionally a screaming mother, calling from the balcony for lunch:
– Mario, corri a pranzare in fretta, altrimenti si raffredda tutto!
Ah, vivo Italiano!
And so on until the very last days.
And here is the result. He is old and feeble, but in clarity of mind and cheerful spirit, only the awareness that soon the heart will stop beating bows to Life.
And the whole family gathered for a council.
He will not last long. And, it would seem, he does not ask for anything, but we all know what the old man dreamed of all these years, and how he wanted to leave.
And what can we do?! Not a single airline agreed to transport. They all say the same thing: “Yes. A great one of the last Mohicans, whom the world accepted in life. But if he dies in flight, we will line up to sue them.” And it is useless to try to get a visa! No one will give the old man a way to Italy so that he can simply die there!
Well, fine. What can we do?!
Ha! We can do more than the whole world, because we are his relatives and we love the old man too much even without his creations and recognition! If he can’t get there, we’ll make a Riviera here too!
What?! Far from the sea?! In winter?! The only thing we have from the whole list is the sun!
Everything else is done with the help of improvised means! We humidify the air, record the singing of birds and the game of children’s chatter. We’ll put on light clothes and fill our souls with sad joy. Everything that we can think up and recreate in these couple of days – let it become.
Here he fell asleep in Siberia, waking up where he dreamed so much.
And, it seems, the mind and consciousness are clear, but you can’t believe your eyes: a heavy curtain sways from the wind of warm streams, birds are chirping, you can hear the splash of waves and the smell of the sea.
Unable to get up and go to the window, he could only enjoy, surprised by the sudden change, without understanding how he ended up there.
He fell asleep during the day, crawling out of his slumber in the evening to say thank you to God and the children who were always nearby, as if doing ordinary household chores. And in the evening he left...
Behind the children's backs were present: decorators, make-up artists, costume designers, workers of two stages, and sound engineers, who were also admirers of the talent of the Great writer, poet and one of those who returned romance and faith in humanity to the people of the world.
Of course, someone let it slip that he participated in a beautiful, sad "farewell party".
And this became the property of all countries.
And the five-story house in which this worthy hero was once lucky enough to stay in his distant youth began to be named after him.
And Mario, the same one who was always invited to dinner, the current owner, opened his new business "leaving life in the style of a great writer-poet." Now it is not a hotel, but a hospice, where accommodation is hundreds of times more expensive...
No. Money has nothing to do with it. We praise life for the fact that there is time to devote ourselves to dreams.

As the poet often said - "I see no reason to refuse, having dedicated a story to you"...

Canvas. Oil.
50x60 April 2025.