Nobody really remembers how Aleftina ended up in the office.
She appeared to have always been there: a quiet, unassuming woman or girl; it was difficult to tell.
Some thought she was young, others felt she was old, but her appearance was concealed by a rustically tied headdress and a long turtleneck that covered her neck.
She washed the floors, polished the toilets, polished the metal door handles, and cleaned the glass dividers – everything that had been dirty by clients’ palms and foreheads – until they shined.
All of this had been going on for three months, and no one at the bank had heard from her.
No one noticed her makeup or the scent of perfume; simply the freshness of floor cleaner and clean air. After she sprayed it, the entire office shined and projected a comfortable, even homelike cleanliness.
The employees’ reactions toward her varied: some felt sorry for her, some simply ignored her, and some allowed themselves to mock her.
– Hello, silent! There’s dust here!
– the mocker, a young credit department manager, pointed his finger to a spotlessly clean corner. He was seeking for a cause to anger her, but Alya simply took a rag and did what she was hired for. No reaction, just work.
“Look how he sweats!” another laughed once, earning him an elbow from more seasoned colleagues who sympathized with the cleaning lady.
Aleftina groaned and said nothing, avoiding rudeness as if she was accustomed to it.
And in the evening, she returned to her tight apartment, fed her fish, prepared a little dinner, and sat down to paint. Her paintings were outstanding for their softness and airiness; watercolor flowed across paper, forming entire universes. She did not paint for fame, and she did not show them to anyone.
Just for herself. Sometimes she stepped out into the open air, and her creations were even brighter, more mysterious, and filled with natural light.
The flash occurred on a June night. Screams of terror could be heard somewhere near the foyer.
There was an odor of burning. Smoke was seeping through the crevices and into the keyhole. So it wasn’t their house that was burning.
Ali’s parents and younger brother hastily grabbed their paperwork and dashed out into the street in their pajamas and slippers.
The neighbors had already gathered on the landing, everyone at a loss in their own way, although not in the same sequence.
The apartment on the second story was on fire, directly across from their door. The window was slightly open, and smoke was already escaping.
“Did you call the Ministry of Emergency Situations?” the woman on the first floor said, yawning. However, as soon as she realized that her apartment could be flooded while putting out the fire, she sobered up and began to regret her comments.
“I think they called,” someone in the crowd said, imploring everyone to quiet down and not add to the hysteria.
She was about to go down to the street to the others when she suddenly heard a cough inside the apartment.
She listened – it was a child’s cough. It was clear that he was there, inside. There was no time to put it off.
Alya went to the neighbors’ door and checked – it was locked.
What to do?
“Tools… where are the tools?” she thought feverishly. Thank God, her father’s toolbox was at home, under the shoe rack. She pulled out the tire iron.
“If only it works… If only I can make it in time!” she thought, inserting a crowbar between the door and the frame.
If the neighbors had changed the front door in time, if they had installed an iron one, there would have been no chance.
But the old plywood, double-leaf, was still held on by a lock from the time of Soviet builders.
The crowbar went in deep, and the door gave way. There was a massive wall of smoke behind it. The room was on fire, with the drapes and some of the furniture already ablaze.
A woman lay on the living room sofa, most likely suffocated by the smoke. And where was the boy?
Alya reached out to feel the little body. Lyosha was barely breathing.
She carefully lifted him up, but she couldn’t escape since the flames had become stronger.
“We need to get to the window!” sprang to mind. From the room to the corridor, through the fire and the heat. The drapes were already taking fire, and the frames were splitting from the heat.
She gripped the red-hot window handle, and the skin on her palm swelled instantaneously. Pain penetrated her body, but Alya continued to open the window.
There was a gasp from beneath. The firefighters were already nearby, unrolling their hoses in response to the crowd’s screams.
When they noticed the window, they swiftly unrolled the rescue sheet.
— Lyoshka! Son! – a man who had recently returned from a business trip exclaimed.
He attempted to rush into the entryway but was held back.
Alya, losing strength, grabbed up the youngster and pushed him through the window. She didn’t see him being apprehended. She did not hear her parents’ screams.
She didn’t feel like she was losing consciousness while crawling out after him…
Fresh air surged in through the open window, fueling the flames. The flames immediately devoured the entire flat.
She was just 22 years old. Her survival appeared remarkable; experts did not believe a person with such severe burns could make it through the first day.
But the most fortunate thing was that her face remained intact.
Lyoshka was also rescued, unlike his mother. She later di:ed as a result of smoke inhalation. No one knew where the dad and his son went following his wife’s funeral.
They vanished without trace.
Experts blamed the incident on obsolete electrical wiring, which had long been due for replacement.
The healing was prolonged and unpleasant. Alya was actually reassembled piece by piece. The most difficult part was coping with her mother’s death: the woman’s heart couldn’t take seeing her daughter in the fire.
– Alechka, perhaps we should sell the apartment?
– the father concerned. – We’ll buy something smaller and heal you…
She simply shook her head. She couldn’t speak any longer.
After the fire and her mother’s death, she simply went silent. The physicians shrugged their shoulders; her vocal chords were fine, but it appeared that her body had turned off this function itself. “A nervous condition,” they surmised.
“We’ll wait.”
In the end, the unit was exchanged. The brother married and took out a mortgage; no aid was expected from him. The father reserved the corner for himself in case they unexpectedly paid a visit.
She could no longer teach.
— Aleftina Tarasovna, I understand your situation… But, how will you teach the kids?
– The school principal signed the dismissal with heavy heart.
Alya nodded quietly. Yes, she was not a teacher anymore.
She landed the job by happenstance, in an office that required a cleaner. She was returning from another plein air when she noticed an advertisement on a glass door and walked in without thinking.
Why she was hired remains unknown. However, the manager never pity her. Her hands ached from previous burns, but she persevered.
Despite the pain, she washed the floors, wiped the glass, and polished the handles – and her hands got softer, less stiff.
When the office moved to another area, the manager called his friend:
– Mikhalych, hello! I have one recommendation for you. The girl is just a godsend.
Just take good care of her.
So Alya ended up in the bank. Of course, there were also some cheeky young people and indifferent bosses here… But work was work – and she did it conscientiously.
– Hey, why are you silent all the time? – the manager provoked.
– You can’t or don’t want to? Or is the salary small?
She didn’t answer. She just patiently rubbed the glass, which was already sparkling.
Then, one day, murmurs began to circulate throughout the room.
All of the clients and personnel turned toward the entryway. An luxury automobile approached the bank. A man stepped out and confidently entered.
– Boss!
Sergey Mikhailovich! He has arrived!
Alya proceeded to wipe the pane, yellow gloves flashing across it.
– Hello, Sergei Mikhailovich. The chief accountant greeted him.
Alya shivered and turned around.
The man noticed her.
Recognition flashed across her face. He froze, then stepped forward, came closer. His eyes filled with tears.
In front of everyone, he knelt down and, taking off her gloves, kissed her palms, covered in scars. Everyone present froze in bewilderment.
She was crying too.
“It was you…” he whispered, standing up and hugging her. “You saved my son!”
He turned to the staff:
– This is the girl who almost at the cost of her life carried Lesha out of the fire!
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
