The Empty Nest

Yakov Petrovich opened the door wide and breathed in the spring morning's cool air with eager lungs. Day was just awakening; shy sunrays played with the still-bare tree branches, trying to remind them of warmth and tenderness. A light breeze, barely touching the treetops, sang of life's happiness, echoing the new coming day.

In places, morning shadows still hid, but the sun had already illuminated the old, battered by long years and strong winds, tree on which a graceful crane's nest was positioned. How much it had witnessed over several decades, how many chicks it had raised, how many family crane disputes it had endured, yet it held firm...

And continued to welcome each year a pair of cranes...

Yakov Petrovich always awaited the cranes' return with impatience; in some way they helped him live, their calls filling the emptiness in his heart. Sometimes, watching them fuss over their offspring, he even began to think about caring for others and about kindness foreign to his heart. He was a talented man, but didn't know how to give people goodness; he was constantly discontented, grumbling, and ungrateful.

But it seemed to him that sometimes, watching the cranes, he could become a little better. This year he especially awaited the cranes, but the weather delayed their arrival, and life's circumstances were darkening.

And today, once again convinced the nest was empty, he sighed deeply and sat on the porch. Striking a match, he inhaled the smoke and immediately coughed harshly. Then he heard a woman's voice from behind, accompanied by the squeaking scrape of an old door.

"That's how you'll end up in hell one day—with an empty head and cruel heart," his wife said in a complaining voice. "How many times I've told you it's better to enjoy cool morning air than to poison the world and yourself with that poison."

He was silent, only looking toward the empty nest, while the woman continued:

"That's what you are, like that empty nest."

She sat beside him and, softening her tone slightly, said:

"Will you go see Varyushka today? You've offended her, you've been rude to her, and the woman tried, she came with a good soul, with care, and you... What am I to do with you, so heartless? Who could change your cruel heart?"

Yakov Petrovich continued looking far away and remained silent. He felt wretched without his wife's words, but not because he'd offended Varyushka; he longed for the cranes to come. Varyushka?! She wouldn't suffer for it, and it wasn't his problem if she was hurt by harsh words or deeds thrown her way. Let her get used to it—the world is unfair; how could people be different? Therefore, by Yakov Petrovich's reasoning, if you got a slap, be glad it was only one; if spat upon, wipe it off and be quiet!

His wife knew this, having experienced it many times herself. Though his heart was kind, he didn't know how to show what was in it. He was very caring about the house and its upkeep, loved birds and animals. And he loved his work so much, was skilled at everything! But his family couldn't really benefit from his talents, for he didn't know how to do good, and the prices he charged for everything were astronomical!

But he loved birds, and loved them specially! And therefore he yearned!

"You're staying silent, you stubborn man!" his wife began again, shaking her head. "You can only wound people and not ask forgiveness. She came with a good soul, she tried! How could you do that?"

"Why are you scolding him so, Matrenushka?" suddenly came the neighbor woman's voice from nearby. "Look, he can't take his eyes off that empty nest!"

"That's exactly it—he should be thinking about the emptiness in his heart!" his wife said with slight irritation. "That's what he should be thinking about more than an empty nest! Living, breathing people he wounds!"

She sighed deeply and continued:

"Look here: Varyushka, our neighbor, came to us with sour apples, wanted to treat us. So this heartless and cruel man told her straight to her face that such apples were better thrown away than brought to someone. Too small, they seemed to him! Do you remember the drought we had last year! She, Varyushka, though they were small, still had some; we had none!"

His wife gave her husband a displeased look, which he continued to return by looking afar. Waving her hand dismissively, she turned again to the neighbor:

"Instead of thanking the woman, of saying 'Thank you!'—he was so heartless and cruel! So I'm here trying to reach his hardened soul! I tell him he should go ask her forgiveness! I tell him and tell him..."

She noticed that the neighbor didn't seem to be listening, but looked past her at something, so she decided to see what she was watching. And there she saw Varyushka hurrying toward them.

"Uncle Yakov, here are some apples for you—bigger ones, I think much tastier. When I saw them at the market today—I immediately thought of you."

"Varyushka, you shouldn't have taken such care," he answered, embarrassed, "what have I done to deserve such care?"

"Well, Uncle Yakov," Varyushka smiled sweetly, "I simply wanted to do something good for you. Enjoy them—they should be much tastier than mine."

She left, and Yakov Petrovich hung his head. He hadn't said it, hadn't managed to ask forgiveness!

So he sat with his head down for a long time...

His wife left without saying another word, gesturing for the neighbor to follow her. Varyushka ran off, smiling and happy that she'd finally pleased the old man. But in his soul was emptiness and dissatisfaction! What was this? Why did it not hurt him when he caused others pain? Why couldn't he show someone attention, if only because they'd decided to do something nice for him? Was he really so selfish and vile that even the cranes had decided to bypass his house this year?

Such sad thoughts tormented him all day and pressed on him the next morning, when he went out to the porch again to check if the guests had appeared. But the nest was empty.

"Christ is risen!" Varyushka interrupted his sad thoughts. "I'm just coming back from church. Easter is a magnificent holiday, isn't it, Yakov Petrovich?"

"Yes, yes," he said confusedly, with horror realizing he didn't even know today was Easter.

"I love this holiday very much," Varyushka chirped happily. "Because with Christ's resurrection we gained hope. It's almost like spring's arrival—you know that cranes will soon come. So too with Christ's resurrection, we all have salvation and eternity! Isn't it wonderful!"

"Yes, yes," he repeated incoherently, understanding he had no right to agree with her.

Easter might be wonderful for her, since she believes in resurrection, but not for him! Only someone who believes in the afterlife can speak of hope, but not everyone believes in that! She could speak so joyfully of salvation because it comes with faith in the risen Christ, but he could barely imagine it! And eternity? If it doesn't exist, then his reasoning and understanding is fine—he's