Lacrimi fierbin\u021bi \u00eei alunecau pe obraji, topind z\u0103pada adus\u0103 pe hainele ei. \u00ce\u0219i sim\u021bea fiul rece, str\u0103in, ca \u0219i cum via\u021ba fusese smuls\u0103 din el de o m\u00e2n\u0103 nev\u0103zut\u0103.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Doamne, nu mi-l lua\u2026 \u2014 \u0219optea printre suspine, m\u00e2ng\u00e2indu-i p\u0103rul ca atunci c\u00e2nd era copil \u0219i adormea l\u00e2ng\u0103 sob\u0103, cu miros de mere coapte \u0219i lemn ars.<\/p>\n
Dar acum nu mai era soba aceea, nici copilul cu ochi lumino\u0219i. Era doar un b\u0103rbat r\u0103pus, singur \u00eentr-o cas\u0103 prea mare.<\/p>\n
Un zgomot se auzi de undeva din spate. Pa\u0219i. Lente, ap\u0103sate. Ana ridic\u0103 privirea \u0219i v\u0103zu o umbr\u0103 cobor\u00e2nd pe scara de marmur\u0103. Inima i se opri o clip\u0103. \u00cen \u00eentunericul acela rece, ap\u0103ru o femeie \u00een rochie scump\u0103, cu p\u0103rul perfect aranjat, dar cu ochii tulburi.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Cine sunte\u021bi? \u2014 \u00eentreb\u0103 str\u0103ina, rece, ca \u0219i cum prezen\u021ba Anei era o insult\u0103.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Sunt\u2026 mama lui\u2026 \u2014 abia reu\u0219i Ana s\u0103 spun\u0103, str\u00e2ng\u00e2nd trupul ne\u00eensufle\u021bit al fiului.<\/p>\n
Femeia clipi, dar nu se apropie. P\u0103rea c\u0103 ascunde ceva, c\u0103 t\u0103cerea ei era mai grea dec\u00e2t orice cuv\u00e2nt.<\/p>\n
Ana sim\u021bi cum \u00een piept i se ridic\u0103 un val de \u00eentreb\u0103ri. Cine era acea femeie? Ce f\u0103cea acolo? \u0218i de ce Sergiu, fiul ei, cel care plecase din sat cu m\u00e2inile goale \u0219i inima plin\u0103 de visuri, z\u0103cea acum pe podea ca o jertf\u0103 mut\u0103?<\/p>\n
O amintire \u00eei str\u0103fulger\u0103 mintea. Sergiu, t\u00e2n\u0103r, r\u00e2z\u00e2nd pe c\u00e2mp, alerg\u00e2nd descul\u021b prin iarba plin\u0103 de rou\u0103. \u00cei promitea c\u0103 nu va uita niciodat\u0103 de unde a plecat. \u0218i totu\u0219i, iat\u0103-l acum, pierdut \u00eentr-o lume care \u00eel devorase.<\/p>\n
Ana \u00ee\u0219i str\u00e2nse \u0219alul la piept, ca \u0219i cum ar fi c\u0103utat putere \u00een urmele so\u021bului ei r\u0103mas \u00een p\u00e2nza aceea veche. \u0218tia ce avea de f\u0103cut. Trebuia s\u0103 afle adev\u0103rul, s\u0103 nu lase ca moartea fiului ei s\u0103 fie \u00eengropat\u0103 \u00een t\u0103cere \u0219i lux.<\/p>\n
Femeia de pe scar\u0103 cobor\u00ee mai aproape, iar privirea ei tr\u0103da fric\u0103.<\/p>\n
\u2014 N-a fost vina mea\u2026 \u2014 murmur\u0103, l\u0103s\u00e2nd s\u0103-i cad\u0103 o br\u0103\u021bar\u0103 scump\u0103 pe trepte. \u2014 El\u2026 el a ales drumul acesta.<\/p>\n
Ana nu r\u0103spunse. \u0218tia bine c\u0103 \u00een via\u021b\u0103 nimic nu e doar alegere. S\u0103r\u0103cia, dorin\u021ba de mai mult, prietenii nepotrivi\u021bi, toate \u00eel \u00eempinseser\u0103 pe Sergiu \u00eentr-un cerc din care nu mai ie\u0219ise.<\/p>\n
Afara, clopotele bisericii b\u0103teau \u00eencet, ca pentru o \u00eenmorm\u00e2ntare nev\u0103zut\u0103. Ana se ridic\u0103 greu, sprijinindu-se de mas\u0103. Privirea i se \u00eentunecase, dar hot\u0103r\u00e2rea \u00eei era mai puternic\u0103 dec\u00e2t durerea.<\/p>\n
\u00ce\u0219i \u0219terse lacrimile cu col\u021bul \u0219alului \u0219i, cu vocea ferm\u0103 pe care o avusese doar \u00een zilele c\u00e2nd \u00ee\u0219i ap\u0103ra familia, spuse:<\/p>\n
\u2014 Nimeni nu-l va aminti ca pe un ratat. Sergiu al meu a fost mai mult dec\u00e2t asta. Eu \u00eel voi aduce acas\u0103. Acolo unde se aprind lum\u00e2n\u0103rile \u0219i unde p\u0103m\u00e2ntul \u00eel prime\u0219te cu rug\u0103ciune.<\/p>\n
Cu pa\u0219i rari, dar siguri, Ana ie\u0219i din vil\u0103, purt\u00e2nd cu ea amintirea fiului \u0219i o cutie de pr\u0103jituri ce nu mai aveau cui s\u0103 fie oferite. Z\u0103pada continua s\u0103 cad\u0103, ca un giulgiu alb peste gre\u0219elile unei vie\u021bi.<\/p>\n
\u0218i undeva, \u00een lini\u0219tea satului de unde plecase, oamenii aveau s\u0103 afle povestea lui. O poveste amar\u0103, dar adev\u0103rat\u0103, despre cum dorul de m\u0103rire poate rupe r\u0103d\u0103cinile, iar singura care r\u0103m\u00e2ne s\u0103 str\u00e2ng\u0103 cioburile este \u00eentotdeauna mama.<\/p>\n
\u00cen pragul bisericii din sat, Ana avea s\u0103-\u0219i lase fiul, cu lum\u00e2n\u0103ri aprinse \u0219i colind de glasuri b\u0103tr\u00e2ne, acolo unde lini\u0219tea nu mai doare \u0219i unde fiecare suspin al ei se transform\u0103 \u00een rug\u0103ciune.<\/p>\n
Pentru c\u0103, \u00een cultura noastr\u0103, un om nu moare cu adev\u0103rat atunci c\u00e2nd trupul i se opre\u0219te, ci doar atunci c\u00e2nd nu mai are cine s\u0103-l pl\u00e2ng\u0103.<\/p>\n
Iar Ana, cu p\u0103rul ei c\u0103runt \u0219i cu \u0219alul zdren\u021buit, f\u0103g\u0103duia c\u0103 Sergiu al ei nu va fi niciodat\u0103 uitat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lacrimi fierbin\u021bi \u00eei alunecau pe obraji, topind z\u0103pada adus\u0103 pe hainele ei. \u00ce\u0219i sim\u021bea fiul rece, str\u0103in, ca \u0219i cum via\u021ba fusese smuls\u0103 din el de o m\u00e2n\u0103 nev\u0103zut\u0103. \u2014 Doamne, nu mi-l lua\u2026 \u2014 \u0219optea printre suspine, m\u00e2ng\u00e2indu-i p\u0103rul ca atunci c\u00e2nd era copil \u0219i adormea l\u00e2ng\u0103 sob\u0103, cu miros de mere coapte \u0219i […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4315,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4313","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-povesti"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4313","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4313"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4313\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4316,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4313\/revisions\/4316"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4315"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4313"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4313"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4313"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}