From the author: “If only it were that simple! - that somewhere there are black people maliciously doing black things, and you just need to distinguish them and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil crosses the heart of every person. And who will destroy a piece of his heart? At about eleven o'clock in the evening the taxi driver took me from Vozdvizhenka to the Central Station of the capital. It seemed that the residents of night Kyiv were not going to go to bed soon. The bustle of the station and people scurrying around with luggage created a feeling of chaos. But even in this seeming confusion, I found my orderliness, calmness and confidence that my train was already waiting for me on the platform. There was a full half hour left before departure. I like to arrive at the station early - before the train arrives for boarding - when I can easily find my ticket on my phone, chat with the conductor and leisurely go to my compartment. Enter it first, change clothes and get everything that will help fill the time - 15 hours from point A to point B. And only then, perhaps just before departure, meet your travel companion. This time everything was different. Walking through the carriage, I found the door of my compartment open, and inside it - a stately elderly woman, who was accompanied by her son. When she saw me, she said hello, and it was clear that she was sincerely happy: “Thank God I’m a woman!” And once they start drinking beer, you won’t be able to breathe.” Then she turned her attention back to her son and turned up the volume of their farewell. I began to feel awkward, as if I had gotten into the performance as a “stowaway,” that is, without a ticket. “I think I’ll leave you and wait outside the door,” I squeezed out, partly dissatisfied with the violation of my usual rituals of starting a trip. - No no! What do you? Why? “We are already finishing,” the woman said in a slightly trembling voice and, as if deliberately loudly, repeated with some pauses, “God bless you, son!” With God blessing! With God! For some reason, turning to the Lord hurt my ears. I saw some kind of demonstrativeness in this whole parting. I didn’t yet know that exactly two weeks later I would remember this woman, when my two sons brought me to the LPR checkpoint and, saying goodbye, we would not know when we would meet again. A lump will come to my throat and take my breath away, my eyes will sparkle and I will think: “Well, then on the train I was sure that I would never cry when parting with my children.” Oh, these categorical “never”, “no way” and “always”... I went into the compartment and rolled my suitcase. - How big! - the woman exclaimed, - it’s inconvenient to travel with someone like that! - Who’s inconvenient? I am comfortable. But if he bothers you here in the passage, I will throw him upstairs. Because it really doesn’t fit under the bench. – No, no. It doesn't bother me at all. Don't worry about me too much. I told my children: why did you punish yourself so much that you bought me such an expensive ticket?! Why do I need Lux? I could have traveled in a simple carriage.” “Well, why did you punish me?” Maybe your children wanted to please you and take care of you? – Yes, there were simply no other tickets! I only have to go to Kupyansk. Where are you going? - I need to go as far as Lisichansk... - As far as Lugandon or what? - Well, why are you doing this? For some, Lugansk is their hometown (if you meant it). But I will go there only in a week. In the meantime, to Lisichansk, then a transfer and straight to Shchastya. I'm going to visit my mother. - So it will be even more expensive! – not paying attention to my corrections, the woman blurted out. I took a break for a while and began to think. Why am I correcting her? She is old enough to be my mother, and I am trying to guide her on the “righteous path.” I remembered how, even before the war, some of my fellow countrymen left for the capital, disparagingly calling their city Lokhansky. So why not give this woman the right to have her own feelings towards the city in which I was born. After a pause, she spoke again. “What kind of CV is this that there isn’t even a normal light in it?” “I think that as soon as the train starts moving, the light will appear.” And it's getting close to midnight. Why do we need light whentime to sleep? - Well, no, I’ll still read. I can’t afford to go to bed without reading. She took a book out of her bag and put it on the table. There was enough light to see the imprint of a gold Cross on the slightly worn cover. A slight chill of alienation ran down my spine, and my hand responded by reaching for my book lying next to me. A close-minded person gave it to me the day before. It also had Crosses on it and it was called: “I work in the cemetery.” By the evening of that day, I had already read three stories from it and I did not at all want to discuss them with my fellow traveler. I wanted to live with them, comprehend them and feel them in my own way. The morning is wiser than the evening. I hid my book away and began to look for a reason to end the conversation. At exactly 11:20 p.m. on schedule, the train's wheels began to rattle. They turned on the light, but after all the evening procedures I turned to the wall and, covering my head, began to remember how I used to love to sleep to the sound of carriage wheels. Tu-duh, tu-duh, tu-duh, tu-duh... Perhaps the slight rocking of the carriage reminded me of the rocking of the cradle. And while the train was moving, I was sleeping, but as soon as it stopped, I woke up and waited for it to start moving again, so that I could fall into a sweet and serene sleep. I remembered one interesting and cheerful fellow traveler who asked me about my feelings on the train: “ How would you say it? Am I being driven or am I going? How do you feel on the train? And after my thoughts on this topic, he explained in his own way: “When you sit in front of the head of the train, then you are driving, and when you are sitting backwards, they are taking you!” Apparently, with this memory in mind, I fell asleep with a smile on my face because I don’t remember anything else. To my surprise, I slept superbly and the next morning I had breakfast with pastries from Aunt Klara’s pie shop from Vozdvizhenka, and drank some dried fruit uzvara. My neighbor was still sleeping, and I was already dreaming about the time when we would get to Kupyansk and I would be left completely alone in the compartment. She woke up two hours before arriving at the place, and I was immensely happy about that. “I can stand two hours of communication with her,” I thought. “Do you know what this is? – the woman asked mysteriously, taking out a branch of fresh dates from the bag. “These are dates,” I answered. “How do you know?” You usually buy dried! – I’ve seen it on palm trees... – Do you see this? Olive oil from Israel! I went to holy places and brought them here. You tell your mother that you need to take a tablespoon of it every morning. It's good for your health. – For yours? May be. But my mother’s liver does not accept such a recipe. - Well, then you take it yourself for your health, like me! Look! - She poured some oil into the bottle cap and drank it. - Usually I just cook with it, but I didn’t drink it in the morning. I’ll try... – What are you talking about?! Cooking with it is expensive! – Who cares? I caught myself using a tone that I didn’t like at all. The woman is 76 years old, and I am trying to “treat” her. We should give up this manner and try to have a heart-to-heart talk with her. - Why are you going to Lugansk? What should you do there? – my fellow traveler changed the topic. “I’ll visit my friends, I’ll see my sons.” Why are you asking? - Yes, I wonder how they are now? Are you satisfied with life? It was they – the Lugansk people – who started everything, this whole coup and the war too. And how do they live now? She did not stop in her political conclusions, in thinking about Putin and, incidentally, about how unlucky Ukraine was with its presidents. I just listened for a while, trying to maintain a neutral position: here is a person, and he has this opinion. On the other hand, there are other people, and they also have their own opinion on this matter. But then the Bible lying on the table caught my attention, and I asked my “uncomfortable” question: “What does this book of yours say?” Does God love Putin? – Of course not! - the woman answered sharply - He doesn’t like people like that! - It turns out strange. My grandmother told me that God loves everyone. Maybe she had a different faith. – God loves only those who repent of their sins! – my companion declared, not without solemnity. “Are you sure that!