A Truck Driver’s Unexpected Passenger

“Борислав!”

Боря вздрогнул. Он не любил, когда его называли полным именем. Все коллеги знали его как Борю и никогда не употребляли полного имени. Тот, кто сейчас его позвал, наверняка увидел паспорт.

Боря обернулся. В дверях стояла Вера Игоревна, бухгалтер. Она работала в фирме всего несколько месяцев и клеилась к Борису с первого дня, но даже она никогда не называла его так. Мужчина попытался скрыть недовольство, но, видимо, получилось не очень, потому что женщина буквально рычала от злости.

— Вера Игоревна, что-то случилось?

— Что — нет? Вы хотите сказать, что все в порядке?

«Наверное, паспорт увидела, поняла, что ловить нечего», — подумал он и произнес: — Вера Игоревна, вы можете объяснить? В документах чего-то не хватает?

— Какие документы? Вы мне морочите голову уже сколько времени!

Борис заметил, как в соседнем кабинете притихли водители и медленно подтягиваются к кабинету, где Вера все повышала голос.

— Так, я правда не понимаю, что происходит.

— Вы все понимаете. Я тут перед вами унижалась по-дурацки, а у вас, оказывается, дома женщина ждет.

— Ну, мне, конечно, очень жаль, но мы с вами никогда не обсуждали личную жизнь друг друга, с чего бы я вам рассказывал, кто у меня дома?

— У вас нет порядочности. Это в паспорте не указано. Вы ее обманываете, меня обманули.

— Знаете что… Я никого не обманывал и ничего вам не обещал. И вообще, с чего вы меня в чем-то обвиняете?

— Я на вас время потратила, а вы… А у вас…

Борис вышел из кабинета и направился к своей машине. До Нового года оставалось не так много времени, и он не хотел встречать праздник за баранкой. Он медленно выехал на трассу.

Борис всегда любил свою работу. Большой грузовик, трасса, мелькающие города и поселки. Только на трассе он чувствовал себя на месте. Не нравилась только зима: и дорога не та, и машина управлялась хуже.

Через несколько часов стемнело, и он остановился на большой стоянке, где кроме него стояло еще с десяток таких же грузовиков. Он прикинул, что идет по графику, и можно отдохнуть и набраться сил. Перебрался в спальник, лег и погрузился в раздумья.

«И правда, почему мы с Галей не поженились?»

Борис и Галина были вместе уже больше десяти лет. Когда они познакомились, он был уверен, что штамп в паспорте ничего не меняет. Он вообще был разочарован в женщинах и серьезных отношениях на тот момент. Но Галя была не такая, как те, с кем он встречался раньше. Она изменила его взгляды, но на брак он так и не решился. Галя хотела, но не требовала. Он был уверен, что со штампом потеряет что-то важное, ценное, то, на чем держался их союз.

«Интересно, если бы мы поженились, прожили бы мы столько вместе? И если для нее это так важно, почему она не говорит о свадьбе? Блин. Кажется, старею, раз всякую философскую хрень думаю».

Борис понял, что не спится, и потянулся к телефону. Быстро набрал номер и услышал в трубке встревоженный голос Галины.

— Боря, как ты? Что-то случилось?

— Привет, нет, извини. — Он глянул на часы и понял, что уже почти два ночи. — Просто давно голоса твоего не слышал.

— Я жду тебя, — тихо и спокойно ответила она. — Скорее возвращайся.

— Ладно, спокойной ночи.

Борис повесил трубку и моментально уснул.

Поездка прошла спокойно. Он был свободен и с радостью понял, что успевает к празднику домой. Ехать оставалось несколько часов, и ему хотелось поскорее попасть в тепло и уют домашнего очага, поэтому он решил не задерживаться. До рассвета оставалось еще несколько часов, но ему не сиделось на месте, и он выехал на трассу.

Как всегда, за окном замелькали поселки, и колеса наматывали километр за километром. В предрассветный час на дороге не было машин, поэтому он ехал без задержек. Проехал очередную деревню и минут через десять заметил на обочине что-то. Сбросил скорость и, подъехав ближе, понял, что это женщина, а точнее, старая бабушка. Она не заметила огромный грузовик, проехавший всего в метре от нее, даже не вздрогнула.

Борис слышал, что дальнобойщики часто встречают случайных пешеходов или желающих уйти из жизни под колесами. Но в этой бабушке он не увидел ни страха, ни отчаяния. Она словно шла по улице по своим делам. Он, сам не понимая почему, замедлил ход и остановился. Через пару минут бабушка догнала грузовик, и он вышел.

— Здравствуйте. Что вы тут делаете в такое время? Ночью опасно ходить по дорогам…

A TRUCK DRIVER PICKED UP AN OLD WOMAN ON THE ROAD WHO HAD ESCAPED FROM A NURSING HOME IN SEARCH OF HER SON.

“Borislav!”

Borya recoiled. He loathed being addressed by his full name. All his colleagues knew him as Borya and never employed the formal version. Whoever had just called him must have glimpsed his passport.

Borya spun around. In the doorway stood Vera Igorevna, the accountant. She had been employed at the company for a mere handful of months and had been pursuing Boris from the outset, yet even she had never used that appellation. The man attempted to mask his irritation, but evidently, he was unsuccessful, for the woman was practically snarling with fury.

— Vera Igorevna, is something amiss?

— What — no? Are you suggesting everything is in order?

“She must have seen the passport, realized her advances were futile,” he mused, and articulated: — Vera Igorevna, could you elucidate? Is there something deficient in the documents?

— What documents? You’ve been leading me on for who knows how long!

Boris perceived how the drivers in the adjoining office had fallen silent and were cautiously ambling toward the office where Vera’s voice was escalating.

— Look, I genuinely don’t comprehend what is transpiring.

— You comprehend everything. I’ve been abasing myself before you like a fool, and it turns out you have a woman awaiting you at home.

— Well, I am, of course, regretful, but we have never discussed each other’s private lives, so why would I inform you about who is at my residence?

— You possess no decency. It’s not inscribed in your passport. You are deceiving her, you deceived me.

— You know what… I haven’t deceived anyone and I never pledged you anything. And moreover, why are you even accusing me of anything?

— I squandered my time on you, and you… And you have…

Boris exited the office and proceeded towards his vehicle. There wasn’t much time remaining until New Year’s, and he was disinclined to spend the holiday behind the wheel. He slowly merged onto the highway.

Boris had always cherished his occupation. A colossal truck, the open road, the fleeting towns and hamlets. Solely on the road did he feel truly in his element. It was only winter he detested: the road was transformed, and the vehicle handled less responsively.

A few hours later, dusk descended, and he halted at a sizable parking area, where, alongside him, there were approximately a dozen trucks of similar ilk. He calculated that he was adhering to schedule and had time to repose and replenish his strength. He relocated to the sleeper compartment, reclined, and drifted into contemplation.

“Indeed, why haven’t Galya and I solemnized our union?”

Boris and Galina had been together for over a decade. When they initially met, he was convinced that a stamp in a passport altered nothing. He was generally disillusioned with women and committed relationships at that juncture. But Galya was dissimilar to others he had encountered previously. She shifted his perspectives, but he never resolved to marry. Galya desired it, but did not demand it. He was certain that with a stamp, he would forfeit something vital, precious, something upon which their bond was predicated.

“I wonder, had we married, would we have remained together for such an extended duration? And if it is of such significance to her, why does she not broach the subject of matrimony? Damn. Seems I am aging, contemplating all this philosophical drivel.”

Boris discerned he could not sleep, and reached for his telephone. He swiftly dialed a number and heard Galina’s anxious voice on the line.

— Borya, how are you? Is something amiss?

— Hello, no, pardon me. — He glanced at the clock and realized it was almost two in the morning. — I simply hadn’t heard your voice in a long while.

— I am awaiting you, — she responded softly and calmly. — Return soon.

— Alright, good night.

Boris terminated the call and succumbed to sleep instantly.

The journey progressed uneventfully. He was unencumbered and happily realized he would arrive home for the holiday. Only a few hours of driving remained, and he yearned to reach the warmth and comfort of home, so he resolved not to tarry. Dawn was still several hours away, but he was restless, so he embarked on the road.

As per usual, villages flickered past the window, and the wheels devoured mile after mile. In the pre-dawn hours, there were no vehicles on the road, thus he proceeded without impediment. He traversed another village and approximately ten minutes later noticed something on the roadside. He decelerated, and upon approaching closer, he ascertained it was a woman, or more precisely, an elderly grandmother. She did not observe the massive truck, passing merely a meter from her, she did not even flinch.

Boris had heard that truckers frequently encounter random pedestrians or those who aspire to depart life beneath their wheels. But in this grandmother, he perceived neither fear nor despair. It was as if she were strolling down the thoroughfare on her own errands. He, himself not comprehending why, slowed down and ceased motion. A couple of minutes later, the grandmother caught up with the truck, and he alighted.

— Greetings. What are you doing here at this hour? It is perilous to walk on roadways at night…— Greetings. What are you doing here at this hour? It is perilous to walk on roadways at night…

The old woman looked up at him, her eyes a hazy blue. “I need to find my son, Valery. He lives far away, but I must find him.”

“Valery? Do you know where he lives? A city, a town?” Boris asked gently.

The woman shook her head, confusion clouding her features. “He promised to visit, but he hasn’t come. They won’t let me leave the house, but I have to find him.”

Boris realized she was likely disoriented. “Where is this house you are talking about?”

“The… the place with the flowers. They feed us, but I need to see Valery.”

He surmised she had wandered away from a nursing home. “Get in, grandma. It’s cold. I’ll take you to the next town, and we’ll call the police. They can help you find your son and take you back to the ‘house with flowers’.”

The old woman hesitated, then nodded slowly and allowed Boris to help her into the cab. He turned on the heater and offered her some water.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, her voice trembling. “You are very kind.”

As they drove, the woman began to talk more coherently. She told him about her son, Valery, a musician who lived in a distant city. She spoke of his talent, his kindness, and her unwavering love for him. Boris listened patiently, his heart touched by her story.

Arriving in the next town, Boris contacted the local police. They confirmed that an elderly woman had been reported missing from a nearby nursing home. While waiting for the police to arrive, he bought her a warm pastry and a cup of tea.

When the officers arrived, they recognized the woman immediately. They thanked Boris for his help and assured him that they would take her back to the nursing home and contact her son, Valery.

As the police car pulled away, Boris felt a pang of sadness. He thought of his own mother, long gone, and of Galya waiting for him at home. The old woman’s desperate search for her son had stirred something within him.

He continued his journey, his thoughts preoccupied with Galya. He replayed the conversation with Vera Igorevna and the earlier phone call with Galya over and over in his mind. He kept hearing, “I’m waiting for you, return quickly.” He knew he had to stop hesitating and commit to Galya fully.

He drove straight home, without stopping for another break. The moment he walked through the door, Galya rushed into his arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

“I have something to ask you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He released her slightly, looked into her eyes, and knelt. “Galya, will you marry me?”

Tears streamed down Galya’s face as she nodded, unable to speak. Boris stood, slipped a ring onto her finger, and pulled her into another embrace.

Later that evening, after they had celebrated with a simple dinner, Boris received a phone call from the police. Valery, the old woman’s son, had been contacted and was on his way to see her. The police thanked Boris again for his kindness.

Boris hung up the phone and turned to Galya. “Sometimes,” he said, “it takes seeing someone else’s love to understand what’s truly important in your own life.” He took her hand, “I’m so glad I found my way home.”