The father thanked the Georgian and followed his advice. The train arrived in Moscow at about ten o'clock in the evening. It was a frosty winter, my mother and I were waiting for the train on the platform, because we received a telegram from my father with the number of his car. The locomotive puffed, the train stopped. And the first person to jump out of the car was my dear daddy. I threw myself on his neck, but he (for the first time in my life) immediately pulled me aside, nodded to my mother and walked quickly, almost running, along the platform. My mother and I, dumbfounded by his haste, could hardly keep up with him. We flew into the first tram we came across, looked around and took a breath. The half-empty carriage rattled and set off. Then dad whispered: "Thank God! It seems that we are alone, they are not persecuting me."

In those years, parents had to carefully hide their beliefs. The icons stood in a bookcase or behind a curtain. Parents were afraid to go even to distant churches. Several churches where we used to go were closed, priests who visited our house were arrested. The remaining priests went into hiding and secretly performed services in the apartments of their spiritual children.

Father and mother went somewhere, not to mention even us, and sometimes some strangers gathered in our apartment for worship. It was solemn and mysterious. The day before, we cleaned, discussed lunch, cooked. We were warned, asked to be serious and not to tell anyone anything. We missed school that day.

Father was located in my father's study. Even before dawn, his orphaned spiritual children hurried to him for confession. In the dark narrow corridor near the door of the office, crying old women crowded, and my mother was careful to unlock the door itself, letting in only those who were expected. In the morning, a liturgy was served, during which they sang like mosquitoes buzzing. They spoke to each other only in whispers, looked at each other meaningfully, sobbed and sighed deeply. We, children, looked at all this with surprise, but I soon succumbed to the general mood, confessed with tears and a broken heart, and recognized myself as a great sinner. Seryozha grumbled under his breath, Kolya remained calm and cheerful. Since the beginning of the war, these secret services have ceased in our country. We were temporarily relocated to another house, many of our friends were evacuated, some men were drafted into the army. And there was no need for secrecy. Arrests for the faith stopped, only those ardent people who did not want to join the Orthodox Church, headed by Patriarch Sergius, were "taken". I know of only two such cases since the beginning of the war, when the seminarian Dudko (the future famous priest) and the priest Ioann Krestyankin, who dared to openly gather a circle of believers, were arrested "for politics." Later, Father John became a great elder-confessor. In these years, even the "Mechevites" began to go to the Church of the Holy Prophet Elijah - Obydensky. Believers began to "breathe easier." Icons were openly hung at home. But the authorities still remained irreconcilable with the Church, all seventy years trying to extinguish the faith in the people, but by other means. This will be discussed later.

School

I entered school immediately in the second grade, since at home I was already taught to read and write well. At the age of nine, I still had an open and cheerful character, I easily gained authority in the class and was a prefect for two years. The teacher was often late for the first lesson. Then I took her place and told the children various fairy tales and stories that I remembered from the books I read. And these fascinating books were brought to me from the Lenin Library by my aunt Zinaida Evgrafovna. The Kingdom of Heaven to her! How it brightened up our lives! Sometimes, all day long you dream about those quiet hours of the evening when your homework is already done and you can huddle in a corner with a book in your hands. Feni-more Cooper in children's presentation, Charskaya, Zhelikhovskaya, translated literature from English, French, German - all in luxurious editions, with many color illustrations. All this delighted even my mother, who said: "Well, such a publication was for the children of the royal family! We didn't see anything like this in childhood." Of course, my head was filled to capacity, and I really wanted to share my impressions of what I had read with someone. I gave Kolya these books to read, we sometimes discussed something together, but he soon became interested in Jules Verne, science fiction, and then literature for young people. Thanks to my brother: he helped me to keep my spiritual purity.

So far, until the age of twelve, when I replaced the absent teacher, the children listened to me attentively and with great interest. One day, the school principal, walking along the corridor and hearing noise and hum everywhere in the classrooms, was surprised by the dead silence that reigned in the fourth "A" grade. He stopped at the door and listened. Only one child's voice was heard. The principal entered the classroom and was amazed at the exciting attention with which all forty-two heads listened to their classmate. Yes, I spoke figuratively, as if I was drawing a picture of a forest, mountains, a picture of the suffering or feat of my hero. I was completely immersed in the world I was experiencing, I was carried away myself and carried the children away so that the lesson passed unnoticed. "When will you tell me next?" the children asked me and shouted: "Hooray! The teacher fell ill. Natasha will continue to tell at the third lesson!"

But as the years passed, I became different, and the children turned into teenagers and changed... Among them, a boy who was possessed by an evil spirit stood out. Frederick, that was his name, heard a voice in his soul that he often could not resist. This boy deftly disrupted discipline in the classroom, the guys began to laugh, and the teachers lost their temper. I also often burst into laughter, not yet understanding who was directing Friedka's behavior. The class teacher often moved us from place to place, wanting to break up fun companies.

Once I was seated next to Friedka. In fact, I knew how to get along with boys better than with girls, since I grew up at home with my brothers, and I had no sisters. I prompted Friedrich to mathematician, tried to help him, behaved with him simply, but still listened attentively to the teachers and did not delve into Friedrich's conversations. And he continued to keep in touch with his comrades and spun around even more than before, sending notes, agreeing on something, etc. Once he said to me: "Natasha, I have nothing against you, we seem to be friends... But I am tormented by a voice that I often hear. I don't hear with my ears, but as if someone inside me says to me: "Stab her with a knife!" I have no grudge against you, and I do not obey this voice, but I am afraid that one day I will not restrain myself and stab you, this voice sometimes overwhelms me too much. Ask your mother, Natasha, let her tell the teachers to sit you and me away from each other."

I told my mother everything on the same day, and the next day we were seated...

At that time, I took communion five or six times a year, drank holy water in the morning, wore a cross, and prayed. And the presence of God's grace infuriated the poor possessed boy. And the class danced to his tune. What kind of pranks the guys did not do! One day they conspired to throw all the inkwells out of the window so that there would be nothing to write the test scheduled for that day. And now the asphalt courtyard of the school was covered with splashes from shattered porcelain inkwells. There was a scandal, parents were summoned. I was no longer the head of the class then, I ran away from the children so as not to participate in their pranks. I could not stop them, because the concepts of conscience, sin, honor, morality, religion, and the word "God" were forbidden in our country at that time. Being at school in a non-religious society, having read secular literature, I fell morally. The concept of "pride" was extolled at that time, especially in the works of Lydia Charskaya, which I was fond of. Not yet recognizing this sin, I exalted my soul above other children. I considered it beneath my dignity to get involved with the guys. I did not react to their jokes, tried to avoid their company, silently left. I did not allow them to copy my tasks, selfishly wanting to stand out and get an excellent grade. And at home, I despised my brother Seryozha, reprimanding him for his greed, when he reluctantly gave me his eraser or blotting paper. So my character changed in a bad way, I was no longer loved in the class, and I did not need the sympathy of mischievous children.

At school, I was not particularly friendly with anyone, but resisted evil as best I could. We had an old teacher with a small beard. It was unfashionable at the time, and he was nicknamed "Goatbeard." Fyodor Fyodorovich (that was his name) was quiet, reserved, and only strict people were feared. The old man was bullied and once arranged for him to fall. A broken chair was folded, barely standing on the legs put up to it. Knowing the usual manners of Fyodor Fyodorovich, they put this chair in the break and waited for fun. I pretended not to notice anything, I was busy with my books. The teacher came in and, as usual, resting both hands on the table, looked around the class, unusually quiet and alert at that moment. Then I jumped up from the front desk where I was sitting, crumpled up the old book wrappers with my hands, as if I was angry with them for their dirt and tears. As if not noticing that the lesson had already begun and the teacher was already standing, I resolutely walked with a lump of paper to the urn in the corner. On the way, I ran into a chair, which immediately fell apart. I made a surprised grimace and slowly lowered the paper into the trash can. The teacher looked around, asked who the duty officer was, and asked him to bring a sturdy chair. In the classroom, someone barked in annoyance, someone breathed a sigh of relief, many began to talk about something. The lesson began. During the break, I was asked:

"Natasha, are you on purpose?"