My student years. Polygraphic Institute

After passing the exams for grades 10-11 as an external student, I entered the Polygraphic Institute. Why there? Because they accepted me without exams, from which I was very tired, because it was not far from the institute, only three kilometers, which I walked, because drawing was taught at the printing institute. And I entered the art department. I dreamed of the Surikov Art Institute, but it required training, which I did not have. And it was a long way to get there, because during the war the streets were not illuminated, transport ran poorly, weakness from constant malnutrition made itself felt. In the printing school, I enthusiastically listened to a course of lectures on world history. And the teacher of drawing and painting (watercolor) soon paid attention to me. It happened like this.

In the last days of August, in the morning, I felt that my brother Kolya, who was already at the front, was quickly approaching my bed and passing further. Through my sleep I heard the words: "I was in battle, and I went out, and I am alive, and I will never die..." I woke up with the feeling that my brother was there with me. I told my parents about this dream, but I did not convey the words "I will never die" to them. Dad and mom were happy to sleep with me, as they believed that the Lord would save Kolya. Letters from him were still coming. But I felt that they would soon be gone. The news of Kolya's death came, and on the fortieth day we held his funeral service. Our friends, many members of the "Marosey" circle, gathered at our home. They sang quietly and touchingly. Preparing for the wake, I was at the market. In October, it was difficult to find flowers, but I still bought carnations with juniper greens. I put this modest bouquet at the icons, as if on the grave of my brother. I wanted to capture this bouquet forever, and I painted a still life in watercolor: a blue jug, a window curtain, farewell evening light falling on flowers and twigs. When I was writing, I felt the grace-filled breath of Kolya's soul — after all, these were his flowers.

When the teacher saw this still life, he gasped and froze. Apparently, his soul felt the presence of grace in my work. Now, when I write a lot in my old age, I appreciate the first impression of the viewer, when he sometimes involuntarily bursts out: "Ah!"

Teacher Koshevoy told me: "You don't belong here. You need to take up painting seriously. And here we will work only with watercolors." From then on, he paid special attention to me, constantly sending me to learn how to paint in oil. At the end of the second semester, Koshevoy helped me to go back to high school, but this time to the art school, where in high school they painted in oil. I gladly parted with the company of students, among whom I was like a black sheep. I didn't have any intimate friends, I didn't go to the parties and generally avoided society in every possible way. We were taught military science: the ability to shoot, clean weapons, be on duty at night... All theoretical subjects in my record were passed with "A", but I could not disassemble and assemble PPD or PPSh assault rifles piece by piece (I was so weak that I could hardly lift weapons). And on night duty, the students had such immoral conversations that one of them warned me:

"Oh, Natasha! What a terrible night it was, what I have not heard. As if they spat on my soul. Watch out – it's waiting for you too!

And the students looked at us with a snide smile, saying:

"Now only Natasha is left unenlightened, but we will get to her.

But the Lord saved me – I left the institute.

I spent another year in secondary school, prompting the guys to take a long course of sciences and not yet forgotten. Only the noble old physicist exempted me from attending his lessons, and I had to sit out the rest. But all summer long I diligently painted and painted. And in 1946 I entered the Stroganov Art Institute, where I worked for the first semester in the library.

In the Stroganov School, I found myself in a completely different type of environment. There were also girls, but mostly disabled war veterans: without a leg, without an eye, with one arm, etc. Teachers treated them with respect, as heroes. I still kept to myself, did not get close to anyone. For some reason, everyone was shy of me, shunned me. Sometimes, I would enter the studio before classes, where everyone was seated for work, go up to a group of students for a chair - they would immediately fall silent, look at each other meaningfully: "Girl! Be careful, guys." I hurry away so as not to disturb their conversation. During the working day, there is no time to talk, during the break you only have time to fold the inventory and move to another classroom. And I did not go to the evenings held in honor of the "celebrations". Once on New Year's Eve I was at the institute: music was blaring, guests appeared - the military, girls in the hall were dancing, everything around was hung with paper lanterns and other decorations, somewhere they were treating... "How good, how fun!" - my friends exulted, running past me. And I stood against the wall, as if I were a stranger, I also wanted to dance, but I did not know how, and no one invited me. Some kind of melancholy filled my heart, and it was embarrassing to pray here, because it was the Nativity Lent, the war, and I had come to have fun. The voice of conscience prevailed - I put on my coat and left. Oh, how beautiful this frosty starry dark night seemed to me! Empty, quiet streets, and I was alone. But God is with me, and it is so gratifying to pray to him. What happiness!

Father Isaiah's Prophecy

When I was eighteen years old, that is, in 1944, the Lord vouchsafed me once again to receive a blessing from Father Isaiah. The Eggert girls were still friends with us. Once they appeared in our wonderful crepe de chine blouses. We have never seen such elegant embroidery, such delicate finishing. My mother expressed a desire for me to get the same blouse. "Please," was the answer, "let Natasha go to our dressmakers herself, choose her color and style. Their cooperative is near Moscow, we will give you the address and warn the tailors about your arrival."