Old Chisinau is that, unique aura which always distinguished this place from all other on the earth. Bunarestiria-Telimana-Blagoveshenscaia street my native. As the person who has grown in historical quarters of my city, since a youth I half in jest named myself "old citizen of Chisinau". And recently it was convinced, that this proud rank I can already carry without any inverted commas. And not only on age. Kishinev.
Has called familiar, by the way, managing chair of one of capital universities, and bombarded with questions:
- Where there was an Ilinsky market? Whether there is still a monument to Michael Orlovu and where exactly? Whether the truth, what Pushkin a hill was called before as mountain Inzovoj? Etc., etc.
It is necessary to tell, that earlier I willingly acquainted friends coming from apart with old small streets of Kishinev. Now, I feel, has come it is time to drive excursions for inhabitants of capital. In it for a long time numerous tourist bureaus already are engaged. But in slow walk in a narrow circle there is a charm. Besides there is a possibility to tell not only about loud events and persons, but also повспоминать my favourite neighbours along the street.
Madam Petrov living through road. Infinitely kind aunt Zina Balanesku and aunt Zina Zolotko. Artist Andrey Bajlo hard of hearing, whose son Victor, a companion of my children's games, became now the known lawyer. Noble old woman Galina Aleksandrovna Fedorova who wrote down verses in two-cheap school writing-books, and on these pages I, the pupil of the Soviet atheism, has seen for the first time a word "God" from a capital letter.
Бунарестиря - Тельмана - Blagoveshchensk - this street connects Pushkin a hill with the Blagoveshchensk church where there was great poet A.Pushkin.
And still there were my girl-friends Shurka Gangursky and the Squirrel Borshchansky, in whose Jewish families always there was a plate of soup for early deserted girl. And still there was lame a neighbour, I do not remember whose name. But memory has kept the trophy German accordion, which hot bellows it stretched, when in all length of quarter celebratory tables were built, and people took out to it simple house snack.
In days of my childhood the street carried, God knows why, a name of German communist Ernest Telmana. Before and after that was called as Blagoveshchensk. Also conducted to that "Бунавестире" - churches where me christened, and there was a film studio warehouse where on domes there was a cross where we with sister ordered requiem on mum and where two without small centuries ago there was Pushkin later.
Hills in the winter we moved down from Pushkin on санках. Those who are more younger, - from the middle. The most brave went down from an upper part, moreover and on "fish-peshte", that is laying on a stomach. The mountain seems now enough flat, and earlier - ух!
Here I went to school (then Э 36, now Э 85). And if to get through a fence, it was possible to dig an apricot from trees of an old garden which, probably, surrounded once that house of boyar Donicha in which lived Инзов. The fence fenced a zone where there were towers-mufflers. They suppressed, apparently, "enemy voices", now, as superfluous, are dismantled. Before collars ferro-concrete designs among which we have tasted for the first time a forbidden fruit - the Bulgarian cigarettes "БТ" have eternally been combined. Quite often here horses classical биндюжника as which the father of my schoolmate Mishi Vertuna worked were grazed.
Class in the seventh Bear has mortally fallen in love in Олю Горенышеву, the daughter of the known sculptor, Nikolay Mihajlovicha, the author of a bust Dmitry Kantemira in Avenue of classics. They lived in "the house of artists" near to our school, their children sat at one school desks with магальскими. Оля there was an honours pupil inclined to the exact sciences, Мишу has rejected and her younger sister has made brilliant scientific career, and, Lena Горенышева, to pleasure of the father, became the artist.
Recently has learnt, that Michael Vertun, having visited all possible distant abroad, has returned to native Penates and has bought apartment in the new prestigious house in the neighbourhood with Моара Рошие - the Red Mill. This monument of industrial architecture for safety is twisted now by iron cables. And I remember, how the mill worked, and all districts has been covered by the most thin flour pollen.
In the same house there lives also other my schoolmate, Ося Вайсман, grown a stone's throw away from here, near to house Кацики where during Pushkin times there was Masonic lodge "Овидий". Now publishing house "Litera" there settles down, and before a building there is a monument to Decembrist Michael Orlovu which has based the first sealing wax factory in Kishinev and has opened ланкастерские schools for soldiers and corporals, promoting formation of the bottom ranks from Moldavians.
And the Ilinsky market on which place the Academy of economic knowledge rises nowadays, was my haven since six mornings to eight when it was necessary to go to a kindergarten, and in a year - in school. In the market my mum because I, because of a children's tuberculosis, needed the strengthened food worked.
The wonderful world southern базарчика! Such it, likely, was and during Pushkin times. Hay lots, hubbub of chickens, the big flanks to which neighbouring drunks were pulled together since morning before all - to take a wine glass "on test", that is is free. In mysterious weight grey-haired дядечка put me on scales, then wrote out a piece of paper with sickly kgs and gave me twenty sound copecks. Huge riches on that time (the salary at mum made 36 roubles)! And I left with feeling that has made business of the state importance for which money pays. There have passed years before the girl has grown and has guessed, that the old man regretted mum, in second time remained the widow with two small children on hands, and in such anonymous image was engaged in charity.
Blagoveshchensk, it Тельмана, has been paved by an ancient cobble-stone. Then it have asphalted, but from under growing bare asphalt all the same stone blocks which has not grown old absolutely not continually got out. And I feel these layers of times when I come back here under a foot and with grief I pass by a court yard with number "5" where I have inhaled for the first time the unique Kishinev air sung, after Alexander Sergeevichem, our fellow countryman, poet Dovidom the Whip.