DatsoPic 2.0 2009 by Andrey Datso

Bella Akhmadulina is a rare, stunning, remarkable phenomenon in Russian poetry. Her poetry is masculinely strong, her poetic talent is exceptional, and her mind is impeccable. She is recognizable in every line, it is impossible to confuse her with anyone ...

Bella Akhmadulina was born on April 10, 1937 in the city of Moscow. Her father was a deputy minister - Akhat Valeevich Akhmadulin, a Tatar by nationality, and her mother was a translator of Russian-Italian origin. It is not surprising that the intelligent environment that reigns in the family contributed to the development of creativity in Bella.

She began to publish at school, by the age of fifteen, having found her own creative style, she was engaged in a literary circle. Therefore, when the question arose of where to go to study after school, the decision was made unambiguous - only the Literary Institute. True, she was expelled from him for some time, when the poetess refused to support the persecution directed against Boris Pasternak, but the official reason for her expulsion was an unsatisfactory assessment on the subject of Marxism-Leninism. Then, at the institute, she was restored and graduated in 1960, and in the same year she gained some fame thanks to her numerous poetry performances at Luzhniki, Moscow University and the Polytechnic Museum. She, along with her comrades in the shop, with Andrei Voznesensky, with Yevgeny Yevtushenko, (she was married to him from 1955 to 1958) with Robert Rozhdestvensky gathered unthinkable audiences. True, Bella wrote her most famous poem "On my street, what year ..." back in 1959, when she was only twenty-two years old. Subsequently, Mikael Tariverdiev (1975) will write wonderful music for these poems, and this romance will sound in the cult Soviet film by Eldar Ryazanov "The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath!"

The first collection of the poetess "String" was published in 1962. In 1964 Bella Akhatovna became a film actress, starring in the film "Such a guy lives" by Vasily Shukshin, where she played the role of a journalist. This film was awarded the Golden Lion Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. Then another film work followed - in the film "Sports, Sports, Sports" in 1970. In the same 1970th year, another collection of poems by Akhmadulina - "Music Lessons" was published. Then followed: "Poems" (1975), "Snowstorm" (1977), "Candle" (1977), "Mystery" (1983), "Garden" (1989). The latter was awarded the USSR State Prize.

Akhmadulina was the first wife of Yevgeny Yevtushenko, and later the wife of Yuri Nagibin. From the son of the Balkar classic Kaysyn Kuliev - Eldar Kuliev in 1973, she gave birth to a daughter, Elizabeth.

A huge place in the poetess's heart was occupied by Georgia, which Akhmadulina visited in the seventies, and which she fell in love with with all her heart. Bella translated the poems of Georgian poets: G. Tabidze, N. Baratashvili and I. Abashidze, trying to convey the beauty of their words, their incredible lyricism to Russian-speaking readers. In 1974, she married Boris Messerer, and this was her fourth marriage.

Daughter Elizaveta Kulieva, like her mother, graduated from the Literary Institute.

The second daughter, Anna, graduated from the Polygraphic Institute, designs books as an illustrator.

In 1979, the poetess took part in the creation of the literary anthology "Metropol". The almanac was uncensored, which corresponded to the freedom-loving spirit of Akhmadulina. She has repeatedly supported the disgraced Soviet dissident authors: Vladimir Voinovich, Lev Kopelov, Andrei Sakharov, Georgy Vladimirov. She published statements in their defense in The New York Times, and her speeches were broadcast on Voice of America and Radio Liberty. The poetess died in 2010, on the twenty-ninth of November. In recent years, according to her husband, Bella Akhatovna was very sick, almost blind and moved by touch, but the spirit of this extraordinary woman was not broken. She did not like to reproduce in her lyrics the story of spiritual sorrow and suffering, but she often pointed to them, she understood the underlying basis of being: "Do not cry for me ... I will live!"

Interview with Bella Akhmadulina's daughter Elizaveta Kuliyeva: "The one who is alone cannot be counted."

April 10 is the first birthday of Bella Akhmadulina, celebrated without her. After she left. The poet, who was “dictated from heaven to a task,” would have turned 74. A year ago, at about the same time, Bella Akhatovna and I agreed to make a book of conversations. Because of problems with her eyes, Akhmadulina has not written for a long time, but to tell - oh, there was something to tell! She was enthusiastic and in great shape. Impatiently, on the phone, she began to talk about what was intended for the book. Then she fell ill ... Now everything that is associated with the name of Akhmadulina seems especially precious. In Liza Kulieva, an unassuming resemblance to her mother is not immediately striking. But - some turn of the head, suddenly the same voice modulation, laughter - and for a moment in front of you like Bella, not repeated (who would dare to encroach on this!), But who passed on to the youngest daughter what she herself called "the meta of our unity" ... Today Elizaveta Kulieva in an exclusive interview with NG tells what her mother and her sister Anna were like in life.

- Several years ago, in an interview with the magazine, Bella Akhatovna called her love for you meek and added that, apart from this feeling, it does not help you in anything else. How much is Bella Akhmadulina's meek love?

“I’ll try to explain what, according to my feelings, meek love in my mother’s understanding is. As a child, she herself suffered from the stifling love that is characteristic of many parents. This is such an overabundance of feelings, overwhelming overprotectiveness. Grandmother was a very energetic, strong-willed person. Probably, her desire to penetrate all the nooks and crannies of her daughter's existence frightened her mother, especially considering the unusual nature of her nature, the subtlety of her psyche, the need to be alone with her thoughts.

Mom did not have enough personal space, she felt heightened care as evil. Therefore, she was always afraid to press on us with her love, she tried to give the children more air. In her case, gentle love implied very strong feelings, but with a minimum of obvious gaze. Mom, completely consciously, clearly formulating for herself, gave us considerable freedom.

April 10 is the first birthday of Bella Akhmadulina, celebrated without her. After she left. The poet, who was “dictated from heaven to a task,” would have turned 74. A year ago, at about the same time, Bella Akhatovna and I agreed to make a book of conversations. Because of problems with her eyes, Akhmadulina has not written for a long time, but to tell - oh, there was something to tell! She was enthusiastic and in great shape. Impatiently, on the phone, she began to talk about what was intended for the book. Then she fell ill ... Now everything that is associated with the name of Akhmadulina seems especially precious. In Liza Kulieva, an unassuming resemblance to her mother is not immediately striking. But - some turn of the head, suddenly the same voice modulation, laughter - and for a moment in front of you like Bella, not repeated (who would dare to encroach on this!), But who passed on to the youngest daughter what she herself called "the meta of our unity" ... Today Elizaveta Kulieva in an exclusive interview with NG tells what her mother and her sister Anna were like in life.

- Several years ago, in an interview with a magazine that we published, Bella Akhatovna called her love for you meek and added that, apart from this feeling, she does not help you in anything. How much is Bella Akhmadulina's meek love?

“I’ll try to explain what, according to my feelings, meek love in my mother’s understanding is. As a child, she herself suffered from the stifling love that is characteristic of many parents. This is such an overabundance of feelings, overwhelming overprotectiveness. Grandmother was a very energetic, strong-willed person. Probably, her desire to penetrate all the nooks and crannies of her daughter's existence frightened her mother, especially considering the unusual nature of her nature, the subtlety of her psyche, the need to be alone with her thoughts.

Mom did not have enough personal space, she felt heightened care as evil. Therefore, she was always afraid to press on us with her love, she tried to give the children more air. In her case, gentle love implied very strong feelings, but with a minimum of obvious gaze. Mom, completely consciously, clearly formulating for herself, gave us considerable freedom.

- And said it aloud?

- Directly - no. I never complained: as a child I was forced into pressure ... But from her behavior, habits, how she valued her own solitude, respected ours, in general, any person, this could be understood.

And "assisted - did not contribute" is a separate topic. Anya and I, my sister, grew up in a specific atmosphere. A dacha in the village of writers, a literary house near the Aeroport metro station ... Everywhere we were surrounded by whining, spoiled, dependent “writers' kids”. Already in childhood, with an adult sarcasm, I called them that, picking up an expression from my mother. This is the rejection of any kind of cronyism, connections, use of the fame of parents - she has articulated more than once. It seemed to her ashamed to "enter" the children in the institute, to somehow attach them. You can't, you can't, you can't. Mom was absolutely right. We ourselves decided who we would be, we ourselves dealt with our institutions. Now I am even proud that I never clung to my mother's name.

- The idea of ​​"looking after the heavens" has repeatedly arisen in the poems of Bella Akhmadulina. Do you think that now she herself is keeping you from heaven? Protects from various misfortunes "two girls soiled with raspberries"?

- My sister and I are both believers, although in different ways. Anya is inclined to Orthodoxy, Hinduism is closer to me. I would rather believe in reincarnation than in the fact that my mother is looking at us from heaven. No, I cannot imagine that she is sitting somewhere on a cloud. In my opinion, after death a person ceases to be himself, but his energy remains. Everything, probably, remains, flowing into some other quality.

- What does the physical absence of your mother mean to you - regardless of the fact that she is a great poet? Or is everything so intertwined that even for you one cannot be separated from the other?

- It's been only a few months since my mother passed away, and now we just feel a gaping hole in the place of the heart. It seems to me that another six months or a year will pass and I will understand: mother is in everything in the world, around. I feel it flowing into me, into Anka, into every surrounding thing ... It will be so. In the meantime, her physical absence is a failure, a huge void. And the fact that my mother is a great poet is how we learned well from childhood to separate one from the other. Anya and I do not feel like the children of the great poet, but the children of our mother. And yet we know that she is a great poet. For us, this is not at all woven. And it would be foolish to live, constantly keeping in mind that you are like ... the crown prince.

I was little (about six or seven years old) when, after a poetry evening in a huge hall, an unfamiliar woman with bulging eyes ran up to me and shouted: "Do you know that your mother is great ?!" I did not understand what she wanted from me, but instinctively I grasped a certain secret, even drama. For the first time, people indirectly conveyed to my consciousness: my mother belongs not only to me and Anya. Of course, I saw: she stands on the stage, utters beautiful, incomprehensible words, heard admiring applause, but I did not know how to pair all this with someone else's aunt who had jumped out from somewhere. I didn’t know how, and all the same I was frightened: something could steal our mother from us.

A kind of confirmation is the story that Anya Feigina, the daughter of the artist Moisey Feigina, reminded me the other day. She is like a close relative to us - as a child, she was often left with her. At about the same time, I asked Anya: "Are you famous?" She decided that the loud Akhmaduli glory had managed to spoil me. She replied: “Do you know me? And Anya? And Bella? " I nodded. "Well, then, famous." That is, she perceived my curiosity as wrong, offensive. But now I understand that I meant something else. Apparently, she was worried, suspecting: what if Anya Feigina is also famous? Then she can be stolen too?

Your question, if you look at it, is both conceptual and very personal. My sister and I were discussing something similar just at night. I don’t know about the children of other celebrities; our mother is definitely in the first place. On the day of the funeral, some people, coming up to me, said: “Lizochka, we condole. The genius poet is gone. " What does the poet have to do with it? I lost my mother. Bella Akhmadulina will remain in Russian literature. And mom will be gone.

- Bella Akhatovna spent her last months with you in Peredelkino at the old writer's dacha. Did you learn something about her that you did not know before? Did you make small belated discoveries about her character, nature, in fact, not amenable to clue?

- Perhaps there weren't any special discoveries. Still, my mother and I have known each other for 37 years. (Laughs.) At the beginning of summer, my mother did not feel well. After the hospital, we decided that it would be best for her at the dacha. Mom spent the whole day with Katya, the woman who helped in the house. Uncle Borya (Boris Messerer - "NG") and Anya came from Moscow every day. Volodya and I, my husband, came home from work at nine o'clock. Mom waited patiently for the evening. The moment when everyone is gathered on the veranda at the table. Her voice sounds in her ears, the way she ceremoniously pronounces: "Are we going to have supper?", "What do we have for supper?" In fact, Volodya and I ate meat, some kind of salad, drank wine ... And my mother looked at us and, at best, sipped pioneer jelly. She had a diet.

Of course, the ritual was observed during a long, happy period, when her health seemed to be on the mend. Mom was joking, fooling around at the table, tenderly offering: "Let's tease Volodya." You know, she was to a large extent an artist, she believed that a person is a theater for others, and now - two hours before lights out at 23.00 - she performed from the stage with inspiration, enjoying being in the spotlight again. She lived in the artistic world, the cultural context was her reality, her habitat, and we, sitting at the table, were more people of a different, modern style. Mom's indescribable monologues in such a rich, concentrated form were almost an overdose. Even I, who had heard a lot before, was amazed at these tons of information.

The last one she spoke about two days before her death was Kirill Laskari, a famous St. Petersburg choreographer. I briefly dropped that I had seen his son the day before, also Kira. We are friends. Mom suddenly came to life, began to remember how little Kira was, how she and her uncle Borey visited Laskari in Leningrad. This city was constantly featured in my mother's conversations. They have a lot of friends in St. Petersburg. We were all in love with one - otolaryngologist Alik Levin. Such an elegant gentleman with a pipe. Mom called him "doctor ear-throat-feet" because Alik loved the music hall, and his wife Natasha danced in it. And the hospital named after Lenin, where Alik worked, was ridiculously called the "hospital named after Levin."

You asked about the discoveries that I made for myself. I don’t know what to call this trait ... Immediacy? Friendly responsiveness? Cheerfulness? It seems that all this was not news to me. But I was almost at a loss when I heard my mother, already quite weak, talking on the phone with Azarik (Azary Plisetskiy is the brother of Maya Plisetskaya and cousin of Boris Messerer - "NG"). Azarik works at the Bejart Studio School in Lausanne. During his mother's illness, he and Mikhail Baryshnikov toured South America and called literally every other day. Mom loved Azarik very much, his cheerful calls with detailed reports on the trip just prolonged her life. Shortly before his mother's death, Azarik phoned and began to describe: he is now in white pants, sitting under a palm tree, the sun hits his eyes, they are drinking coffee ... And my mother, who is ill, cheered up, rejoiced, as if she herself was enjoying this exotic ... Arriving at the funeral, Azarius remarked, "Bella let us pretend she doesn't know ..." Obviously she did.

Once Azarik told his mother that Baryshnikov sends her greetings and words of admiration. She reacted in such a funny way: "Surprisingly, I thought he didn't remember me." Strange as it may seem, at some stage she really began to feel a little forgotten. Because of problems with eyesight, she did not write: she could not compose "in her mind" - the creative process was firmly connected with a hand, a fountain pen. Mom did not complain, but from the scraps of phrases it was impossible not to understand that she was sad about the publicity from which she was tired before. And he seriously reflects on his meaning in literature.

More about discoveries. Or not discoveries? Mother was feared for her discernment. It was believed that she, like an X-ray, sees through people. Mom had a definition: "a benign person." She saw through the "poor" ones like a clairvoyant. I was always surprised that vigilance and flair in her are incomprehensibly combined with innocence. I didn’t suspect only its scale. In recent months, when we were in close contact, my mother's disarming gullibility at every step was downright striking.

Usually everything depended on her attitude towards the person. If she was disposed to him, then she trusted enthusiastically, infinitely. If there was a negative attitude (and often biased, inexplicable), then - the most absolute dislike. She was not rude - although she allowed herself to be harsh when faced with villains. But my mother made an aloof, gloomy face, as if expressing: I am so bored with you. The word "boring" was defining in her attitude towards a large part of humanity. This does not mean that she despised someone. I just couldn't find common ground ...

- It is unlikely that you were shy in front of your mother's famous friends, next to whom you grew up. But Bella Akhatovna herself, shyly (or arrogantly) preferring the "detached adoration" of the greats - Pasternak, Akhmatova, perhaps believed that children are supposed to sit quietly and absorb. Did your mom encourage you to be present when the regulars at home talk?

- Anka and I were not specially invited: let's stay with the adults. But no "softly" sounded from my mother's side either. Huge meetings were held in the room where we talk. Aksenov, Voinovich, Voznesensky, Rhine, Okudzhava ... The smoke stood like a rocker. Mom sometimes drove him away with her hand: it was bad for the children ... We were not forced to listen, to sit. When someone paid attention to us, wanted to entertain, play, my mother was happy. When Anka and I got bored, we got up and went for a walk ...

People usually came to Peredelkino on weekends and on holidays. And they lived on Chernyakhovsky. With a nanny who was treated like a grandmother. Mom spent most of the time with Uncle Bori on Povarskaya. Clearly, we were bored, we wanted to be together more often, but it turned out that way. Contact still remained constant. We were stuck for a long time in the famous workshop. The participants of the "Metropol" gathered there in our presence. Of course, we didn’t really understand much, but we noticed the pleasure of adults from work, their enthusiasm. We also observed what happened after the publication of the magazine. More precisely, they did not even observe - they felt it on themselves. The people I liked and their children, with whom there was no spill of water, disappeared, evaporated. Voinovich was thrown out of the country, Aksenov was forced not to return. For me, what was happening was a real childhood trauma. I was very friendly with Olya Voinovich and Vanya, the grandson of Maya Aksenova. I will not forget the feeling of being terribly lost. I couldn’t fit in my head: why they are not there, why they don’t come again, why I’ll never see them, why it’s impossible to communicate, to call?

How did they explain everything to us? I can’t imagine. I felt that my mother had fear for me and Anka. After all, those who left, as we learned later, were threatened, they were blackmailed: fear for the children ... Mom diligently protected us from straightforward language. I didn't want to be drawn into an early conflict with society. I have never heard from her, for example, that the pioneers are g ... but. But for some reason we did not doubt: that is exactly what he thinks. At the beginning of the 80s, it sounded warningly: "Don't, don't, with children." Apparently, she feared for the child's psyche, was afraid of duality: what is it like when they say one thing about the USSR at school, but in real life something else happens - wonderful people are pushed out of the country?

- Did Bella Akhatovna follow how you study? What do you do?

- She even occasionally (laughs) signed my diary. I preferred not to demonstrate it, because I studied poorly. But my sister is good. They used her as an example at school, and it terribly angered me. I grew up terribly disheveled, skipped classes, did not do my homework, and treated school disgracefully. But my mother not only did not scold me - one might say, deliberately connived. How many times have I come to the dacha on weekends and stayed until Tuesday. Mom wrote notes to the class teacher that I was sick. She wanted us to stay with her a little longer, take a walk. She had no doubts that such an innocent lie would not spoil us.

The only one in the family who could be stern is Uncle Borya. As a child, he was an authority for us. Under his influence, I attended an art school, he studied with me, took off for exams. But I am too lazy to work monotonously, to get dirty in clay and paint day after day. I was drawn to write and paint. Now is that good period in my life when I can do both at the same time. I am an art director at the oldest Russian advertising agency Begemot, I am in charge of the creative process: together with copywriters and designers, we come up with advertising. And Anka after school entered the polygraphic institute - the art department. So we both kind of followed in the footsteps of our stepfather. Uncle Borya was constantly trying to make us disciplined, from the age of three (thanks to him) he forced us to eat with a knife and fork. He just suggested that we should not interfere with the guests' conversations, not interrupt the adults, in short, we should behave in a responsible manner.

One summer my parents left for Leningrad. I was nine, my sister was fourteen. We were left with Anel Alekseevna, Uncle Bori's mother. There was a violent collision of two realities: desperately free and the other - when children are fed on schedule and put to bed on time. Anel Alekseevna, an exemplary mother and an extremely organized person, sounded the alarm because we did not come home at nine o'clock. We couldn't figure out what the problem was. Mom very early explained to us that you shouldn't stick your fingers into the socket, cross the road in front of the car and the train. We've got it all figured out. Why extra control? As a sign of protest, they poured a pack of salt into the soup that Anel Alekseevna cooked. Now I realize that we were cruel children: Anel took care of us, tried her best. The misconduct had no consequences, although my mother probably found out.

Her position that children should not be tortured, that any compulsion is inhumane, remained unshakable. On the eve of the cold weather, my mother and I went to a consignment shop near the Aeroport metro station in search of scarce boots. The high degree of freedom led to a comical situation. I chose oversized boots for myself. They were amazingly beautiful. But so great! Mom, who dressed invariably elegantly, tried to dissuade me from a wild purchase, but I insisted, and she gave up, did not push it. (Laughs.)

Mom gave us freedom not because of her carelessness or busyness - on purpose. We were very lucky with her, more than anyone else in the world. She was a good educator, guiding us, maybe in not entirely traditional ways, but I would not want to be in the place of a person who was brought up traditionally. Yes, my mother was not interested in my grades, did not help with the lessons. She didn’t insist: it’s necessary to read this and that… But she gave the correct attitude to literature. I started writing poetry, barely recognizing the letters - I had not gone to school yet. From the fourth grade she began to study in a literary studio, won children's competitions. Everything happened as if apart from my mother. But who would doubt: clearly under her influence. It seems to me, having been born, I already knew: literature is great. There were names in the air: Tsvetaeva, Pushkin, Akhmatova ... When I was ten I was in a hurry: I urgently needed to read Gogol, it was incredibly interesting.

By the way, about Gogol. When my classmate from the Literary Institute and close friend Tanya Semilyakina and I contracted to compose stories for girls at the Rosman publishing house and took the pseudonym Sister Sparrow, I was tormented for a long time: I was spinning in my head - Elizabeth Sparrow, Elizabeth Sparrow ... Where is this name? I went to my mother and asked her. Instant response! “Not Elizabeth, but Elizabeth. Have you forgotten how Sobakevich wanted to foist Elizaveta Sparrow on Chichikov, presenting a serf as a man? " But my mother re-read Gogol many years before me. She had a powerful memory. It was not for nothing that I recited my poems by heart for kilometers.

And the fact that it is possible not to learn mathematics, in practice - is allowed, was also in the air. Uneducated? Irresponsible? But, on the other hand, what have I lost from this? Mom herself more than once complained that she could not count the little things in the store, deal with the change. But I know that her thoughts were occupied by others, she did not want to delve into nonsense, focus on pennies. Mom was a rational person, with a mathematical, paradoxically, mindset. Intelligence fully allowed her to do higher mathematics.

Despite the apparent detachment, she was very, very intelligent and positive. Some acquaintances assumed that she would not like my decision to enter the Literary Institute, from which she was expelled for refusing to fit into Pasternak's persecution. But my mother always sneered at people who experience the power of the past. She argued that it was foolish to live with memories when you can live for today. To settle scores with the Literary Institute, where once there was a stifling atmosphere or, as she said, "communist nonsense"? What for?

- In general, the educational process, whether or not allowed to take its course, took place. What else did you learn from your mom?

“I suffer from pathological neatness - definitely to my mother. And Anka does not tolerate a mess. Mom loved order. Perfect order. There were never any rubble on the table, a heap of papers. Just a lamp or candle, a pen, and a stack of pages written on one side. Mom wrote on A4 sheets. It was an indispensable requirement for life. In the late 80s, when not only good paper - panties and soap disappeared, friends ordered a large thick hardcover book with blank pages for mom from the binder. As a result, anyone began to use it, but not she. First, I composed my first fairy tale and drew illustrations. Then a few funny poems shared with my mother appeared in the notebook. One autumn night at the dacha, she and I came up with a story about the Fearful Scarecrow. Mom told her to Evgeny Popov. He decided to continue the tale and wrote it down in a book. A tradition was born: everyone who came to the house began to write the book - Andrey Bitov, Viktor Erofeev, someone else ...

So I am thinking: what unites us three? We are all different - mom, Anya, me. However, there is a family trait, it is not ... bam, genetically transmitted, my mother brought us up so that we are not capable of meanness. Both my sister and I do not know how to weave intrigues, to swindle. At work, it’s easier for me to punch in directly than to act on the sly ... It wasn’t that my mother, for example, said: “Sit down, girls, I will explain to you what is good and what is bad”. Never - in an edifying form, never - notation, but everything she said was about this: a person must be honest, generous; greed, cowardice, vanity are disgusting. Goodness meant openness, the inability to betray, and the ability to compassion. That is, she raised us specifically. Including mentioning situations and her own actions when she showed these traits.

What else we definitely took from mom is a good attitude towards dogs. A long time ago, in the winter at the dacha, every day or every other day she cooked a huge tub, throwing everything that was at hand there: bones, bread, cereals. A giant vat was hoisted onto the sled, she dragged them, and we, the little ones, with bowls trailed in the frost from Dovzhenko Street to Lenin Street, where stray dogs were found. Anya took her mother's non-verbalized command as a call to action: go and save! She has two dogs of her own, while taking some strangers to the veterinary hospital, attaching them to friends. I also feel sorry for animals, but now I only have a cat. During her mother's illness she was nicknamed (it amused my mother) "mama's cat" for fawning, sucking up to her and just running around to complain.

Feeling weak, my mother did not let go of the old teddy bear. As far as I know myself, he existed. As a child, my mother played with him, even took him to the evacuation and brought him back. When we arrived, we got the bear. Seeing him at the dacha, my mother was delighted, began to feel. It is quite safe, only everything rustles inside. Every now and then my mother lovingly stroked the glass buttons and said in her indescribable voice: "Oh, how I remember those eyes!"

- Have you ever seen how Bella Akhatovna writes?

- Mom did not write, being in the same room with us. It would be unnatural. But it happened only once. The two of us rested for more than a month in Holgin near Leningrad. There were no other rooms in the motel, we were given a double room. It was then that I saw: my mother sat down at the table in the evening and worked all night. I fell asleep - she writes, woke up - also writes ... However, the last thing I bothered about was that I was a witness of the sacrament. I was 11, the motel had a stable, and horses were all I was interested in that summer.

- Bella Akhatovna was distinguished by her carelessness in financial matters, littered with fees when they appeared. Of course, during periods of lack of money, she was rescued by "a wondrous choice of the most high bounties: iambic, trochee, amphibrachium, anapest and dactyl." But was this set enough for a prosaic soup?

- True, my mother had bad times: she was prevented from working, she was not allowed to publish. She faced great financial difficulties. However, my sister and I had nothing to wear - we grew up quickly. The refrigerator was never empty. Here my mother somehow contrived to provide us with a well-fed childhood ... But in general, she even cultivated everyday inability in herself. Talent made such a demand on her. At the first opportunity, my mother freed herself from solving material problems, clearing the territory for an intense inner life. Refused the burdensome "option".

- In the East, there is a proverb: "Even a black crow says to a funnel:" You are my little white one. " In your family, the opposite is true. Realizing her dissimilarity, Bella Akhatovna associated herself with the black sheep and grieved that the children were in her. "Irreparable and incredible / in their faces is the meta of our unity." Do you also think that the mother is "different", and it is difficult, you have to live with it?

- The fact that as a child I desperately tried to prove that I am no different from my peers, there is - partly - an affirmative answer. For a long time, the authorities treated my mother almost like an enemy of the people. We were not initiated into this, but we were not blind. We caught my mother’s strangeness, detachment, unsuitability, we knew that she, with a certain amount of tragedy, was projecting this onto us. Such a soil could not be unfavorable for complexes. Stupidity: because of them, I was even ashamed of my mother's deafening glory, a loud surname. The question "Is it true that your mother is Bella Akhmadulina?" bothered me. Mom owns the lines: "The one who is alone cannot be counted." She dedicated them to Pavel Antokolsky, but this is, of course, about herself. However, you understand the invaluableness of singularity when you grow up. As a teenager, you so want to be like everyone else. Going to school, I envied other children: they are so simple, cool, they would not want to be friends with me. But they all wanted it. Our dissimilarity, apparently, was noticed only by us.

All this is in the past. If a person does not get rid of childish (overestimated or underestimated) self-esteem in time, he cannot grow up. We grew up quickly. It is common knowledge that all geniuses are children. And since your mother is a child, you become his parents, who have no right to be "different." They must be firmly on their feet. Probably, once we were also unadapted, let those who climb out of line, could not stand up for ourselves. But life has made its demands on us, and now, I think, we are not lost in the face of challenges. We are earthly. At the same time, they are smart, cool, possibly talented ... But we are not a mother. We do not have such an overwhelming gift as hers. She is a person of a completely different order. Genius. And it would be ridiculous, not having a mother's gift, to be "different."

- The famous "More and more I am sinless before people, / more and more I am guilty before children", written when you were very young, did Bella Akhatovna somehow explain to you who grew up?

- Mom, in various forms, let us know that she felt guilty. She sighed now mournfully, now playfully: "Poor, poor children!" (Laughs.) This also happened when we became big, independent ... Somewhere deep within her lived the installation that motherhood is more important than anything in the world. And since the gift insatiably demanded her undividedly, ordered not to be distracted, she reproached herself for depriving us of attention.

I don’t think my mother’s guilt is justified. She cannot be approached with generally accepted standards, as if she were a teacher or an accountant. As far as she could, my mother delved into our life, followed the progress. She admired that I was working hard and hard. When, unable to withstand the marathon at the Rosman publishing house, I dropped out of the race, she began to timidly hope that I would take up serious poetry. She asked: “But are you writing? Are you writing? " Here you also need to understand the subtext. Writing was the highest blessing for my mother, it’s the same as for a gourmet to eat deliciously, to drink excellent wine. Her "do you write?" is tantamount to the concern of an ordinary mother: “Are you full? Have you eaten? " However, here too, my mother did not show "burning guardianship." Meekly - going back to the beginning of the conversation - hoped that I had the same need to write as hers. But now I hardly write poetry. I understand everything about myself. (Laughs.) I took up prose.

Was there trust between us, which often arises between mother and girls? No. Anka and I protected her from unnecessary details, did not burden her with our problems. Of course, while my mother was relatively healthy, we were not too anxious, caring children. But we always took care of her. So it was accepted in the family. However, my mother saw right through ... In the midst of the last economic crisis, the advertising industry suffered greatly. A difficult period has come for those working in it. And then my mother's call: "You have no money, I know." - "What you? There is. Everything is fine". “Don't cheat. Come and get it. " How did she smell? Obviously, I was not guided by the fact that the advertising business was almost covered with a copper basin ...

- For some reason it seems that no matter how many different nuances in your life, one poem "Waiting for a Christmas tree" with its endearingly gentle refrain "sister and sister", "daughters Elizabeth and Anna" is able to flood with love all involuntary lacunae that arose in relationship with mom. And you don't stop feeling it. Right?

- Yes. And let everyone be jealous that my mother wrote such a poem for us. This is not only a poem - a moment of triumph. Mom confessed her love to us in her own way. Making fun of Americans with their constant in films: "I love you." - "And I love you". She said: "I don't want to look stupid like them, but still I love you very much."

She knew how to arrange holidays. On New Year's Eve, we came to the dacha. A magnificent spruce was brought into the large room, placed in the corner. It was a mandatory event - until a small Christmas tree was planted under the window. Her mother was presented by the worker Zhenya, who in our absence looked after the house, a gas boiler. First, my mother put a tip on the tree from the ground, later she stood on a stool, we climbed onto chairs. A wire with light bulbs was pulled through the window. We always had felt boots, a lot of pairs. We climbed into them and, falling into the snowdrifts, pulled a wire to the tree. We tried with might and main. Although what we were experts in electricity. Considering that we are children, and my mother is a poet.

She hasn't seen New Year with us lately. I began to visit Peredelkino less and less. We were decorating the Christmas tree without my mother. See how tall it is? The balls can only be hung on the lower branches. This year, for the first time after a long break, they put a Christmas tree in the room. In memory of my mother. Two spruces grew on our site, interfering with each other. One was hurt. It dawned on me: to die anyway, so let him die beautifully. We carefully cut it down, brought it into the house, decorated it with toys, colored bulbs. I had the feeling that my mother was somewhere nearby. Because, besides her, no one in my life has decorated a living Christmas tree.

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Recently, the widow of the famous writer Yuri Nagibin, who lived in America for a long time and only recently returned to Russia, told many interesting stories about Bella Akhmadulina. The words of Alla Grigorievna Nagibina can be trusted, because the famous poetess was once the fifth wife of Yuri Nagibin.

Now Alla Nagibina lives in a country house in the village of Krasnaya Pakhra near Moscow. This house was built by her ex-husband and lived in it for 30 years after his sixth marriage on the Leningrad woman Alla Grigorievna. It was here that the widow of the famous writer met with the journalist of "Interlocutor" and, surrounded by carved furniture, antiques and expensive paintings, told him the secret of her husband's divorce from Bella Akhmadulina.

According to the widow, even after Akhmadulin's divorce, together with Yevtushenko, Rozhdestvensky, Aksenov, Okudzhava and many others, they came to this house for Easter and Christmas. Now these people are considered legends, but then they were ordinary people, between whom quite often quarrels broke out.

It all began in 1967, when Yuri Nagibin made an unexpected decision to part with his wife Bella Akhmadulina. The poet did not want to leave the writer, but he firmly declared that he would no longer live with her.

The reason for the divorce, according to the writer's widow, is described by the writer Aksenov in one of the scenes of the novel "The Mysterious Passion" - the husband finds his wife in the arms of two other women on their family bed. After that, the hero of the novel simply threw his wife with her mistresses and things outside the threshold of his apartment.

The writer's widow claims that this is exactly how it was in real life, and one of Akhmadulina's mistresses was Galina Sokol, who later became the wife of Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Aksenov himself wrote about this in the preface to his novel.

Bella Akhmadulina had long hoped to return to Yuri Nagibin, since he lived very well for his time. The writer had a dacha and a car. He dressed well, received large screenwriting fees and traveled abroad frequently.

Therefore, in order to return her husband Bella Akhmadulin, together with Galya Sokol, they developed a whole plan - they went to the orphanage, where the headmistress known to them worked, and she, without any documents, "gave out" the child to her friends. Galina got a boy, and Akhmadulina got a girl.

As a result, hoping that Yuri Nagibin would return to her, Bella Akhmadulina gave her daughter Anna her last name and patronymic Yuryevna. However, this act, according to Alla Nagibina, did not touch her now deceased husband - he never returned to the poetess.

Perhaps this happened due to the fact that the writer did not like small children - he simply did not understand how it was possible to work if the children were crying in the house. None of his six wives were able to persuade him to have a child. Therefore, the writer Bella Akhmadulina, who by that time was already 50 years old, said that even for the sake of this girl he would not return to her.

After this conversation, Bella Akhmadulina married the son of the Balkar classic Kaisyn Kuliev, who was 17 years younger than her. And Yuri Nagibin, having provided his ex-wife with an apartment, married for the sixth time to Alla Grigorievna, with whom he lived for about 30 years. He did not stop communicating with his ex-wife - after all, it was one company, but he confessed to his last wife that he did not seem to have lived before her.

Well, Bella Akhmadulina, after her divorce from Nagibin, began to drink heavily, although before that she loved to have another glass. She did not live with Eldar Kuliev for a long time, despite the fact that she gave birth to her new husband, daughter Elizabeth. The next husband of Bella Akhmadulina was the artist Boris Messerer, who "understood" her rushing soul and calmly treated her habit of drinking alcohol.

However, for the sake of this marriage, Bella Akhmadulina abandoned her daughters Anna and Elizabeth to her mother, who lived with her children and a housekeeper in an apartment donated by Yuri Nagibin. The poetess no longer participated in the upbringing of her daughters. Perhaps this is why, as soon as her daughter Anna, being already an adult, found out that she was adopted, she immediately left her mother and now she is extremely reluctant to communicate with journalists - she probably just does not want to remember a difficult childhood.

By the way, the new wife of Yuri Nagibin was never accepted in his company. Everyone condemned the writer for driving Bella Akhmadulina out into the street, and his new wife for taking the place of the great poetess, whose poems the men listened to with their mouths open, and they forgave her a lot for this.

SHE PRESIRED THE SOVIET LANGUAGE

Bella was not a rebel in poetry. She willingly acknowledged the supreme role of her teachers. This iconostasis - Tsvetaeva, Akhmatova, Pasternak and Mandelstam - was her altar, she wrote in verse that they all said there was nothing further. It seems to me, on the contrary, it is necessary to revolt viciously, to tear the paper from youth, and not to glue the pages. This did not happen for Akhmadulina - but many other things happened.

Bella's innovation was that she despised the Soviet language and introduced archaism there, gallant refined expressions, she turned poetry to face the individual, to private life. It is difficult to place her on a par with Khlebnikov, Mayakovsky or Brodsky. Although Brodsky gallantly called her the best - but, obviously, after himself ...

And, of course, her passion for friendship. Her poetry is the poetry of friendship. Hence the Pushkin intonations. Once, when she got bored, she called it - "asexual monster friendship." This is very accurate.

TWO MASKS - BELLA AND VYSOTSKY

It is rather comparable to Vysotsky, they are two parallel phenomena. Vysotsky consisted of a guitar, wheezing, poetry, bohemia - drunkenness and life to break. Akhmadulina also consisted of different parts.

If Vysotsky has a wheeze, then Akhmadulina has a silver spring voice. Strong and mesmerizing. This raised chin, bangs. But the main thing that united them was a poetic mask. And the joke with the mask is bad. Bella was secretive. The mask makes a person unapproachable, creates myths, but prevents him from feeling himself.

The great poet is afraid of either cats, or God, or death. In her poems there are many imprudent judgments about the existence of the Almighty. But this was charismatic for the 60s. Volodya also had his own mask. But she sometimes broke down strongly ... I believe that these two images - Bella and Volodya - are a monument to their time.

Demonic mind

Akhmadulina is devilishly, devilishly smart. And a lot of loneliness has accumulated in her, precisely because of the mind. Bella is also absolutely stranded. All the Tatar-Mongol yoke in her was united in the sense of energy. She wrote at night and after drinking. There was both the queen of bohemia and the queen of moral judgment - this is paradoxical, but true.

And Bella had a good idea of ​​who was who. Then in Moscow there were only two places where distinguished guests aspired - these are the Kremlin and the attic of Messerer and Akhmadulina. And there, in the attic, everyone was given such comic "shoulder straps." Antonioni came, so he was a marshal. Brodsky is also a marshal. And there I slowly grew up in ranks ...

Without her, the sixties would have been thinner, more bony. She was a soft cloth, a woman's flesh.

She had everything - sex and charisma ...

I fell in love with her in the ninth grade, at the age of 15. I went to her evenings in the Tchaikovsky Hall. And he suffered from the thought that here was a woman living a festive, carnival life, and I was such an old Moscow schoolboy. But in the end it was she who confused me and even seduced me in some way - even before we met.

And we met violently in 1978, when we were making Metropole. She was bold, in the prime of beauty and very seductive, irresistible. I was her faithful knight, served as a feeling. Not only schoolchildren fell in love with her, but also the generals of the KGB, Sakharov, and, I'm sure Brezhnev would gladly take an autograph. Everything was in her - sex, drunkenness, charisma, and a high chin.

Messerer - the light of life

Borya is her savior, her muse. They are a curious combination. There, everyone is the Master and Margarita in front of each other. Borya always dressed her in his best, and it was always black and white. He prolonged its existence and extracted from it many poems that would have remained as dust. Now he cares endlessly about her archive. And he is heartbroken. This is love to the grave.

In her youth, she knew how to walk a lot ... but this is hearsay, I know her already different, stable. But her friendship with my namesake Venichka Erofeev, who was also such a synthetic figure, is also understandable. His "Moscow - Petushki" is strongly associated with drunkenness, with harsh assessments of what is happening around. In this they are united.

Around "one hundred and first kilometer"

There was some kind of evolution in Bella when she looked back and realized that there was one "one hundred and first kilometer" around her. And somehow she fell silent. And in this silence was her strength. She just didn't lie.

Rather, time begged her a little for the right to exist than vice versa.

The youngest daughter of Akhmadulina Elizaveta KULIEVA: "Mom always remained a child - that's why she looked young"

Vladimir Pozner in his book writes about the attitude to the poetry of Akhmadulina, Voznesensky in the 60s - they say, they did not follow poetry, for spiritual freedom. I compared the attitude towards them and towards Vysotsky. By the way, having measured eternity to Akhmadulina, and to Vysotsky - today.

Mom considered Vysotsky a genius. They were friends. Once Vysotsky came to our home at the "Airport" - I was five years old, and Anya, my sister, ten. And suddenly my mother said: "Vladimir Vysotsky will come now." We didn’t know who it was, but by the intonation we understood that he was some kind of wonderful person. He came and gave us the record "Alice in Wonderland". We have always been proud of the inscription on the disc: "Anya and Liza from Vladimir Vysotsky."

- Is it true that poetry is born from burning pain or love?

I know for sure what hurt my mother, she always sympathized with people who were forced to earn their living through backbreaking work. And my mother also broke her heart when she saw stray animals. And when faced with cruelty.

I make a living from advertising. Since childhood, my mother taught me and my sister how important it is not to depend on anyone. And my independence was a matter of her pride. There is nothing reprehensible in advertising: it is the best of all that is shown on TV.

- How she endured aging - it's hard for such a beauty ...

At heart, my mother was a child and therefore always looked young. And she was not afraid of age: ugly old age and nostalgia for lost youth are the lot of stupid people. Mom was smart and looked great. She was oppressed by something else: in recent years, due to blindness, she could not read and write. I think she just decided not to live, because she could not vegetate in idleness. This is how I explain her illness and sudden departure to myself.

- They say Akhmadulina looked down on money?

Yes, sometimes there was not enough money: in the early 80s, my mother was banned, books were not published. At one time, our nanny, instead of receiving a salary from my mother, worked part-time with the neighbors - so that Anya and I could eat well. These are the people who used to meet.

- How did you celebrate birthdays, what did you give?

Mom turned her birthday into an unforgettable holiday. While I slept, heaps of gifts were piled under the pillow or, when I woke up, a bicycle drove into the room. And there was always a huge children's table on the terrace. And along with the gifts, my mother gave me a poem.

In general, my mother knew how to rejoice and please others. Her tragic image is rather that Bella Akhmadulina, which was created by the public. She loved life very much. Her early texts are full of this enthusiasm for life, love for all that exists. This is what I love the most about her. And it is for such a mother that I miss most of all.

... While visiting Kashif Elgarov, a living legend of our literature, looking at the numerous photographs in which the aksakal has been captured for more than six decades, I drew attention to three almost identical photographs taken in the fall of 1956 on the Red Square of the capital. On them, Kashif, a student of the Literary Institute, is depicted with his teacher, songwriter Alexander Kovalenkov, the author of the lines popular in those years "The sun disappeared behind the mountain, / The river rifts clouded, / And along the steppe road / Soviet soldiers went home from the war", his wife Elizaveta and fellow students - Stas Valis, no information about whom I even found on the knowledgeable Internet and Bella Akhmadulina (1937-2010), whose name speaks for itself.

Together with these photographs lay another one, taken in the same year, but not in the capital, but in Nalchik. It shows two young guys next to Kashif (with a stack of books in his hands). These are the Mullaev brothers - Zuber and Boris. The latter is better known as Barasbi, in whose filmography the paintings "Avalanche from the Mountains", "A Hero of Our Time", "The Horseman with Lightning in His Hand", "The Tabor Goes to the Sky", "Rampant Terek", "The Peaks Do Not Sleep", "The Wounded stones "," Let's part - so far good "," The road to the edge of life "and a number of others.

And who is the boy? - more out of curiosity than any interest, I asked.
- This is Eldar Kuliev, - answered Kashif.
And the photographs that happened to be nearby formed a mosaic of human destiny.
Wikipedia says about Bella Akhmadulina's personal life as follows: “From 1955 to 1958 Akhmadulina was the first wife of Yevgeny Yevtushenko. From 1959 to November 1, 1968 - the fifth wife of Yuri Nagibin. This marriage collapsed, according to the testimony of Nagibin himself in his published "Diary" and fictionalized memoirs of Vasily Aksyonov "Mysterious Passion", because of the poetess's bold ... experiments. In 1968, after divorcing Nagibin, Akhmadulina took her adopted daughter Anna into foster care. From the son of the Balkar classic Kaysyn Kuliev - Eldar Kuliev (1951-2017) in 1973 Akhmadulina gave birth to a daughter, Elizabeth. In 1974 she married for the fourth and last time - to the theatrical artist Boris Messerer ... The first daughter, Anna, graduated from the Polygraphic Institute, designs books as an illustrator. Daughter Elizabeth, like her mother, graduated from the Literary Institute. "
The site http://sobesednik.ru contains an interview with Alla Grigorievna Nagibina, the widow of the famous writer Yuri Nagibin. It is full of the most piquant details that we will omit, and will only reproduce the main thing: “In 1967, in the company of those whom we now call the“ sixties ”, passions were seething. Yuri Nagibin put his wife, Bella Akhmadulina, out on the street, firmly declaring: "I will no longer live with you!" - Bella did not want to leave Yuri. For eight years of marriage, they often parted, once a break in the relationship reached a year. Therefore, everyone thought: rage, rage and make peace. But Nagibin said: "That's it!"
... Why Nagibin was adamant becomes clear if you read a scene from Vasily Aksenov's novel "The Mysterious Passion". In it, he described the separation of Yuri Nagibin and Bella Akhmadulina, in the novel he calls her Akho or Nella: “He opened the door with his key, stepped inside and immediately flew back to the stairwell ... Excessive perfume, excessive coffee, excessive nicotine, excessive cognac ... He reached the living room and playfully called out, "Ahho!" The answer was silence, slightly broken by a disturbing female snorer. He stepped into the bedroom and was dumbfounded ... "
Alla Nagibina continues: “The marriage with the son of the Balkar classic Kaisyn Kuliev, Eldar, is the most mysterious in the biography of Akhmadulina. Where this man came from, no one in Bella's company understood. For example, Nagibin writes that he met him in a restaurant, where ... he stood up for a young man. Eldar was 17 years younger than Bella, but they became friends. Perhaps that is why, having filed an official divorce from Akhmadulina, Nagibin relented to her and bought him an apartment with her husband. - They lived in the same house, on Chernyakhovsky Street, as Yuri and I.
... Bella did not live long with him. "
But it was not at all the details of the personal lives of Bella Akhmadulina and Eldar Kuliev, which, unfortunately, are available to everyone on the Internet, prompted to turn to this story, but the interconnection of seemingly random episodes that formed its basis.
... Literally a couple of days after the meeting with Kashif, it became known about the death of Eldar Kuliyev on January 14 this year. In the obituary, which was published by the republican newspapers, it was said that Kaisyn's son “at the Dovzhenko film studio made a three-part television film based on his script“ Wounded Stones ”; his story "Farewell Look" "received recognition in the literary and reading environment."
On the same day, a former resident of Nalchan, Sergei Kasyanov, who now lives in Moscow and works as a concert director, entered the publishing house. Sergey is a very famous person in pop circles. What he does and who he is is revealed by the information posted on the Operetta Revival Center website: “This man has accompanied Alla Bayanova in her creative career for 20 years, helping her in organizing concerts and creative meetings. With his help, Vladimir Zeldin, Lyudmila Lyadova, Rimma Markova and many other idols of the Soviet era, who had a hard time adapting to the market realities of a changed country, gathered full halls. He managed to remind the general public of the still talented "oldies".
Sergey is responsible for organizational work with creative teams, including touring the country. "
We have known Sergei for a long time, he took part in a number of our expeditions around the republic and when he arrives in Nalchik he certainly makes himself felt. In this arrival, he saw the photographs, taken from Kashif Elgarov, lying on the table and prepared for scanning. He looked closely and said inquiringly: "Bella Akhmadulina?" And, having received an affirmative answer, he continued: “Surprisingly, we just remembered her. The fact is that I brought an icon of Bella from Moscow, which Volodya Mokaev gave her, but it so happened that she could not take it. And the icon returned to Volodya again ”.

But for the reader to understand everything in this story, it must be told first.
And it was like this. In 1970, Eldar and Bella arrived in Nalchik. Initially, they lived in Kaisyn's apartment, but then Akhmadulina (for obvious reasons) moved to the Rossiya hotel; their room was on the top floor. The young people led a riotous life, and she demanded money. One day, Eldar called Volodya Mokaev, now a well-known artist, poet, musician, museum worker, in a word, a well-rounded and creative person. Volodya and Eldar had known each other since childhood, as they lived in neighboring houses on Lenin Avenue. On a request to help out financially, Mokaev responded - he came to the hotel "Russia", giving the last threefold. At that time, the amount is very solid. Volodya recalls how Bella, standing on the balcony, looked at the mountains, recited poetry, ending them with the words: "Pushkin, Lermontov, and now I saw them."
This was not their only meeting. Unfortunately, the merry life went on and the icon that Akhmadulina brought with her went to provide it. Volodya was asked to sell it. But there was no buyer for this unusual thing, and it so happened that it was left to Mokaev at the expense of the sums received from him.
This icon is unusual - from the Russian North, and they are called "Northern Letters". North Russian icon painting is distinguished by simplicity of images, brightness and purity of colors. The Akhmadulinskaya depicts the Nil Stolobensky (end of the 15th century - 1555), who founded the Nilo-Stolobensky hermitage and canonized as a saint. Neil's asceticism reached the point that he even refused to sleep lying down and, in order not to assume a horizontal position, drove stakes into the wall of the cell; leaning on them, and rested. That is why they called him the pillar-dweller. These pegs are also on the icon.
In short, the icon remained in the collection of Vladimir Mokaev. In subsequent years, Bella repeatedly came to Kabardino-Balkaria, they saw each other. At one time there was even talk about the publication of his book, which Akhmadulina promised to attach to one of the foreign publishing houses. But it never came to that.
And then this is what happened. According to Volodya, one night in 2010 in a dream he heard a voice telling him to return the icon to Akhmadulina. Mokaev told his wife about this, and they both decided that such a dream most likely portends an early departure.
Volodya didn't even have to think about how exactly to convey the icon. On the same day at an exhibition at the Republican Museum of Fine Arts in Nalchik. where Mokaev works as the chief curator, he met a young man who introduced himself as Sergei Kasyanov. In the conversation, it turned out that the concert director is now organizing Bella Akhmadulina's creative evening. Sergei agreed to hand over the icon.
But that never happened. On November 10, 2010, the life of one of the most brilliant poetesses of our country ended. The icon of Nile the Stylite never returned to her. After Bella's death, Kasyanov called Mokaev and asked what to do next. Volodya asked to give the icon to his daughter Bella, but she refused to take it, saying that her mother had not told her anything about it.
Neil Stylite returned to our city ...
... Volodya brought the icon to the publishing house. I held in my hands this small blackboard, blackened from time to time, and tried to understand what was behind this cycle of events: from Moscow to Nalchik, then to Moscow and again to Nalchik; who this shrine was for the one to whom it belonged, why did it leave her hands and never return, although as if circumstances contributed to this.
Neil Stylite could answer the questions that worried me, but he was silent: icons do not speak, they only look ...
Soon after the death of Bella Akhmadulina, the Sobesednik.ru website published an interview with her daughter, Elizaveta Kuliyeva. Here are some snippets from it:
“... Mother was afraid for her insight. It was believed that she, like an X-ray, sees through people. Mom had a definition: "a benign person."
She saw through the "poor" ones like a clairvoyant. I was always surprised that vigilance and flair in her are incomprehensibly combined with innocence. I didn’t suspect only its scale. In recent months, when we were in close contact, my mother's disarming gullibility at every step was downright striking.
Usually everything depended on her attitude towards the person. If she was disposed to him, then she trusted enthusiastically, infinitely. If there was a negative attitude (and often biased, inexplicable), then - the most absolute dislike. She was not rude - although she allowed herself to be harsh when faced with villains. But my mother made an aloof, gloomy face, as if expressing: I am so bored with you. The word "boring" was defining in her attitude towards a large part of humanity. This does not mean that she despised someone. I just couldn't find common ground ...
… So I am thinking: what unites us three? We are all different - mom, Anya, me. However, there is a family trait, it is not ... bam, genetically transmitted, my mother brought us up so that we are not capable of meanness. Both my sister and I do not know how to weave intrigues, to swindle. At work, it’s easier for me to punch in directly than to act on the sly ... It wasn’t that my mother, for example, said: “Sit down, girls, I will explain to you what is good and what is bad”. Never - in an edifying form, never - notation, but everything she said was about this: a person must be honest, generous; greed, cowardice, vanity are disgusting. Goodness meant openness, the inability to betray, and the ability to compassion. That is, she raised us specifically. Including mentioning situations and her own actions when she showed these traits.
... Only a few months have passed since my mother passed away, and now we just feel a gaping hole in the place of the heart. It seems to me that another six months or a year will pass and I will understand: mother is in everything in the world, around. I feel it flowing into me, into Anka, into every surrounding thing ... It will be so. In the meantime, her physical absence is a failure, a huge void. And the fact that my mother is a great poet is how we learned well from childhood to separate one from the other. Anya and I do not feel like the children of the great poet, but the children of our mother. And yet we know that she is a great poet. It's not woven for us at all. "
... Bella Akhmadulina left. Gone forever. But remained, and remained forever, her poems, her unique voice. And an icon that remembers the warmth of her hands.