I was 7-8 years old. I loved to visit my grandparents. We lived in the same village not far from each other, but my sisters and parents lived in a two-room apartment near the pond, and my grandparents had a small house with a courtyard enclosed by a fence. It was difficult to call his house, only a house, since it consisted of one room and a canopy.
In the hallway there was a large chest, everyone called it a barn. Flour was stored in one compartment of the chest, and corn in the second. Thanks to this chest, I had a clear idea of what the susek from the fairy tale about the bun would look like, how and with what they would be scratched.
And there was a cloak in the canopy. Usually the lid of the subfloor was closed, since it was just on the way to the room. But in the summer it was often aired, the lid was thrown back, and to make it convenient to enter the house, a wide board was laid obliquely over the pit. More than once, I did not just go through, but ran through this board. So it was this time. True, not quite so.
When I reached the middle of the board, I saw that it was too slanted and the corner of the barn chest prevented me from freely passing through it. Go back and straighten the board with your hands was laziness. And I, standing just above the pit of the underground, began to bounce slightly, trying to change the position of the board with my feet. By the way, I did this more than once and everything worked out.But now at some point, when the board began to turn slightly, as I need, it swayed and I thundered down. Rather, the board thundered, since in flight I did not hurt anything. I would even say that I landed softly.
The main thing I thought about, finding myself in the underground: if only my grandparents would not know anything. And I darted under the stairs - it was the darkest place in the underground - I hid.
The noise from my fall was heard and grandfather jumped out in the canopy. I saw that the board was not in place, shouted in a hoarse voice - "The point fell!" - and kicked down. Here is the ringing, the roar that my grandfather made to save me, I heard, probably, not only close, but also distant neighbors.
I must say that my grandfather was tall, I would even say long. Falling, he demolished several cans of twists, dropped the stairs, and even a kerogas with a pan of cooling borscht, which stood in the hallway near the underground, touched either with his hands or feet. Oh, how long my grandmother reminded him of this borscht pan! Not once did she reprimand him later: how could anyone even reach out to this kerogas, because he stood a meter from the underground.
So, I quietly stand against the wall. The staircase fell sideways. The grandfather, all in a borscht groaning, rises from the floor and at some point our heads are on the same level. He asks me: "Are you alive?" And I, for some reason, say: “No.” Grandfather is changing in the face - "And me?" “You are alive,” I answer. And then the grandfather again falls to the floor and begins to laugh. It seemed to me then that he laughed for ages, and I did not know what to do next, either laughing or crying.
The grandmother interrupted all this fun.She stood on all fours above, hanging over the underground, and was also ready to jump in order to save two now.
I don’t remember how my grandfather and I climbed out of the underground; this moment did not remain in my memory. I only remember that after this the subfield could not be closed at all - the mixture of the smell of pickled vegetables and kerosene did not disappear for a long time.
The most amazing thing is that I and grandfather got out of the cellar safe and sound. I have no scratches, no bumps, no bruises. Grandfather, however, limped for a while after that. The only victims were pickles and kerogas. He, as they say now, could not be restored. I had to buy a new one.
P.S. Photo for those who do not know what kerogas is: