Anatoly Vorobey (avva) wrote,
Anatoly Vorobey
avva

об ужасной смерти

(очень впечатлительным людям лучше не читать эту запись)

У меня всегда вызывала неподдельный ужас любая история о смерти ребенка, забытого в машине - еще и до печального случая с Димой Яковлевым, ставшего в конечном итоге фактом российской политики. Когда читаю очередное описание такого случая - а они были, есть и продолжаются - начинает трясти. Потому что воображение. Не могу его остановить. И свой ребенок потому что есть. Не только в этом дело, но и в этом тоже.

Но я не осознавал, что у этой смерти есть двоюродная сестра, тоже редкая и тоже бьющая по сердцу каждым случаем - когда дети сами запирают себя в багажнике. Но вот сегодня прочитал такое вот описание в рассказе Энни Пру:
Skipper had been married and a father himself years before but the two young sons, playing in the open trunk of the new car, had closed it on themselves while the parents carried in groceries. Cattle prices had been up that fall and they had paid cash for the sedan, meant for Ziona.

“Where are the boys?” she said. They ran here and there, calling, drove over the ranch shouting their names while the children suffocated. It had been the hottest day and afterwards he hoped they had quickly slipped into unconsciousness, unable to hear the anguished calling voices just a few feet away. Out there on the prairie something—the evasive turn of a harried bird with a motion like a convulsive kick?—had made him stop and open the trunk. In that airless oven they lay limp and blue. It was wrong what they said about grief. It augered inside you forever, boring fresh holes even when you were sieved. Ziona lived now in San Diego, remarried, and with other children, but he was still here seeing the places they had been every day. The pastor had given him—he who had never read a poem since grade school—an unlikely book, the meditations of a seventeenth-century metaphysical Calvinist in the wilderness of Massachusetts. The first lines he read began with the same burning question whose wick had flared when he raised the trunk lid.

Under thy Rod, my God, thy smarting Rod,
That hath off broke my James, that Primrose,
Why?
И когда я пошел искать в Гугле, есть ли такие случаи в реальной жизни, а не только в литературе, нашел куда больше, чем хотелось бы. Особенно тяжело читать описания, когда родители хватились детей, сели в эту самую машину и поехали их искать. Или вот такое, например, из статьи о случае в 2010-м когда в поисках участвовала полиция, с вертолетами и ищейками:
"One female officer is cited in court documents and police reports for beginning to search the Camry parked in the Cruz's yard. According to Brandes the officer was pulled away from the car before the search was complete and never went back to search. The children were found in the trunk of the car three days later by a relative looking for jumper cables. Also found in the car's back seat were their shoes, missed by the police during their search. According to the coroner's report, the boys were most likely alive for 13-hours inside the trunk."
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