Stories about a bathhouse in the forest. Scary stories and mystical stories

Sasha entered the steam room without knocking, with his torso wrapped in a sheet, two brooms in one hand and a mug in the other.
- Oyk! - I blathered and quickly turned over on my stomach.
The hot air from the rapid movement burned my knees. I carefully straightened my felt hat and began to stealthily watch Sasha from over her shoulder, from under her half-closed eyelashes. The guy turned out to be well-built, well-built, with curly hair on his chest and stomach. My lips shamelessly stretched into a smile, and I hid my face.
- Well, how? Eh, Irinka? - Sasha asked.
-Are you going to hit me? - I asked slyly, raising my head.
- What did you think?

Sasha put on roughly sewn mittens, poured kvass from a mug into a ladle of water and splashed it into the hole at the top of the stove. Transparent steam rushed up and to the sides with a sharp noise, and washed over me with a hot wave. The small steam room was filled with the tantalizing smell of bread. Sasha lightly patted me with two brooms, waved them, driving the hot grain spirit around me. The harmless pats became stronger and more persistent, the air burned the nostrils, and it became difficult to breathe. I asked for mercy.
“Lie down,” my tormentor ordered.
- I... Oh... Oh...
I moaned, unable to say a word. The owner gave in to the couple again.
“Turn over,” he said.
- Uh!
- Turn over, who did you tell!
It was an order. I obediently rolled over onto my back and covered my nipples with my palms, not because I was embarrassed - I no longer cared - but because they burned unbearably. I was suffocating, there was not enough air. The lungs contracted almost empty.
- Oh...

Only one thought raced through my head in panic: “I’ll die... I’ll die...”. Sasha laughed quietly and continued to lash me mercilessly with brooms. What was happening seemed unreal to me, the walls of the steam room looked cartoonish and drawn. I couldn’t think of anything when Sasha put the brooms aside, grabbed me tightly by the forearms, lifted me off the shelf and set me on my feet. I caught a glimpse of water boiling in a kettle. The guy, still holding me by the forearm, took me out of the bathhouse - what I was wearing, naked - and pushed me into the bathtub with spring water, which poured there from natural source. The water is clean, cold, blue-colored, and sweetish in taste. I didn't feel cold.

I got out of the bath on my own, Sasha delicately returned to the bathhouse. In the dressing room, she somehow threw a sheet over herself and collapsed on the bench in complete helplessness. She stretched out on it as far as the length allowed. Thank you, I’m still alive... Just now I discovered that I’m still wearing a bath cap. She pulled it off and put it under her head. The body was flooded by a hot wave - a consequence of the ice bath. It felt like I was breathing fire. From the steam room came the sharp blows of a broom - my bath attendant had now taken charge of himself. There is no comparison with the city bathhouse, with its crowd, cold locker room and unpleasant smell in the stuffy steam room.

Sasha jumped out of the steam room, passed the washing room in two steps and rushed past - burgundy, steaming, with a birch leaf on his buttock. A powerful splash and a valiant hoot came from the street.
He returned, hiding his dignity in a fistful, hunched over like a penguin. He pushed his butt behind the washroom door and called:
- Let's go, Irish!
- Where?
- How to where? Wash.
Water dripped from his steamed face, one eye blinked, the other rotated. I suddenly realized that I was embarrassed by nudity, both his and mine. I was surprised - why did I suddenly become shy?
- Not...
- As you want. Drink kvass and go wash yourself, I’ll rest for now.

So we washed ourselves - taking turns, belatedly embarrassed by each other. Sasha went to the steam room again. The bathhouse exhausted me so much that I didn’t know how to get out of the washroom or how to get dressed. She wandered into the country house, where she fell on the bed.

I prepared dinner in advance, before the bathhouse, in the summer kitchen. The kitchenette is neat, with a landscape painted on the entire wall, with curtains. There was a guitar on a stool in the corner. Now Sasha and I had dinner and told each other about ourselves. We met two years ago. More precisely, they only saw each other on the ship, where Sasha was the third mate at that time. I brought it to the captain customs declarations. Then I saw him at a corporate New Year’s party; he had just left the ship. We even talked about something. And from then on they began to say hello if they saw each other on the ship or on the street.
Now he admitted that he was afraid to approach... I was surprised:
- Why?
- Well, you're so... So...
- Come on... to the bathhouse. You’re already the second assistant, and you’re talking such nonsense,” I laughed.

Sasha is a prominent guy. At the New Year's party, the girls from the neighboring department “hung” on him like dogs on a bear.
- Shh! “Don’t make noise,” he hissed. - If you disturb a brownie at night, he won’t let you sleep, he’ll scare you.
- Yah?
- Do not believe? The brownie lives here. When a brother comes to rest with friends, they make a noise, and then all night long they listen to the brownie walking around the dacha and dropping everything.
I laughed and didn’t believe it. But brother - this is already interesting.
“I also have a brother, three years younger,” I said.
“Mine is also three years younger,” Sasha rejoiced. -Have you noticed that the moles on our hands match? These four things?
The moles really did match, and that seemed important.
- You know, I always liked you. Smiling as the bright sun.
“And also kind and aggressive like a man,” I added mentally.

The guy reached for the guitar, but I stopped him:
- Sasha, I’m barely alive after the bath. Let me wash the dishes and go to bed. Tomorrow you will sing to me.
He laughed:
- Did you like the bathhouse? Go, lie down. I'll wash the dishes myself. You still have time...
I ignored the last remark and trudged to the second floor, where there was an old, old sofa, forever laid out. I liked the dacha. The village is small, quiet, with neat dilapidated houses, mostly two-story. There was silence, only a restless bird whistled outside the walls and the muffled clanking of dishes could be heard from the summer kitchen.
Sasha arrived about twenty minutes later. Hastily undressed in the dark and climbed under the blanket. I hid in the very corner, turned away from him, scared and happy.
- Where are you? - Sasha asked in a broken voice. He found me, grabbed me with his hand across my stomach and pulled me towards him.

I was floundering in a thick web and could not get out of it. I'm half to death afraid of the web, how did I manage to climb into it?! Gasping with horror, I frantically waved my arms. Sasha came up from behind and pulled me out of the snares. A scream of horror escaped from my throat, I heard it from the side and did not recognize my own voice - there was nothing human in the scream. She sat down on the bed, breathing heavily, covered in sweat, cold and sticky. Sasha woke up, sat up too, and hugged me.
- Dream, Sasha... I had a dream...
- Brownie, brownie, why did you scare her? This is my wife... Don't scare me anymore.
Which wife?
- This is a brownie, don’t be afraid, Ira. He's harmless, just scary.
Now I was ready to believe in anything.
- He won't scare you anymore?
- Will not be. One time and that's it. I told him...
- I never scream in my sleep. I watch my nightmares in silence. For the first time, honestly!
- That's it, that's it, don't be afraid. Sleep.

We settled down. Sasha immediately fell asleep, and I lay awake, wondering why he called me his wife. He's only been caring for me for a week. All this is not serious. Of course, it was time for me to settle down, to decide something with my chaotic, stupid life. I enjoyed my personal freedom and used it as I pleased. I didn't like life in a civil marriage. Deep down in my heart, I wanted to get married - “for real”, because I didn’t value an “unofficial” marriage one bit. I broke up with my roommate, got sad and forgot. I no longer wanted to fulfill the duties of a wife. The kitchen, dishes, and cleaning made me sad. What kind of wife am I? If I marry Sasha, I will have to not only cook, but cook deliciously, there will be twice as much dishes, and there will be twice as much cleaning. You will have to wash his socks and iron his shirts, adapt to his preferences, shortcomings and endure a lot. I don’t know what exactly yet. And he also said yesterday that he wants two children. It's horrible. From the thought that for several years I would not belong to myself, every cell of my body protested. No, I don't want to.

I listened - was there a brownie wandering around the dacha? There was such silence that it was ringing in my ears. I snuggled up against Sasha’s hot back, still unfamiliar, and fell asleep.

The Sakhalin June night chilled the air, the morning came suburban village fog. I woke up early. She lay quietly under Sasha’s side, listening to the birds chirping and chirping. Smiled. I didn't want to think about anything. The bones and muscles steamed in the bath were still languishing in bliss.
Sasha woke up. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, but I went in for a kiss - Ira, Irishka... He crushed me under him. There is a joyful smile on his face. The sweetest intercourse of love is in the morning, when the body is only half awake, the blind passion has been slightly extinguished during the night, but the sighted tenderness does not sleep.

Tired, Sasha reluctantly released me and stood up:
- The stove needs to be lit.
I threw back the blanket with the intention of getting up, yelped from the cold and darted back.
“It’s not the month of May,” the owner joked, quickly got dressed and went down to the first floor with a roar. I lay in the warmth, listening to him fire the stove. Thoughts wandered nearby, sensible and not so sensible, I lazily drove them away.

When it got warmer in the house, I got dressed and went to wash. She went out to the threshold and stood there. The fog shrouded the birch trees and fir trees around the dacha, covering the massive table with benches and long beds. Gray smoke from the chimney mixed with whitish fog. Lilies of the valley grew next to the porch, and a little further away there was a huge carpet of forget-me-nots. “If I marry him, I’ll plow these beds,” I thought, spoiled my mood, shivered from the damp cold and went to the bathhouse.

It was warm and dry there, and I washed my face with pleasure. I couldn't comb my hair. Hair from spring water They became soft, fluffy and did not want to obey. “Why did I decide that he was going to marry me? - I thought. - We're not in a fairy tale. He calmed me down at night so that I wouldn’t be afraid, that’s all. Yes, and you have to marry for love. But the heart is silent." Satisfied with this thought and completely upset, I wandered into the summer kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The stove was already burning there too. I started making croutons. Sasha came, possessively grabbed my sides so that I squeaked, and sat down on the dry stool.
- What did you dream about?
“Oh,” I waved it off. - Web. It’s like I’m flopping around in it, and you pulled me out. I'm so afraid of her that my legs are paralyzed.
- I found something to be afraid of. I'll laugh - I'm afraid of geese. When I was a child, I was attacked by a goose in the village, and the fear remained.
- Why did you call me your wife? - I couldn’t resist.
- So you’re here for a long time!
- Why?
- The brownie only scares his own people. When we bought the dacha, we did it all at first scary dreams watched. They took turns yelling. Then they stopped. How many guests spent the night with us - no one dreamed of anything. So, Ir...” Sasha spread his hands and laughed. - Think what you want. When should I look after you? In a week - at sea. Will you wait?
“No, Sasha, think what you want. Your brownie was mistaken. And why would you want a prostitute? Not only is she a prostitute, she’s also a greedy, drunkard and show-off.”
- I’m terrible, Sasha, you just don’t know.
- Nice, kind! And you cook deliciously.
Sasha drank tea and toast and strummed his guitar.

Well, what can I tell you about Sakhalin?
The weather on the island is normal.
The surf salted my vest,
And I live at the very sunrise...
(Words by Mikhail Tanich)

I was acutely aware of the thin, ghostly thread that had stretched between us a week ago, and I was afraid to move so as not to break it with a careless movement or a sigh. And Sasha sang, looking at me with loving eyes - velvet and oil, and his strong, free voice lifted me from the ground...

A year later, in May or June, I talked to the brownie. I thought I was talking to Andreika, Sasha’s eight-year-old cousin. A light bulb burned out in the house on the second floor. In the evening, in the semi-darkness, I sorted out the laundry, who should lay what, and chatted with Andreika, who got up after me. Or rather, I spoke, but he didn’t answer, he just smiled slyly and silently walked back and forth. As it turned out later, all this time my cousin was communicating downstairs with his aunt, my mother-in-law.

But it was not without reason that the brownie’s face was so cunning - after all, he turned out to be right.
Well, and the bathhouse... It hasn’t gone anywhere and hasn’t lost its sweetness. One of the joys of a difficult married life.

RIG website An old village bathhouse stood on the bank of the river. It was probably built in the 30s of the last century; before that it was small and dilapidated.

In general, I was breathing my last breath for a long time. It was heated twice a week - on Saturday and Sunday. On the first day, women washed, on the second, men. In theory, a long time ago it was time to build a new, more modern bathhouse, with two branches, which would work on other days of the week. Finally, fortunately for the villagers, a new chief arrived in the village, that is, he was actually listed as chairman of the district executive committee, but the population, as usual, officials called: superiors. So I really didn’t like this toyon old bathhouse, it was apparently scary for him to even wash there (although such a word had not yet appeared in everyday life, but it seems to me that it perfectly expresses the feeling of that toyon: ugh, they say!). And at his behest, a new bathhouse soon appeared, right next to the old one, smelling pleasantly of fresh wood, as expected with two sections and a different schedule. Well, the old one remained standing for the time being. Either there was no one to demolish it, or she didn’t bother the new boss. Left out of work, it rapidly deteriorated and made a dangerous tilt towards the river. In the summer, children splashed in the river under it all day long. In winter and late autumn, the bathhouse frightened rare passers-by with its gloomy, ominous appearance. There were many rumors about this bathhouse even during its operation.

They say that one day a young guy died in a bathhouse. According to rumors, he is completely healthy, a qualified athlete in freestyle wrestling, for whom the local coach predicted a glorious future. By the way, this guy no longer lived in this village, he studied in the city at some school and came to summer holidays home. His mother worked in this bathhouse: she sold tickets, was a bath attendant and a cleaner, and her children - she had either five or six of them - helped her heat and clean. This son was her favorite, since the rest did not have any talents and studied so-so. Of course, the woman was proud of her athlete son and placed the trust in him big hopes. That day, as usual, he washed himself in the bathhouse with his younger brother; after washing, they had to thoroughly wash the shelves, scald the wooden benches, iron basins and wash the stone floor. The younger one's friends were waiting near the bathhouse, and he began to whine: please let me go. Brother, what to do, let him go.

The mother, without waiting for the eldest, began to worry and, together with the other children, went to find out what was the matter. A guy with no signs of life was lying face down on the very top shelf of the steam room. A grimace of fear was frozen on his face. The doctors who arrived on call confirmed death from cardiac arrest. And why this happened, no one could say anything.

When a young man dies for no apparent reason, the question inevitably arises: how could this happen? Why did this happen to him? After the funeral, all sorts of rumors arose throughout the village, which intensified after the arrival of the deceased’s younger brother from the army. It must be said that the brothers were surprisingly similar to each other, as if cloned. In addition, the youngest imitated the elder in everything and was more attached to him than anyone else in the family. For him, such an early and absurd death of his brother was a shock. They say that he was seen sitting on the shore near the old bathhouse with a frozen, as if frozen face. It would be better if he cried, the compassionate villagers said and advised Varvara, his mother, to send him to study as soon as possible. Soon this happened: the guy left to enroll in the same school where his brother had previously studied.

After he left, one of his friends told amazing thing: it turns out that the guy blamed one local girl for the death of his brother - Raika Ch., who drowned four years ago while swimming in the river under this bathhouse. She was not found immediately, the current in this place is quite fast, the girl’s body was carried far beyond the village, and in the end she was caught by fishermen. This girl had just graduated from school, but she didn’t go anywhere like other graduates. As it turned out later, she was pregnant. And it’s my fault, as they said knowledgeable people, none other than that guy who died in the bathhouse. That year, he had just returned from the army and at the very first dances in a village club he noticed and singled out in the crowd of high school girls who, by hook or by crook, managed to get into adult dances, the quite mature-looking Raika. They started dating. Of course, the girl’s parents were against their minor daughter dating an adult guy and prevented this in every possible way. Thanks to their resistance, the romance flared up even more. Girlfriends carried notes from one side to the other, and the young people still managed to meet. And if the love of the girl, for whom this was the first serious feeling, flared up more and more, then the guy seemed to begin to cool down. Perhaps someone from a higher level reined him in; there was one such zealous instructor in the Komsomol district committee, who herself would not have minded getting her hands on such a guy, especially since they were already running out for a year. And then some young girl gets in the way... And maybe the villagers didn’t even know how far their business had gone.

In general, by spring the guy was, so to speak, deflated and did not know where to hide from the girl in love. At the same time, he was apparently afraid of her parents and could not immediately take her and send her away, and when he found out about her pregnancy, he almost shit his pants. It was just after the prom. They met on the river bank, where they had their last frank conversation. Now, of course, it is difficult to speculate what happened between them, what he said to her, but from that day on the girl literally began to melt with melancholy. Cheerful and mischievous by nature, she locked herself at home and did not go out anywhere, stopped taking care of herself, and became ugly. Most likely, the parents also contributed, especially the tongue-tied mother. One day, the neighboring girls invited her to swim near the old bathhouse. That day it was a very hot, stuffy day, and the girl reluctantly went with the girls to the river. The path lay past the bathhouse, in the courtyard of which she saw her love. He was doing something there, it seemed he was chopping wood, and on the rubble sat the guy’s new sweetheart - that same Komsomol activist, all dressed up, in a playful sundress, and laughing loudly. Carried away by the conversation, the guy didn’t even look towards the group of girls.

In about half an hour, Raya will drown, and the girls, these little piggies, will not be able to save her. A terrible thunderstorm will begin, and when they miss them and run to the motorboats, it will be too late. So no one will know if it was tragic accident or Raya committed suicide from unhappy love. After Raina’s death, the guy quickly left, so the instructor was left with her nose. They talked about this incident, groaned and soon forgot. Every year in this village, located on the banks of the Lena, people, mostly young people, drowned.

And a year later they started talking about this bathhouse bad stories. According to rumors, late visitors to the bathhouse began to be frightened by a young girl who suddenly appeared in front of them in the steam room. She looked like a drowned woman, with long flowing hair, with a crazy look, she fumbled with her hands in front of her, as if she was looking for someone and wanted to drag her with her.

Now they began to enter the steam room only in groups of three people, no less, and if you don’t go at all, then what kind of bath is that?! The women did not seem to be touched by the bathhouse ghost. Somehow it appeared in front of that guy’s brother: he, as usual, came to help his mother with the cleaning. The bathhouse was still warm, so he decided to wash himself first, take a steam bath, climbed onto the shelf and lay down. And he even dozed off a little, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a strange white figure appeared in front of him, seeming to sway in the steamy air. He immediately woke up from fright, but the figure did not melt, but, on the contrary, walked towards him, stretching out its arms towards him and baring its teeth. The air in the steam room was filled with a sickening, putrid smell. From horror, he seemed to pass out for a minute, and when he came to his senses, he heard voices in the locker room younger brothers. He didn’t tell them anything so as not to scare them, although he understood who it was. It was Raya, she was probably looking for her brother and mistook him for him. Perhaps she was scared off by her brothers, who arrived in time. Or maybe she only needed a brother. Who knows... And she still found in the end the one whom she had been waiting for all this time and whom she had been hunting for...

Yana PROTODIAKONOVA,

"Echo of the Capital"

STORIES ABOUT MICHAY "Like Uncle Micah in women's bath“Hey, Yurka, sit down, you’ll be a guest!” Micah greeted his nephew, who had come to see him for a moment. “But I, Uncle Micah, got ready to go to the bathhouse with friends.” “To the bathhouse?!” Micah perked up, “and, I suppose, some beer.” did you take it with you?! “Yes, there’s a little..." Yurka hesitated, not without reason believing that Uncle Mikhey would begin to persuade him to stay. “Beer, that’s good!” Mikhey grinned with his iron teeth, “there’s no bathhouse without beer.” That’s when not a bathhouse at all, but some kind of soaking house. Well, why did you come to me?.. - So this... - Don’t delay, tell me - what do you need? - I want to borrow for a week, no matter how much you mind. - Look -ka, how much it’s not a pity!.. - Micah, grinning, scratched the shaggy gray hair that was sticking out from under his vest. beer and that was enough!.. “I guessed it, Uncle Mikhei is with them!” Yurka agreed. “At that time, Aunt Klava, Mikhei’s wife, came out of the kitchen. Wiping her hands that had just been washed under the sink on her apron, she greeted: “Hello, Yura.” What wind blew it? - Hello, Aunt Klava, I want to borrow a little from you. -I heard, I heard... well, it’s a young thing! - and without saying another word, she went into the next room. Micah took this for silent agreement, glanced questioningly at the bag of beer, standing nearby with Yura on a stool. -Well, I can give you one for a shaggy one, but for a harem, it’s you Arab Emirates, borrow from some emir or shah. - Yes, I don’t need much, at least three hundred rubles... - Three hundred is not enough for one shaggy one - here’s a five-house for you! - Grandma, Yurok, I’ll give it to you, don’t mind, but with one agreement - leave me the beer! And you, there in the bathhouse, take something stronger - girls mostly like wine. “Okay, Uncle Mikhei,” Yurka reluctantly agreed and handed Mikhei a disposable bag tightly filled with plastic two-liter bottles of beer, the “Merchant” brand. -What an exchange! - Micah was delighted, deftly grabbed the bag and gave the five hundred to Yurka - take it, Don Juan, and remember your uncle’s kindness! -Thank you, Uncle Micah, I won’t forget! Yurka put the days in the pocket of his denim shirt and headed towards the exit. -Wait! - Micah called out to him - so where are you going? Yurka turned around in bewilderment. - So to the bathhouse, I told you... - Which bathhouse? - Micah did not let up. - Yes, you know her - in the next block, who. -A?! - Micah said meaningfully - well, go, go! - It’s Women’s Day where they wash – women wash a lot!.. - How’s it like Women’s Day?! - Yurka stopped dead in his tracks - there are separate rooms there. -Yes, there is, only for married couples! - Micah grinned his iron teeth again. - I thought that a group of you gathered in a garden cooperative - to the bathhouse in black, and maybe in white. It’s a long way to get from here, I understand, but nature and this and that... the romance is just rushing out of your pants!.. and that’s where you are - to the city central train! - as if they were waiting for you there! Yes, Yurok has to sign up a month in advance and you won’t get in! -How do I know, Yurik? - Aunt Klava shrugged her full shoulders - I haven’t gone to such bathhouses for a long time, I wash myself more and more in the bath. And when he feels like taking a steam bath, my Miklukha Ivanovich and I go to our garden, to our own bathhouse near the house. - What am I saying!.. - this is where you need to go!.. - So you need to go out of town... - Yurka scratched the back of his head. - Scratch, scratch the back of your head, nephew, and while I go out, I’ll go to the store and buy village milk from the tank. Village milk is still better than store-bought milk made from powder. The Berezovsky state farm delivers milk to us. Aunt Klava said goodbye and went to get milk. At the same moment, the melody “Farewell of a Slav” began to play in Yurka’s pocket. Yurka followed Aunt Klava with his eyes, and reached into his pocket for his mobile phone - he put it cellular telephone to the ear: -Yes, hello! - What's happened? - that means the weekend is cancelled. I know that all the places are booked, I was already informed... it's a pity! It's a shame, a shame, oh well! - there is another option - let's go out of town for the weekend, to a garden cooperative in a log bathhouse, steam with birch brooms, don't you agree? - well then, okay, see you, bye! -Well, Uncle Micah! - Yurka turned around - thanks for the advice, and told me about the bathhouse in your garden - that’s where we’ll go this weekend with our girlfriends! -And how many of you are there? -Us? - yes, a little: me, Kum, Baldy and our three girlfriends - if you don’t mind, of course. I guarantee order and sterility. “We’ll clean everything up,” Yurka assured Uncle Mikhei and handed him the five hundred he had just occupied. - Thanks for the money. -What's wrong? - Micah became wary, pushing the money away from him; he decided to take the beer back?! - No, what are you talking about! - Yurka laughed - drink to your health!.. What I mean is that you have enough snacks in your house. In the cellar there are different kinds of potatoes and pickles... “Yeah, he’s a smart guy and thrifty,” Micah frowned, “he’s figured it all out—you don’t have to spend money on a snack.” And that means you have farts for drinking. “Sorry, Uncle Micah, if I offended you,” Yura stopped smiling and said embarrassedly, “I’m not a muslin young lady to be offended by such nonsense.” The key to the house in the hallway hangs on a nail - you'll see. In the house, you will find the key to the bathhouse, but the lid to the cellar does not have a lock; just carefully pry up the edge of the board so as not to damage the floor. -Take this money for yourself. Uncle Mikhey doesn’t take back what he gave out of the kindness of his sailor’s soul - then, when you have a lot of your own, you’ll give it back - Mikhey removed the paper bill - the main thing is that you don’t burn down the house and the bathhouse, you revelers! - and, sighing, glanced sideways at the beer. - So maybe, since the bathhouse didn’t work out, a glass of beer, huh, Yurok?.. It’s a shame for a former Russian sailor to drink alone. -By a mug, so in a mug - I won’t take it home. - Yurka was forced to agree, because he was ready to run away from the embarrassment. -That’s right!.. that’s our way! - Micah rejoiced - pouring golden beer into two large ceramic mugs - not to waste time in vain.
We drank a mug, ate, in the absence of roach, blood sausage cut into circles, and got to talking. Or rather, Uncle Mikhey, who loved to drink and talk for company, started talking: “You, Yurka, were afraid to go to the bathhouse on Women’s Day.” You were right to be afraid, God forbid an inexperienced guy would get in there - they might kill you! Although, on the other hand, it is, of course, interesting to look at many different naked women: here you have old women with saggy dry breasts, and young women in juice, and little brats. But who will let you and people like you in there?! That's right - you can't! Forbidden!.. There were cases when by chance a man ended up in the women's department, there was such a squeal and it happened that the man was hit on the head and sides with fists, brooms, or even tin washing basins, which is something you don’t always see in a nightmare . But I once ended up in a women’s bathhouse and the naked people didn’t do anything to me. -Like this? - Yurka asked, sipping golden liquid from a brown ceramic mug. -But listen: I worked in the mid-fifties in a construction team renovating houses. In one forest village. The houses in the village where I lived were mostly made of timber, wooden, and less often cinder block. Our team was involved in replacing rotten floors, inserting glass, repairing the roof, and a lot of plumbing had to be changed and repaired... In general work enough. At that time there was a bathhouse in our village - the only brick building. It still stands on the outskirts, no longer of a simple village, but of a city that has become a regional center. The only two windows at the bathhouse where the steam room is located were low above the ground, and although those windows were not very large, they were covered up from the inside oil paint so that all sorts of preoccupied fools don’t peep. And there was plenty of foolishness then, just like now. How many times have boys and more idiots spied on naked girls and women and scared them - they broke the glass in these two windows! There were many complaints from women about this case. In the end, the village authorities could not stand it - and ordered the smaller authorities to close up those windows that were located low to the ground. And instead of them, break through others higher, near the ceiling. So that only by standing on stilts you can look in, and you cannot hit with a stone, due to the presence of additional strong bars in the windows. In a word - not a bathhouse, but a prison! But it’s easy for women to wash. And although only women were washing in the bathhouse that day, the authorities decided - since the women, the better half of the public, were so ardently determined to restore order in the bathhouse as soon as possible - the work on refurbishment of the bathhouse should not be postponed. They were afraid to send the entire brigade, which, frankly, is a dangerous task. No one at the top would approve of too large losses in personnel. We decided to send one worker. But who will volunteer? There were no brave souls to go into the thick of it. Then the lot was played on matches. And the lot fell on me. I can’t say that I was very frightened, but nevertheless, like a steel spring, I was completely compressed inside. You Yurka, listen and add more! - Micah looked away from his story for a second and continued. For the sake of such a thing, for courage, the men poured me a glass of vodka, as if the front-line soldiers had given me 150 grams. I drank the vodka in one gulp, spat over my shoulder, took with me a small sledgehammer and a bucket of mortar, and the men had to give me bricks from the street through the broken windows. I took my equipment, the men slowly opened the doors to the women's department in front of me and to the side. Come in, they say!.. And I entered!.. Strange, Yurka! - but I didn’t hear a scream or a woman’s squeal. And I hardly saw the women themselves - I walked as if in a fog. But he walked briskly, businesslikely, as befits a working man in overalls stained with mortar, and busy with a very important production task. The women, apparently, because of my behavior, did not accept me as a man. Probably in the same way in a hospital, female patients undress naked in front of a male doctor, not noticing a representative of the opposite sex in him, but seeing only the doctor. I walked through the entire washing room, I only heard a slight hum, and the basins were rattling a little and nothing else. I went to the steam room. Of course there is steam there. The women who were steaming here on the wooden shelves, and those who went down to the doors to catch their breath, respectfully made way for me and, grabbing brooms, left. Although I didn't tell them anything. The guys handed me bricks, I covered the windows below with them, carefully covered the chin with plane tree, then with a sledgehammer I climbed onto the shelves of the steam room, fortunately the wall was close. Here, at the top, I felt really hot!.. The hot steam didn’t decrease, but actually became even hotter and thicker!.. I forcibly broke through two windows at the top - even though I let in the air and begged - shouting outward: “I can’t do it anymore.” I’ll boil!.. The bosses took pity and decided to do the rest of the work later, when it was Men’s Day. And they thanked me and sent me home. I pushed the sledgehammer and the empty bucket through the hole into the street. And although now it was necessary to go, albeit in reverse, but the same way. I, one might say, did not walk back, but flew!.. So, Yurka, on Women’s Day I visited the bathhouse among naked women! In the hallway there was a knock on the door being opened, and Claudia entered the room with a can full of milk.

The sun had not yet risen, but Mishka was already on Badger Forest. There, about three kilometers from the village, stood an empty Serogon house. Mishka made another walk to the village, brought fishing gear and, returning back, covered his tracks with spruce branches.

Now he felt safe, he lit a hot potbelly stove, boiled some potatoes, and ate with appetite.

The sun was already high when he went to the river to set the tops. From the high bank one could see the indescribable beauty of a forest river covered with snow. The bear stood for a long time, enchanted, admiring the sparkling winter world. On the opposite side of the river, on a steep bank, stood a snow-covered dacha, cut into two floors from selected timber. former director timber industry enterprise, and now a cool businessman and timber merchant. Its windows were decorated with ornate carvings, and a spacious bathhouse was located below the river. The dacha was not yet inhabited. When Mishka left for St. Petersburg, craftsmen from the city built a fireplace in the upper room and were decorating the rooms. Now there was no one here. And Mishka even thought that it would be nice for him to live at this dacha until spring. All the same, until the snow melts, the owners will not get here. But he was immediately frightened by this thought, remembering that the police were supposed to be hunting for him.

He went down to the river, cut the ice across the riverbed with an ax, filled the hole with spruce branches so that the fish could only pass in one place, and cut out a wide wormwood under the top.

Soon he finished his work and went to the hut to rest from his labors. The hut was small and cramped. But there was a special forest comfort in it. Mishka threw spruce branches on the bunk and collapsed in all his clothes on the fragrant, resinous bedding, rejoicing at the peace he had finally found.

Mishka woke up from strange sounds filling the forest. It seemed that a landing force of aliens had landed in Badger Forest, producing incredible, rumbling sounds that shook the hundred-year-old pines. The bear fell off the bunk and stepped outside the hut doors.

Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute! - thundered and howled in the forest. - Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

The music came from the direction of the river. The bear carefully walked towards the shore. There were cars parked at the director's dacha, thick smoke rising from the chimneys to the sky, the bathhouse was heating up, doors were slamming, music was blasting at full blast, and every now and then the sound of boisterous girlish laughter could be heard.
Mishka's heart began to beat anxiously. He hid behind the bushes and, holding back the excitement that rose in his throat, began to watch what was happening...

He saw how she went down to the bathhouse funny company. The director of their timber industry enterprise walked heavily ahead, followed by three long-legged girls, stumbling off the beaten path into the snow and squealing, followed by some other large, thoroughbred men. Soon the bathhouse was filled with steam.

From inside she could hear the gasping of a heathen, muffled laughter and groans.

Finally, the doors of the dressing room swung open, and the whole cheerful company spilled out naked into the pure virgin snow. Mishkin's director, shaking his saggy belly, was like a wild boar breaking through the fluffy snow with his steamed pink body, dragging the company to the river, right into the wormwood where Mishkin's top stood.

Three beautiful girls found themselves on the ice, just opposite Mishka’s hiding place. It seemed as if you could stretch out your hand and take out each one.
From this proximity and the sight of naked girls’ bodies, Mishka, who lived involuntarily in severe abstinence, became dizzy, and his face glowed with the unbearable heat of shame and unknown forbidden passion.

As if drunk, he stood up and, staggering, wandered to his wretched shelter. And from behind, excitingly girlish laughter and joyful squeals teased and beckoned...

In the hut of the tar smokers, he again lit the stove, drank tea with lingonberry leaves and lay down on his bunk, sighing sadly over his dissolute, worthless life, which now, after the morning statement on the radio, had become completely devoid of any meaning.

Mishka was left without parents early. The mother drowned while rafting, the father became a drunkard. They say that the wrong coil was installed on the moonshine still. It was supposed to be stainless steel, but Bartholomew installed copper. That’s why the moonshine turned out to be poisonous.

No one in this life loved Mishka. After the craft, he walked with the girl and even kissed, and when he went into the army, his love immediately jumped out to marry a coven who had come from Transcarpathia and drove off with him forever.

And after the army there was work in the forest, and drinking on weekends. He was a prominent and kind guy, but there were no girls around, only guys remained in Vyselki, the girls all went to cities. You will inevitably get drunk here! It would be better for him to be born Sanya’s goat! I would sit on the stove and eat peeled potatoes. Look, it’s freezing in his office!

Mishka felt so unbearably sorry for himself that a burning tear boiled in his eyes and fell into the spruce branches.

At night he left the hut, the same song thundered in the dacha and echoed a hundredfold throughout Badger Forest:

"Prostitute, prostitute, prostitute,
Night butterfly, but who is to blame here?

Centuries-old pines trembled under the blows of decibels and snow sparkling under the light of the moon fell from the tops. The moon shone like a spotlight. In the vast abyss of heaven, radiant stars shone, and the night was as bright as day.

The bear, like a magnet, was drawn again to the dacha, music and fun. And he went there under the pretext of rechecking the top. She could have been knocked down while diving into the ice hole, or even pulled out onto the ice.

The director's dacha sparkled with lights. shore, Mishka saw through the wide windows her fabulous feast, filled with all kinds of dishes. Someone was dancing, someone was already sleeping in a chair. Suddenly the doors of the dacha opened, spilling a flurry of music and electric radiance into the frosty purity of the night.

Mishka saw someone jump out onto the porch in a fiery halo, rush down into the darkness, the steps on the hill creaked, and then in the ghostly moonlight on the ice of the river he saw a girl, one of the three who had been here during the day. She ran up to a blackened hole, in which the icy streams of a waking river curled, and threw herself on her knees in front of it.

Mishka has never seen anything like this in his life. beautiful girls. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, her high chest was heaving heavily, and tears were streaming down her beautiful face.

The country doors opened again, and a man came out onto the porch:

Margo! - he shouted imperiously. - Do you hear? Come back! Apparently, he was calling to the girl who was now kneeling in front of the wormwood.
- Malya! - he repeated insistently, - Malka! Get home. I'm tired of waiting.

The girl did not answer. Mishka heard only quiet sobs. The man stomped on the porch, swore and went back. The girl whispered something and made a movement towards the hole.

Mishka felt unbearably sorry for her. He jumped out of the bushes and in an instant found himself next to the girl.

No need! - he said in a wooden voice. “It’s deep here.” The girl raised her head.
- Who are you? - she asked distantly. She smelled of expensive perfume, wine and foreign tobacco.
“Teddy bear,” he said worriedly.
-Are you local?
- I live here. “In the forest,” Mishka answered in the same wooden way. The girl lowered her head again.
- And I'm Margot. Or Malya. Prostitute.
- Is this a stripper, or what?
-Not really. Prostitute.

Mishka did not know the meaning of this word and decided that prostitute was the girl’s surname.

“Don’t stand with your knees on the ice,” Mishka warned. “Otherwise you’ll catch a cold.”

The girl suddenly began to cry, and her shoulders trembled slightly. Mishka, suppressing his embarrassment, took her by the elbows and placed her next to him.

Do you hear, Mishka,” she said suddenly and raised her beautiful eyes, full of grief, to him. “Take me away from here.” Somewhere.
And Mishka suddenly felt that the old Mishka was no longer there, that he was now completely at the mercy of those sorrowful eyes. And that he is ready to do whatever she says.

“My feet are cold,” she said. “Warm my knees.” Mishka crouched down and wrapped his stiff arms around his elastic knees.
Mali. Her legs were bare and cold. The bear bent over them and began to warm them with his breath.

Let’s go,” she said quickly. “Get me out of here quickly...

They climbed the path to the hill. Unexpectedly for himself, Mishka easily picked her up in his arms and carried her to his forest winter hut. And she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself tightly against Mishka’s chest, clad in a sweatshirt that smelled of smoke and pine, and fell silent.
When Mishka reached the hut, the girl was already deeply asleep.

He laid her carefully on the bunk covered with spruce branches and sat by the window, listening to the unknown feelings that had settled in his soul half an hour ago, but had already taken root as if he had lived with these feelings forever and would continue to live just as forever.
Malya breathed barely audibly. The night was as bright as day. The moon was shining like a spotlight outside the window.

22.01.2016

I think that every person living in Russia will be very interested in listening to the history of the Russian bathhouse. After all, we go to it, but we don’t know where this tradition came from, who brought it to us. In this article we will try to tell you about this.

The Russian bath originated from very ancient times. Herodotus himself also said that the Scythians who lived in Ukraine used a bathhouse. They installed three sticks inclined towards each other, and covered this “structure” with felt. Then, they installed a vat in the middle of the resulting “room” and threw hot stones into it. Having climbed into this bathhouse, they threw hemp seed into the vat, which caused intense heat to rise.

Among all nations, the bathhouse was considered a special, sacred place. The saying that after washing in a bath it is as if you were born again goes back to ancient times. Below we will consider which peoples and countries began to introduce the bathhouse into their culture.

Certain tribes of America still use the “ancient” bathhouse to this day. That is, a cone-shaped hut was built, in the middle of which a small depression was dug. Stones heated over a fire were placed in this hole and water was sprinkled on them. Now this method is used by tourists, forwarders, geologists and others.

Procopius of Caesarea, a historian who lived in the 5th century AD, wrote that the bathhouse was an integral part of the life of the ancient Slavs. In the baths they celebrated all the celebrations, washed the child who had just been born, and in the same way escorted the deceased to the other world. At that time, the bathhouse was “built” something like this: in the corner (in the house) a hearth was built from stones, and somewhere a window was opened to allow smoke to escape, and there was also a container of water with which hot stones were sprinkled. Each person took a broom in his hands and, waving it around, attracted heat to himself. In this way, people cleansed their body and soul. The bathhouse is a combination of four elements (as the ancestors believed) - fire, water, earth and air. A person who took a steam bath became stronger and healthier. There was even an opinion that if the patient was not cured after the bath, then nothing would help him. East Slavic myths mention that the bathhouse was used by the Gods themselves.

In Russia, a steam bath in the 5th century was called mylnya or vlaznya. Already at that time people enjoyed this grace. Regardless of whether a person is rich or poor, he could afford to cleanse himself in the bathhouse. The bathhouse was a consolation from problems, evil eyes and adversity. A little later, inviting a person to the bathhouse became the basis of hospitality. To begin with, the guest was called to “cleanse himself” and only then was he treated to drinks and food.

For the first time you could read about the bathhouse in the inventories genius man monk Nestor the Chronicler. His “Tale of Bygone Years” says that the bathhouse was first mentioned in the 1st century AD. This happened when the Holy Apostle Andrew, after preaching the gospel teaching in Kyiv, went to Novgorod, a “real miracle” appeared before his eyes. People entered the bathhouse naked and “warmed up” there until they were the color of boiled crayfish, after which they doused themselves with water and beat each other until exhaustion with brooms. This ritual took place daily. For St. Apostle Andrew this was savagery; he commented on it like this: “people joyfully torture themselves.” Also, based on Nestor’s description, you can find out that in 906 an agreement was concluded between Russia and Byzantium, which dealt with... a bathhouse. It was stated there that upon the arrival of the Byzantine merchants they should be given water, food and allowed to steam in the bathhouse as much as they wanted. There is an interesting fact that happened in 945. After the death of Prince Igor, Princess Olga took revenge on the Drevlyans three times, and when the Drevlyan ambassadors arrived to negotiate with the princess, she ordered the bathhouse to be lit for them. The unsuspecting ambassadors were calmly washing themselves off the road when Olga’s servants locked them outside and they burned alive.

The first baths were built exclusively from logs, but in 1090 a brick bathhouse was built in the city of Pereslavl.

At that time, visitors from other countries (Germans, French), having experienced first-hand what a Russian bathhouse was, began to build similar ones in their countries. But these baths were very different from real Russian ones. Few travelers could withstand such a high temperature (in some baths it could reach up to 100 degrees), and they could not imagine how Russian people accepted such hot air masses. Smart foreign doctors knew that steaming in a bathhouse is very useful, as a diaphoretic for the body, but since Russians steam, it’s not only not useful, but even dangerous. They argued that this caused brain and muscle tissues to relax and function worse, and for female skin and youth was extremely detrimental. But even foreigners knew that the Russians had such a day - “bath”, it was a Saturday day on which it was customary to take a steam bath.

Those who did not have a bath could steam directly in the oven. They swept the floor clean, covered it with straw, and as the foreigners said about this, “they steamed so hard that the breath flew out of them.” But nevertheless, these methods are still used to this day, albeit rarely.

At that time, using the healing methods of Hippocrates, Russian healers (having learned about the benefits of the bath) began to help sick people. In the charter of Prince Red Sun (as Vladimir was popularly called) there were baths for the “infirm.” These were the first in Rus', a kind of hospital. At the beginning of the 12th century, the granddaughter of Vladimir Monomakh, the famous healer and healer Eupraxia, lived in Rus'. She, one might say, preached visiting the bathhouse. Already at the age of 15, she was wooed to the Tsarevich of Tsaregrad and moved to live with him. Having quickly studied Greek language, Eupraxia read the ancient recipes of powerful healers - Hippocrates, Asclepiad and Galen. Becoming, over time, a healer, thanks to a large number studied recipes, she preached personal hygiene. Eupraxia said about baths that they strengthen the body and spirit of a person.

The history of the Russian bath has a lot to do with it interesting events, which, like history, it would do well for contemporaries to know.

Regardless of who it was, the king or the commoner, everyone had to observe the “wandering” custom at that time. After spending the night together, people had to go to the bathhouse in the morning, and then bow before the images. Devout people were afraid to go to church even a few days after spending the night together. Such people succumbed to light ridicule and jokes (after all, it is quite strange when several people stand in front of the church and do not go inside). Until the beginning of the 18th century, everyone exclusively underwent the following ritual. Before the wedding, the groom had to take a steam bath, and after the night the couple went there together. The bride's mother, on the eve of the wedding, baked bread, which was called "bannik", thus blessing the newlyweds for happy life. She wrapped this bread, two fried birds (most often chicken) and two cutlery sets in a tablecloth, sewed them up and gave them to the matchmaker. This was done so that after the newlyweds left the bathhouse, the matchmaker would treat them to this blessed lunch. People firmly believed that the bathhouse would wash away all their sins.

Every rich and poor person had a bathhouse in their home; as for the very poor, there were common bathhouses for them.

The bathhouse was the place without which not a single Russian person could imagine himself. She gave peace, pleasure, relaxation, cured illnesses, and rejuvenated the soul. It was a ritual that could not be ignored. Before entering the bathhouse itself, a person was given a radish, and in case of thirst, there was always cool kvass in the dressing room. Very important role mint and other aromatic herbs played. Mint was put into kvass, the benches were covered with mint, dominique and other fragrant herbs. Mostly birch trees were used.

After the Russian bathhouse became common in virtually every country, different peoples made their own adjustments to it. For example, Islam correlated cleansing in the bathhouse with religious thoughts, just like that.

Now no one can reliably say where the Russian bathhouse originated. Some say it was brought by the Spartans, others think it was brought by the Arabs, but it is quite likely that the Russian bathhouse was invented by the Slavs. Why not? This assumption is confirmed somewhat interesting moments. Since Russians washed in bathhouses, no one had ever washed, that is, their ancestors had their own “style” in this matter. The fact how foreigners praised Russian heritage and the fact that only after contemplating it in Rus' they began to build the same ones in their own country. Who knows, maybe the Slavic forefathers really are the founders of this wonderful ritual.

In general, anyone who had land for it could build a bathhouse. And in the middle of the 17th century, a decree was even issued on how far from a residential building a bathhouse should be built. This was done solely for safety. In home baths, both women and men washed together, without any embarrassment, but the common ones were divided into men's and female half. And only in 1734 there was a ban on the entry of men into the women's baths, and women into the men's baths.

In 1733, permission was issued to build medicinal baths. It was forbidden to keep alcoholic beverages in them. As a rule, such baths were built from logs. The art of construction was passed down from generation to generation, and people did not use any drawings or graphics. The ancestors approached the question of where to place the building very important and scrupulously. This was no less important than establishing a site for the construction of a church. In the Russian bath there were no rooms with different temperatures, as in the Roman thorns, but they had a room with lavas of different heights, that is, the higher, the hotter.

During the time of Peter I, the chamberlain cadet Berkholz lived in St. Petersburg, who in his notes about Russia described all the charm of the Russian bathhouse and the level of service in them. Russian women knew how to set the desired temperature correctly, how hard to “brush” with a broom, and at what point to throw cold water on them.

Peter I then lived the life of a simple carpenter, and he, like other Russian people, had a bathhouse, without which he could not imagine his life. It was he who, as a result, became the first organizer of medical resorts in Russia, built on the basis of a bathhouse. Having visited many foreign resorts and hydropathic clinics, Peter I ordered that these healing waters be found in Russia. Thus, “marcial waters” were discovered for the first time. They got this name due to the fact that the water turned out to be ferrous, and therefore they named it in honor of the god of war - Mars. Peter I contributed to the fact that Russian baths became more common in Western Europe. He ordered the construction of baths for his soldiers in Paris and Amsterdam. And after the battle with Napoleon, baths were built in all liberated countries.

The Russian bathhouse - its history is quite interesting, and it begins to change a little with the coming to power of Peter I. At that time, “fashion” and inclinations to ancient culture. They began to erect buildings similar to Roman houses. A replica of Roman thorns was built indoors Grand Palace in Tsarskoe Selo.

As you can find out from sources, many famous personalities liked to visit Russian baths. Suvorov organized a “washing” for his soldiers in whatever city they were in (the main thing was that there was a Russian bathhouse there). The de general himself withstood very intense heat, after which he took on about 10 buckets of cold water. Denis Davydov often came, as did the singer and actress Sanduna. It is important that after the singer’s arrival, a type of bathhouse was named “Sandunovsky baths” in her honor. They differed from the rest in their buffet and a large number of drinks, including champagne.

In 1874, in St. Petersburg alone there were about 312 bathhouses. All of them were supplied with Neva water. These baths were divided into “trade” and “numeric”. A visit to the commercial bathhouse cost from 50 kopecks to 10 rubles, which was quite expensive, and not everyone could afford it. In the “numbered” baths the prices were more moderate, that is, they were made for poor people. They were divided into 3 classes: 1st class - 15-40 kopecks, 2nd class - 8-15 kopecks, 3rd class - 3-5 kopecks, which was, in general, available to everyone.

In order to make the process more pleasant for the “soul and body,” the Russians furnished the bathhouse with various attributes. But still, every family sauna differed from each other in their design, temperature conditions and approach to the treatment of diseases.

Video about the history of the Russian bath: