There Once Lived a Mother Who Loved Her Children, Until They Moved Back In by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya Read Free Book Online

by much. My Alena was a springboard for him, nothing else, but obvious as it was, it hadn’t crossed her mind, and she danced before him on her knees day and night.
    •   •   •
    But finally the day came, and there was Andrey, sitting at our kitchen table, while the dud was banging on the bathroom door, trying to lock it. I appealed to my son, “Please, my darling, please listen to me. I didn’t want to upset you, so I didn’t mention in my letters that Alena was pregnant by God knows who.”
    “Hold on. And who is this dude?”
    “Just a minute. I’ll tell you from the beginning.”
    “Can you wait? I’m hungry.”
    “Here. Here’s some soup. Eat. You don’t know the worst of it! Here’s some bread. Have you washed your hands?”
    Silence. We were back at square one: the problem of washing hands. He glared at me and took bread with dirty fingers.
    “Fine. As you wish. Anyway, I had to do something.”
    “About Alena?”
    “That’s right. It’s always up to me!”
    “I don’t remember you bothering on my behalf.”
    “Andrey, darling, there’s a lot you don’t know.”
    “All I know is that I was the only one to end up in jail, and there were eight of us.”
    “Don’t go there. Please. The story is that you were alone against five, right?”
    “I’ve heard all this before.”
    “Please. Listen to me. That’s why they gave you only two years. If it was eight against one—who, by the way, was thrashed by all of you—”
    “He got what he deserved.”
    “Oh, how wrong you are, how wrong! I saw him at the hospital. Anyway, with eight defendants you would have gotten five years. Minimum.”
    “Just shut up. Bitch.”
    “Please, my love, I beg you. You are back. The light of my life is back. My only one. You’ll show him, you’ll show that bastard!”
    More banging in the bathroom—the dud was trying to get out.
    “I had to take measures. The girls, her classmates, confirmed what had happened in the hayloft and that she had washed her bloody clothes—”
    “Mom, enough! I’m dizzy.”
    “He married her because of the witnesses. Eat, eat, my love: here’s potatoes, herring, butter. He hasn’t wolfed down everything yet!” I couldn’t cry. “What we’ve gone through! That bastard. A fatherless wretch from some provincial dump. Barely got accepted into college. If they kick him out he’ll be drafted.”
    “Better the army than prison.”
    “He doesn’t think so.”
    “So you’ve snagged yourselves a new sonny. Well done. Bitch.”
    “Eat, my love, eat. Everything’s homemade.”
    At this moment the fatherless wretch finally extricated himself from the bathroom and approached Andrey. He offered a hand and said a strange thing: “Glad to see you. Welcome.”
    Alena burst in, buttoning herself up after a feeding, and threw herself on Andrey’s neck.
    “What can you do? A silly cow.” Andrey smiled.
    “Silly cow she is,” the dud agreed amicably.
    They looked so young, so innocent, so full of hope, even in the squalor of our kitchen. If only they knew what awaited them—and what could possibly await them in this life of ours? Darkness and cold, betrayals and death—and the breathing of my Precious, which alone could provide consolation.
    My love. It’s a physical pleasure for me to hold his weightless little arm, to gaze into his round blue eyes, with eyelashes so long that even when he sleeps they cast shadows like enormous fans. All parents, and especially grandparents, love little children with a physical, sinful love. The child understands that and becomes callous and spoiled. But what can we do? Nature meant for us to love, and so we love—even the old folks, who just want a little warmth.
    So my two darlings were having a reunion in our filthy kitchen, and I wasn’t a part of it.
    “Andrey,” I said, “I object to his registration here. And she, in return, objects to your registration.”
    Oh, the power of words. The reunion was over.
    Andrey was