Igor Eliseev - One-Two

Gennady possessed a picturesque appearance. Pink bald spots were already outlined on his head, making him attempt to disguise them by combing his hair sideways; his fingers with bitten nails resembled short, thick sausages. He never washed himself as a matter of principle, considering washing in water an absolute waste of time. In his leisure time, he liked to look through personal advertisements in newspapers, reminding me of a mangy tomcat ready for action at the sight of any young woman’s body. Probably, for this reason, he treated our mother very frostily but openly flirted with us, trying to make gags and telling obscene, true-life stories and gross jokes every now and again.

Somehow there was only one time when our mother entered into the conversation. Having heard hardly distinguishable singing behind the wall, she only said through her teeth, either mockingly or with excitement:

“People started singing. That’s all from desperation.”

At half past ten Gennady Karlovich got up from the table and, without even saying goodbye, made his way to the door; however, at the threshold he stopped and, after thinking a while, uttered:

“Well, you must come round to my place for a while. It’ll be so nice to see you both.”

He had hardly gone out before Mother, piercing us with a scathing look, hissed querulously:

“Did nobody teach you at school that you should hold a knife in your right hand, and scoop the soup from the front of the bowl to the back!?”

We listened to her submissively and ashamedly, being used to obeying the orders of elders. It is much easier to forgive and forget than to be obstinate and resist. Eventually, having finished savoring her absolute domination over us, she indulgently made us a bed – a real bed with real bed linen – then coldly and a little fastidiously stroked only you briefly on the head and went to sleep.

“She didn’t even ask where we came from today,” I whispered with disappointment. “Where we live.”

“Who cares, if we’re living at her place from now on,” you cut in rationalizing, and started snoring demonstratively. I’m sure if you only could have, you would have turned over on the other side.

Late night shrouded the city; a pregnant moon was sliding across the dome of the sky. My troubled sleep was interrupted by a shrill squeak of springs. I opened my eyes and saw Mother sitting on the corner of our bed and watching me very closely. Her moonlit face expressed a surprising humility and fondness as though her true, maternal essence, patient and caring, was just now showing itself while the other, false, hysterical and suspicious, was sleeping undisturbed on the couch, snoring and snuffling quietly. I wanted to shake you awake and tell you everything would be okay, but mother pressed her finger to her lips, silently asking me not to do so, then she put her hand on my head and carefully stroked my hair as if I were a child. That very moment, as if by magic, I forgave her all her sins, offences and wrongdoings, and soon fell asleep deeply and serenely. When I woke up, the dawn had already broken behind the window; Mother was still sleeping and some doubts started rising in my mind. Was that really her or was that one of my dreams last night with her in it?

The next week we took great pains to help her about the house, went grocery shopping and spent our own money on food; and mother, as she saw us paying, scolded us for unreasonable extravagance and inability to be tight with money. Finally, we decided to give her our scarce savings on moral grounds. Meanwhile, Gennady Karlovich acquired the unchangeable status of a frequent guest in our humble dwelling; working as a taxi driver only at nights and returning home at daybreak, he had all his meals at our place, always cheered our mother up, kept boosting her morale. But when he paid a bit more attention to us, at that very moment she grew gloomy and silent. Gennady, however, didn’t bother about these changes in her moods, continuing to emit an inexhaustible stream of vulgar nonsense in which he had no equal.

All our life we had been dreaming of getting through every little hole in order to enter this beautiful and unfamiliar world where parents and children love each other, not to get anything but to spite everything, where love is all-important, to plunge into a “true” fairy-tale world, to settle down and live happily ever after. So why didn’t I feel happy when it was happening for real? I realized that everything seemed to be fine but my soul, with tearful eyes, did not believe in what was happening. I just couldn’t embrace a huge discrepancy between the way I watched Mother every day and the way she appeared before me that very first night. An obvious trap was concealed in all this. Mother reminded me of a dark storeroom with numerous boxes full of old things; we go inside and move ahead into the depths, trying not to touch anything, and as long as we do it, everything goes well, but a single wrong step suffices for the burden of the past to collapse and to bury us alive.

Several times a day, repeating herself and getting confused, Mother told us the story of her life, full of immense hopes and dramatic disappointments. Her dream was to become a great actress, and it came true, which is not a particularly common thing but a reason for pride. However, she didn’t become a great actress, but a minor, restricted one. In the theater she faced certain troubles from the very beginning. Somebody always wanted to take her place or oppressed her or never let her play leading roles. And all this happened despite her creativity and her rich inner world. She deemed all theater directors, without exception, to have no talent, but most often her anger was directed against actresses. She couldn’t stand competition from anybody in any form, neither at work, nor in her private life. She was blessed with good looks but deprived of talent. At work, she always overacted, and to protect herself, she was only able to swear and push people around. Boldly claiming directors lacked professional skill, she switched from one theater to another until nobody wanted to work with her. She came to be a total fiasco. In general, all her employment and relationship stories ended up with angry lamentations and curses, which “proved” that she was totally surrounded by enemies or bastards. And every time, after “turning her soul inside out”, she could be seen, nervously smoking near the window, having a good, long cry, calming down till her next outburst. Used to boredom and monotony, we spent a whole week together: quiet Faith, passionate Hope and illusory Charity. Unimaginable that some families can spend all their lives thus!

One morning Gennady Karlovich came in, which wasn’t particularly surprising. Occasionally glancing at us and smiling greasily, he had a long and agitated conversation with Mother. Once he left, she gave us a towel and new toothbrushes, which were considered a luxury, and sent us to the bathroom, being especially sweet and caring. You were overwhelmed with joy, and while we were taking a shower, you tried to appeal to my conscience in an undertone: “It’s not our mother who should take care of us; it’s us who should take care of her from now on.” After our shower we drank tea again, which was beginning to make me feel sick.

“And now, listen,” Mother said imperatively, breaking the silence, “our Gennady Karlovich is a very lonely person and definitely needs some help. I want you to go to his room right now”.

And loudly, as if to overcome our objections (which actually never came), she continued impatiently:

“I don’t want to listen to anything. Do go!” and started taking the dishes off the table.

Once we entered Gennady’s room, mother slammed the door behind us. We found him half-naked. I remember noticing a surprising disproportion between his massive body and his very thin, short legs. Furthermore, for the sake of completeness, his red, bearlike fur, as if torn out of him on purpose, was scattered all over the place: on the chairs, on window sills, on the couch; we could even see it between magazines and newspapers, mixed up with dust. Gennady stood in the middle of the room and shivered either from cold or impatience, smiling oilily. The entire room became permeated with the smell of his sweat, which seemed to be emitted even by the furniture.