“It’s for you.”
“Spending money on me again, eh?” He grumbled, but softly and pleasantly.
When he opened the box, he was so pleased that I noticed there were tears in his eyes. He turned away for a second and then called me to him.
“Come here.”
I leaned over.
“You are the best woman in the world. I love you. Thank you darling.”
My heart contracted. Tears smothered me. “I cannot lose him,” murmured a voice in my head. Sergei wouldn’t have been himself if he didn’t immediately start joking: the binoculars I had bought weren’t the right ones – they should have been navy ones…but I was happy that he was joking. Speak, say anything you like, only speak, my darling.
The days went by in turn and, as before, we spent a lot of time together. Sergei slowly started getting out of bed, his drip was cut off, his scar slowly healed over. I constantly beleaguer the doctor with questions: whatever I read, whatever I hear, I run to him with questions. He hears me out and always supports me. I am so in need of this support.
They showed Sergei’s operation on TV–I happened to watch it and subconsciously understood that several surgeons really worked magic on my Sergei. When it was time to discharge him, the surgeons promised that they would stand by us. They kept their word.
We were discharged and back home again. The difficult time began. Sergei in pain. The baby boy, our daughter at school; we started treatment using the Shevchenko method, from people’s medicine. We kept using spasmalgon pills. The doctor came and examined him, calmed him down: now would be the difficult stage, the stage of recuperation, but he had to fight.
We decided to christen the children, give Sergei his first communion and sanctify the flat. The priest came to our home and talked to Sergei for a long time. The christening was wonderful and our friends became godparents. Soon we were preparing to celebrate our son’s first birthday.
The priests said: you have to tell him the truth. You can’t force this sin upon yourself. One of Sergei’s friends came to see us.
“He really ought to know,” she said.
“But how can I find the words?”
“You must! He must fight, knowing what we are up against.”
Sergei’s condition got worse. There were fits and a really awful night – then he showed for the first time how broken and tormented he was. Night pains, night, then remaining alone with his illness, I sensed for the first time the breath of death.
It slowly touched us. It did not sneak up, rather it inexorably moved towards us.
Regardless of fright or fear, I had no right to give in. I entered the fray, and there was no way back. But how should I fight. How could one turn the world back? I had a feeling of devastation, but in my head one question constantly rang: what is the right thing to do? My soul was crushed with pangs for which there are no medicine can help. Rigid with fear, seizing all my energy, sighing with pain and helplessness, I tried to find the right decision.
“I will embrace you as tightly as I can.”
“I won’t let anybody have you.”
“Embrace me, hold on to me. We are together and no one can separate us.”
Our strength is only in ourselves, and this cold, deathly touch, which causes such pain, cannot alter our love. The embrace of two loving people is a power, which can change us into a single, indivisible whole – a monolith of Love.
A new attack began. I took fright and phoned the doctor.
“I have to tell him that he had cancer but it was removed and now everything is okay. The main thing is to fight.”
The doctor approved and said that a man should know the truth. I telephoned his mother.
“Mother, darling, I must tell you the truth: Sergei has cancer…I didn’t say anything before. I thought that we would manage. Mother, I beg you, hold on!”
I remember this conversation with pain. I cried and so did she. It was our misfortune, our common grief. The misfortune of two women: mother and daughter.
I asked her what I should say to him.
“Don’t tell him or he will do something to himself.”
“Mother, I will tell him half the truth, that the cancer was removed and now it’s all behind us.”
“Do what you’ve got to do.”
Thank you, my dear, for trusting and supporting me. I telephoned Sergei’s friends. They said that they would be round in the evening.
I tried to prepare myself for the conversation. I had to find the words, so that he would want to live, so that he believed that the bad things were behind him. He saw my tear‑stained eyes and he started to entertain thoughts, which disturbed me, which I did not like. I had to change his mind, shake him out of it, force him to fight, but I wasn’t strong enough… I went into the room. He lay on the divan in the half‑light; just a small light was on. I sat on the sofa, took him in my arms and squeezed myself to his chest.
“Sergei, I need to talk to you.”
“What’s happened? You are scaring me.”
“Sergei, I need to tell you the truth…When you see me tearful or frustrated, it’s not because I am tired of you, no, it isn’t that. On the contrary, I love you more than ever before…You had a malign tumor, they managed to get it out in time…everything is okay, but now you have to help me to fight and it will be very difficult. Believe me, I knew everything from the very beginning and stuck with you all the same. It has been terrible for me, perhaps even harder than it has been for you. You have to help me, you can’t let me down now. I have struggled for you and I am still struggling for you. You know that you’re cured and that I am beside you always; gather your strength now! Life is beginning afresh…”
He held me close to him and I cried.
“Silly girl, what are you crying for? Everything’s okay now, isn’t it?”
I saw his eyes, and he understood everything. He looked at me with different eyes; now everything fitted into place. He stroked my head and repeated.
“That’s enough, that’s enough, my beloved.”
He held himself together, although everything was raging inside. He was in pain, but looking at me he knew that I was in even greater pain. He understood that life went on, that he would struggle, because he had me and his children. And we were together.
Our close friends were also by our side. They came round and that evening we sat around a table with them. But I saw only him, understanding how hard it was for him. Within him a struggle was taking place – a personal struggle known only to himself. He joked, entertained us all, but inside he held back a completely different feeling. He went within himself and began to get depressed. He held himself together, but I felt that he was somewhere else. I chatted with him and we got back to the subject of his illness. Then we felt slightly better, because all our reservations were gone.
He believed in me and told everyone, “She knows everything, she’ll get me through it.”
We got ready for our son’s birthday and waited for the guests. In the morning of October 9, Sergei himself cut his son’s hair. I started to get in the party mood: joy – that was the thing that was the least possible in the given situation, but it was all the same unavoidable. Sergei must have seen how loved he was. I really wanted the party to be a success. I wanted him to feel good, to see his friends gather in his house.
One by one, the guests arrived, our doctor among them. It was a mixed company of about thirty people, but it seemed like it wasn’t the first time we were all together.
He drank a little, his nerves were stretched to the limit. A relative from Moscow phoned and he went into the far room and talked to her for a long time. I went in to see him and there were tears in his eyes. He finished his conversation. We sat in silence and cried…When we got back to the guests, they fell silent. He really enjoyed the first birthday of our son, he was happy.
The decisions were being made by themselves. Back in the hospital the idea had come to me of going to Sergei’s home. I prepared him for this. I said that we hadn’t relaxed that summer, and that it wouldn’t be bad to have a holiday, but I did it carefully. In addition, a lot of business appeared, filling in forms to do with the fact that he had been one of the decontamination team after the Chernobyl accident.