That very day we bought a telephone directory in the book market and faced the daunting task: seven people with the sought-after names turned out to be living in the city. But what was most important was that in the directory we found addresses opposite the names. We therefore had a great opportunity to look for her from a distance at least, instead of making phone calls. That was what I thought; however, your plans were totally different and you took a decision I couldn’t agree to, but was unable to change. You dragged us to a telephone booth with the quickness of our four feet. Fortunately, the only booth that was working was occupied. Activity gave way to the chance to gather our thoughts and put off an uncomfortable conversation with a person named Charity. But soon enough the booth became vacant, and you resolutely pushed us inside. Having dialed the first number from the list, we, with baited breath, started counting the beeps. After a while – which seemed like a whole, perfect eternity – we heard a female voice saying hello. A thousand questions whirled through my mind, the most important questions of my life which I wanted, planned, had to ask… but, of course, I didn’t. I hung up without saying a word. You understood everything from my look of despair. What could we say to an absolutely unfamiliar lady, even if she turned out to be our mother? For good or for bad, words were meaningless and inappropriate; we needed to see her reaction to us. We had nothing but to choose the last option: to check all the addresses, knock on every door and look in the face of each and every one of those residents personally. For some reason, we had no doubt whatsoever that we would be able to recognize our own mother.
12. MOM, YOU’VE GOT A VISITOR_
Next day we didn’t go to work – for the first time. Instead, we started the day by searching for our mother, checking the addresses in the order they were listed in the telephone directory, from top to bottom. We headed off to the first Charity’s address with mixed feelings. I was scared about what would happen if we found her because I had nothing to tell her, but you, on the other hand, were overwhelmed with impatience. I knew how desperately eager you were to see her but you should have understood: you and I were not ordinary children and we couldn’t predict how our mother would react; the books didn’t say anything about this. We spent two long, senseless hours in the entrance hall of one apartment building, that’s how long it took you to force me to walk upstairs. The first half of the morning had already passed, and our would-be mother could have left for work long ago, walked by accidentally and not even recognized us.
At last I gained courage and we rang the doorbell. In the silence we heard an electric canary singing, the door opened, and a tall and extremely skinny young man of about our age, with long hair, almost feminine features and a thin aquiline nose appeared before us. Nobody said a word; he studied us attentively – we had left our blanket at home – and we looked at him vacantly. However, our appearance was not particularly surprising to him; on the contrary, it evoked genuine interest.
“Can I help you?” he asked in an absolutely harmless voice.
“Excuse me, does Ms. Charity live here?” you asked, in a faltering voice.
The young man measured us with another glance of limitless curiosity and then called into the depths of the apartment:
“Mom, mummy, you’ve got a visitor.”
She has a son! It turns out that if this woman is our mother, then he must be our brother. It was scary to think about, but a flash of hope emerged. Soon, a rather stout woman with a puffy face and a brush-haircut appeared on the staircase. Despite her gloomy looks, a strange and incomprehensible warmth enveloped us when she appeared, and at that very moment I thought how great it would be if she turned out to be our mother.
She peered into our faces for a long while, but couldn’t stop worrying.
“Can I help you?” She repeated her son’s question.
Didn’t recognize or didn’t want to? Her eyes spoke for her: neither sudden fright, nor pleasure, nor happiness were reflected in them, only bewilderment. This is not her! No doubt about it. At that very moment, we wished to disappear, vanish into thin air, or even better, become invisible, quietly creep into the room after her and live there for a while, carelessly pretending we were staying at home with our family. But instead we had to whisper, “Sorry, there must be some mistake…” and immediately go downstairs. Once again we stood in the entrance hall for a long time, experiencing a new feeling, sudden like rain, wanting to hide in some hole and never leave. We seemed to become even more miserable than before.
Our next “mother” was a very old, weak-sighted woman near ninety. She tried to see if she recognized who we were but couldn’t see us properly. However, we saw her quite well. After the traditional question, “Can I help you?” and receiving no answer, she re-entered the darkness of the corridor, probably wanting to fetch her glasses or to ask for help, but when she or they returned there was already no sign of us.
We had a lengthy dispute about whether we should check the remaining five addresses or forget everything and go back to our regular life. We didn’t think that our mother could have a family or that we could have a brother or a sister. Are they going to accept us as we are? But you persistently stood your ground. “I want to look this bitch in the face; I have a right to be somebody’s child!” you shouted, experiencing an unexpected change of heart and not even admitting the possibility of being unsuccessful in our search. But success was questionable. Would we get lucky and find her in that big city with only a list of names as our guide and helpmate? Eventually, your hatred – that had emerged like sharp teeth – and my growing curiosity made us get on with our “mission”.
The third “mother” died a few years ago; at least that’s what we were told through a closed door.
The next two were very young women, a bit older than us, and so everything was much easier. We just turned around and left, and they, shrugging their shoulders, dispassionately closed their doors on us and immediately forgot about our existence.
The door of the sixth apartment had an improper word inscribed on it in chalk. First, we rang the doorbell but there was no sound of ringing; a little while later we knocked timidly. After a minute, we heard footsteps, then the door opened wide, letting out kitchen smells onto a bare staircase, and we saw a sleepy woman’s face. Perhaps in the past she had been pretty, but now, under her dressing gown, we could imagine her bloated body and, indeed, saw its outlines. Her hair was gathered into a messy knot and her face revealed excessive suspicion and discontent.