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.
“What guests have come to honor my humble home?” he said, ingratiatingly. “Come here. And stop huddling together like penguins. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite you.” He burst out laughing. “Well, as you wish. I’m almost ready, anyway. Now it’s your turn to get undressed.”
An absolute, almost hostile silence reigned in the room. I saw what he was driving at and started to inspect the room in search of heavy objects. Meanwhile, you began to pull off your sweater, then your t-shirt. It seemed like we stood on opposite sides of a barricade. I stiffened, watching the situation as if from the sidelines, and felt the changes occurring inside you. You were being transformed into a complete stranger which for me was very dangerous, crossing an invisible line which guarded our safety. Till at last, it hit me that the former Hope didn’t exist anymore; she would not be coming back and we could never shake off the painful memories of what was happening by just shrugging our shoulders.
I felt this weird wave of nausea in my throat, but not in my stomach. I was ashamed. I abhorred our lousy situation. Undressing, you bared both of us, and I stood like an impersonal being or the narrator of a story, not knowing how to distance myself from your performance. Unable any longer to observe the scene, I closed my eyes tightly, not from fear, but from shame. The oppressive silence around me was accompanied by darkness. The whole world had stopped, frozen in indecision. I was powerless. And at that very moment, all of a sudden your voice broke the stinking, suffocating, unreal silence like a sewer pipe.
“What are you staring at, you idiot? Just do something. But don’t touch the sister.”
That very cynical statement you made was filled with chilling tranquility; like a cold shower, it opened my eyes. Everything remained pretty much the same. Gennady stood in the same place and resembled a shaggy, rusted monument rather than a living person. We were still side by side; however, something had changed irrevocably. He no longer had control over the situation; now you were the one giving orders.
“Pick up your jaw from the floor. Look, what a freaking good surprise you got!” Your voice “encouraged” him mockingly.
Gennady didn’t say a word, nervously running his fingers over his baggy underpants and blinked uncontrollably.
“You don’t want me anymore? What’s the matter? Shit or get off the pot!” You threw hurtful words at him with great force, and our body started shuddering with frantic laughter.
“That’s because I’m tired,” Gennady mumbled plaintively, “I’ve been working all night. I’ll be all right tomorrow. Promise I will.”
“If you’re so tired, go to sleep, you impotent, fat fool!” you mocked, putting on your sweater.
I must admit, I got frightened, expecting an uncontrollable reaction from that Russian half-bear, half-hog, so can you imagine how surprised I was when he confusedly and even childishly started to persuade us not to tell Mother about the incident, not to tell anyone?!
“There’s nothing to tell, because you couldn’t do anything,” you hissed sarcastically, rubbing salt in the wound.
“But I am still going to pay her, as if everything went well,” he was mumbling and growing red to match the color of his body-hair. It turned out that he was afraid of mockery like everybody else. And then slowly, hardly moving disobedient feet, he sat down on the chair nearby and started crying.
“What was about him that made him so special and could attract our mother?” I thought, looking at his endless tears. “Was it about his patronymic (The patronymic Karlovich derives from Karl, a popular German name) giving an illusive hint to his German roots, or was it just a trivial physiological need, the most pressing issue for a woman who was already growing old?” For me, it remained a riddle. Only one thing was obvious. Our mother had planned Gennady’s “little discomfiture” in advance. Her hatred towards us was stronger than her love for him. How strange that was. Charity, who was supposed to be at least a slight bit benevolent, merciful and charitable, took revenge because “someone else” was preferred to her. But there again she took revenge on everybody, even herself.
And she succeeded in her revenge wonderfully well. Gennady Karlovich was sobbing like a child. Though I didn’t have much sympathy for him, with my heart I understood how bad he felt and wished to speak a comforting word. But you, on the contrary, were full of contempt and hatred; that new image of you was the absolute copy of our mother’s character, her flesh and blood.