Baba Lyuba struggled to lift the pail of frozen water from the pump and walked slowly down the trampled path to the home. The frost tickled her face, and her fingers slipped disobediently along the rusted handle. She paused at the door to regain her breath: she placed one pail on the step, grabbed for the second, and slipped.
“Oh, my God! She could only mutter “..” before slumping to the ground.Her shoulder landed hard on the step’s edge, causing a dull, agonizing sensation in the back of her skull. For a few seconds, the woman lay still.
She then attempted to stand up, but her legs refused to follow her. It seemed as if they had severed her from the waist down. Crawling toward the door, choked with pain and panic, she clung to everything she could find: an old stool, a broken broom, and the edge of her own skirt. Her back ached, her forehead was soaked with sweat, and everything around her was swaying and drifting.
“Come on, Lyubanya… come on…” she said under her breath as she climbed onto the ancient sofa in the corridor.
The phone lay on the windowsill. With shaky fingers, she dialled her son’s number.
“Pashenka, son…” I feel horrible, so come…” She mumbled and fell unconscious.
Pavel arrived in the evening. He burst into the home, letting in chilly air. Without a hat and unkempt from the wind, he paused in the doorway, seeing his mother half-lying on the sofa.
– Mom, what’s wrong? – he approached her, softly taking her hand. – God, she is utterly immobilized…
He called his wife without thinking about it.
– Olya, come immediately… Yes, she is not feeling well. She appears to be motionless.
Baba Lyuba heard everything, but her expression was emotionless. Hope sprang up inside her: her son was afraid, indicating that he was not indifferent. Perhaps the family will finally get together? Perhaps they will save her?
Olya showed up just two days later. She stood on the threshold, furious and fatigued, as if she had been taken away from essential responsibilities.
“Well, now you’ve had enough of jumping, old woman,” she said through her teeth, looking at her mother-in-law. “Now lie there like a log, since that’s what happened.”Anka clutched her mother’s hand and looked at her grandmother with concern. She attempted to smile, but her face would not cooperate.
Olya entered the house without even saying hello. Pavel escorted her to the kitchen. They spoke quietly, but tensely. Baba Lyuba couldn’t hear the words, but she sensed that the talk was harsh and full of negative connotations.
A few minutes later, the son returned. He approached her and quietly lifted her up in his arms.
She muttered, “Where to?”
He didn’t respond. He simply pushed his lips into a thin line. She placed her arms around his neck, smelling a familiar scent of machine oil and tobacco.
“To the hospital?” she inquired again.
Silence. Only the steps got faster.
But he did not go to the hospital. He carried her beyond the house to the outbuilding, where potatoes, old skis, and iron buckets had once been stored. The cold permeated his garments, the wind blasted through the holes in the window, and the floor was covered with fractured boards. It smelt like moisture and nothingness.
Pavel placed her on a hard cot wrapped in a worn-out blanket.
“You can lie here,” he murmured without looking into her eyes. “It’s too late to make any changes anyway. “You’re nearly eighty, Mom.”
He turned around and fled before I could say anything.
The sh0ck arrived gradually but totally. Baba Lyuba lay there, unblinking, staring at the ceiling and feeling the cold enter her flesh. Why did he do that? For what?
Pictures from the past were in front of my eyes: how I raised my son alone, worked as a cleaner, and purchased him a jacket on credit. How I paid for the wedding after my daughter-in-law’s parents said “not a match, uneducated.”
“And I always stood up for him,” she said softly, unable to believe what was occurring.
I also remembered Olya as reserved and acerbic, with no nice words. There was not a single word of thanks for assistance. At least once, she came without being asked. But she only stopped by once, at her granddaughter’s birthday.
And now she lies here in a frigid little cage, like useless rubbish. And she didn’t know if she’d make it till the morning.
Every day, the certainty that something bad was happening grew greater. Pavel came in less and less often; he would set down a bowl of soup and then go. Olya would occasionally open the door and cast a short glimpse from afar to see if she was still alive.
But one morning, Baba Lyuba heard a peculiar voice outside the window: joyous and happy.
– Nice house. Light and roomy. Is there gasoline?
“Of course,” said Olya. “Would you like me to show you the kitchen?”
Baba Lyuba froze. Her heart began beating. Really? Are they planning to sell their house?
Later, she heard voices complimenting the bathhouse and enquiring about the foundation. She felt like something that hadn’t yet been buried, but they were already attempting to sell it. Tears spilled into the pillow, hot and silent.
“That’s it…” ran through my mind. “I don’t need help. I am in their path. And the house is a wonderful value.
She lay still. Only her lips moved slightly; long-forgotten prayers were whispered. And then, a light, almost imperceptible movement in her right hand. She froze. She tried again, and her fingers responded. Her voice returned, raspy but lively.
She tried to lift her head – to call for help… but immediately froze. It was impossible. They would hear her. They would think she was delirious. Or maybe they would even finish her off.
“Be quiet, old woman… be quiet…” she whispered to herself, as if she were taking an oath.
Two days passed in silence until a new scandal broke out. The voices behind the wall sounded loud, irritated. Every word was heard through the cracks in the door.
“Why did you let her go barefoot?!” Pavel yelled.
– And where were you? She ran after the doll, I didn’t notice!
– Yes, she has a fever! The whole body is shaking!
– Am I a doctor? Call your paramedic, Mikhail!
The name came as a complete surprise. Baba Lyuba shivered. Mikhail… She had heard of him. They said various things: some suggested he was in for a brawl, while others said he was in for something far more serious. But he worked. Because there weren’t any others.
Baba Lyuba stiffened up. She wanted to say, “I have honey, jam, and linden branches… I would help.” But she lay there, unnoticed and weak. Anya was ill, and she couldn’t even provide water to her grandchild.
Everything inside me was clenched: embarrassment, dread, and powerlessness. But, deep below, something else was shining. Hope. Perhaps Mikhail could understand. He would realize the truth.
— And where is the mistress of the household?
Pavel paused. There was silence in the room. Baba Lyuba froze. She wanted to shout but couldn’t. Only her eyes widened, filled with agony and hope.
She startled and put out her hand, accidently knocking the cup off the chair. It landed with a dull thud.
– Oh… Pavel hurriedly removed the traces. – Do not pay attention. Mom is currently in a nursing facility. We’re only here momentarily. Selling my house…
Mikhail said nothing. He nodded and departed. But his steady, relentless gaze captured something inside Baba Lyuba.
A bit later, the door to the annexe swung open. Pavel rushed in, his face contorted with wrath.
– What are you doing! Are you crazy? Dropping the mugs?! – He hung above her, breathing violently and deeply. – I don’t hear another sound! Not a single unneeded movement!
He cursed, slammed the door, and left her alone. His heart was beating, and his throat was tight. But deep within his heart, he realized: “He knew. Mikhail understood…”
A barely heard creak woke her up during the night. The door… someone gently pushed it. Baba Lyuba stiffened up. Her heart fell. The darkness became thicker, and every rustle looked dangerous.
“Could it be Pavel?.. Or Olya?.. Maybe they forgot to close the window…”
Quiet steps. The beam of a flashlight seeped through the cracks. A man entered the room. Baba Lyuba squinted. The face was not visible, but the voice… she recognized that voice.
“It’s me, Mikhail…” he whispered, sitting down next to her.
She sobbed. She wanted to rush to him, but her fingers trembled. He sat down next to her, carefully taking her hand. She squeezed his fingers with all her might.
“I knew… I knew you would come…” she whispered.
– Quiet, quiet. I won’t be long.
Mikhail carefully turned her over on her side and began to feel her back. She winced, but did not pull away.
– Right here, between the lower back and the sacrum. Pinched. But not hopeless.
He took out the oil and started massaging – gently at first, then more deeply and with pressure. Baba Lyuba gritted her teeth, her forehead was soaked in sweat, and her shirt was moist. Tears streamed down, not from terror, but from agony and tension.
– Just a bit longer… breathe… like this…
More than an hour has passed. Mikhail ended by covering the woman with a blanket.
– That’s it for today. Things will get simpler tomorrow. Baba Lyuba, you are strong. You can manage it.
He adjusted the cushion and prepared to depart.
“Mikhail… thank you…” she muttered, nearly passing out.
Morning arrived abruptly. Baba Lyuba awoke from the commotion, which initially appeared to be a dream. But suddenly she heard shouting, stomping, and the gate clanking.
– You have no right! – Olya exclaimed. – This is our home! We reside here!
– Calm down. Open the annex. There should be a woman named Lyudmila Alekseyevna present, a male voice remarked forcefully.
“She’s at a nursing home! There is no one there!” Pavel shouted.
A knock on the door. Baba Lyuba froze. She gazed at her feet. She felt it: warm. Real. Her fingertips were moving. She slowly leaned on her elbows to lift herself up. And sat up. Then she slowly stood up.
“Oh my God…” I am standing. She muttered, “I’m really standing…” while clinging onto the wall.
The door swung open, and a young police officer with a notepad stood on the threshold. Mikhail stood behind him, cold and collected, but attentive. “Here,” he said briefly. Baba Lyuba slowly emerged into the light, wearing a nightgown and a shawl on her shoulders. She was standing, looking straight ahead. “It’s me,” she said.
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
She took the first step outside. Pavel and Olya were standing in the yard. When they saw their mother, they froze in their tracks. Olya’s face turned pale, her lips trembled. Pavel lowered his eyes – as if he had been caught with someone else’s property in his hands.
Not a word was said. Not a sound broke the awkward silence. They turned and quickly disappeared into the house.
The police officer continued writing something in his notebook, but the woman stopped him:
– No need. They were just visiting. This is my house. Everything is fine.
The police officer gazed at her before shifting his focus to Mikhail. He nodded slightly. The district police officer shrugged and went.
Silence covered the yard like a blanket. Only the leaves rustled underfoot. Baba Lyuba stood barefoot and unfettered, as if for the first time in many years.
When the police officer left, there was a disturbance in the house. There was no yelling, no scandals, just feverish movement: bags, boxes, children’s belongings—everything flew into the car, as if pushed by an invisible panic. Baba Lyuba peered out the window, holding an old lace shawl to her chest.
Pavel moved closer. His voice was calm, and his face was grey.
– We will go… It will be better this way. You’ll be calmer alone, right?
She didn’t blink. She stood straight as a tree.
– Go away, Pasha. Don’t come back. Never.
He froze. As if struck. He pressed his lips together and lowered his head.
Olya, standing a little further away, muttered through her teeth:
– And you yourself asked us to help… And now we are nothing to you?
Baba Lyuba didn’t answer. Not a single word. She just looked. Coldly, calmly, with pain inside that could no longer be hidden.
“Son… But a son doesn’t act like that. Is it possible to abandon a mother like useless trash?”
She couldn’t forgive. Even if she wanted to, her soul wouldn’t allow it.
Pavel stood there for a little while longer, then turned around abruptly.
– Let’s go, Olya. I don’t care. She’s gone crazy.
The tires squeaked on the gravel. The automobile drove off. Without saying farewell. Without a final glance.
A dismal emptiness pervaded the house. Not only silence, but a deep stillness. Baba Lyuba moved slowly down the hall and into the kitchen. The sun shone through the dirty windows. The table was covered in crumbs and dried marks from cups. There was a broken doll on the floor.
“What a mess…” she mumbled, settling down on a stool.
She removed her shawl and straightened her hair. Her hands were shaking, maybe from exhaustion or the understanding that she had been alive all along. Just living.
She ignited the samovar. It growled, reminding her that life is not over.
She gazed around the room. The tablecloth was tattered, the windows were dusty, and the floor had browned over time. It once smelled like pies, firewood, and warmth. Now, oblivion.
But there was also power in that. It meant she had reclaimed ownership of the house. No lies, no ugly stares, and no dread.
“Where do I start? What about the floors? “Or the dishes?” she asked herself, smiling.
She stood up and pulled out a bucket and rag. The initial step was cautious. The second expressed more confidence. She paused. She listened. Silence. But not oppressive; lively. Birds outside the window, and a measured tapping on the samovar lid.
A knock at the door. Light but firm.
She shivered. Her heart thumps. She held her breath. She went over. She opened it.
Mikhail stood at the threshold. Tall, wearing a jacket with a worn elbow, and with a tired look in his eyes. But he smiled.
“So, Baba Lyuba?” “Is it time to get a cane?” He said with a hint of sarcasm to relieve the strain.
At first, she froze. Then she laughed – not cruelly, but genuinely, from the heart.
– Mikhail, you came.
– I promised. And how about you?
– I stand. I walk. I even smile.
They sat at the table. Silently. I listened to the water dripping in the samovar. No words were required. Everything had been lived through. Endured. I cried through it.
