З життя
Як я змусила чоловіка розірвати зв’язки з родичами, які тягнули його на дно
Я зробила так, щоб чоловік розірвав зв’язки з родичами, які тягнули його на дно
Я, Оксана, досягла свого — мій чоловік, Тарас, припинив спілкування зі своєю родиною. І я нітрохи не шкодую — вони тягнули його в прірву, і я не могла дозволити їм потонути разом із нашою родиною. Рідні Тараса — не пияки й не ледарі, але їхній світогляд був отруйним. Вони вірили, що життя має саме принести їм усе на таці, без жодних зусиль. Але в цьому світі ніщо не дається даром, і я не хотіла, щоб мій чоловік, сповнений потенціалу, потонув у їхньому болоті безнадії.
Тарас — справжній трудівник, але йому бракувало іскри, мотивації. Його родичі в невеличкому селі під Житомиром ніколи її не шукали. Вони лише скаржилися: на владу, на сусідів, на долю — на всіх, окрім себе. Батьки Тараса, Іван і Марія, все життя ледве зводили кінці з кінцями, але нічого не міняли. Їхня філософія зводилася до одного: «Таке життя, змирися». У Тараса був молодший брат, Богдан. Його життя теж не склалося: він одружився, але дружина пішла до заможнішого, залишивши його з думкою, що всім жінкам потрібні лише гроші. Ця родина була як чорна діра, яка висмоктувала надію.
Я любила Тараса і вірила в нього. Але через кілька років шлюбу, живучи в їхньому селі, я зрозуміла: якщо нічого не змінити, ми до старості носитимемо одне й тесе й економитимемо на хлібі. Попри невелике село, гарну роботу можна було знайти, але родина чоловіка навіювала протилежне. «Нащо працювати на дядька? Виженуть без копійки, і суд не допоможе», — твердив свекор. Він із Тарасом працювали на місцевому заводі, де зарплату затримували на місяці. «Міняти роботу немає сенсу, скрізь лише по блату», — вторив йому Тарас, повторюючи слова батька. Свекруха навіть городу не тримала, кажучи: «Все одно вкрадуть, нащо старатися?» Їхня бездіяльність мене вбивала.
Я бачила, як Тарас, талановитий і працьовитий, гасне під впливом рідних. Вони не просто жили в злиднях — вони змирилися з ними, як із вироком. Я не хотіла такої долі ні для нього, ні для себе. Одного дня я не витримала. Сіла навпроти чоловіка й сказала: «Або ми їдемо до міста і починаємо нове життя, або я їду сама». Він спротивлявся, повторював батькові мантри про те, що нічого не вийде. Свекор і свекруха тиснули на нього, переконуючи, що я руйную родину. Але я стояла на своєму. Це був наш єдиний шанс вирватися з їхніх лап. Зрештою Тарас погодився, і ми переїхали до Києва.
Переїзд став переломним моментом. Ми з нуля шукали роботу, знімали кут, рахували кожну гривню. Було важко, але я бачила, як у Тарасі прокидається вогонь. Він знайшов роботу в будівельній компанії, я влаштувалася адміністратором у салон. Ми працювали, вчилися, не спали ночами, але йшли вперед. Минуло п’ятнадцять років. Зараз у нас своя квартира, машина, ми щороку їдемо у відпустку. У нас двоє дітей — старший син Ярослав і молодша донька Соломія. Усього ми досягли самі, без чиєїсь допомоги. Тарас тепер керівник відділу, а я відкрила невеликий бізнес. Наше життя — це результат нашої праці, а не вдачі.
До батьків Тараса ми іноді їздимо, надсилаємо гроші, щоб підтримати. Але вони не змінилися. Богдан, його брат, досі живе з батьками, працює на тому самому заводі, де затримують зарплату. Вони називають нас везунчиками, ніби ми не напрацювалися заради цього життя. «Вам просто пощастило», — кажуть вони, ігноруючи наші безсонні ночі, наше самовідданість, нашу наполегливість. Їхні слова — як плювок у обличчя. Вони не бачать, скільки ми вклали, щоб вибратися з тієї самої ями, в якій сидять по своїй волі.
Тарас лише недавно зізнався, що переїзд був найкращим рішенням у його житті. Він усвідомив, як його рідні гасили в ньому прагнення до кращого, як їхні життєві скарги і бездіяльність тягнули його назад. Я пишаюся, що змогла витягти його з того болота. Але щоб зберегти нашу родину, мені довелося поставити бар’єр між Тарасом і його ріднею. Я не забороняла йому спілкуватися, але зробила так, щоб їхній вплив не отруював наше життя. Кожен їхній дзвінок, кожна скарга нагадували мені, як близько ми були до того, щоб потонути в їхній безнадії.
Моє серце інстинтовно стискається при думці, що Тарас міг залишитися там, у тому сірому житті, де немає мрій. Але я бачу, як він дивиться на наших дітей, на наш дім, і розумію: я зробила правильно. Його рідні й досі живуть у своєму світі, де все вирішує доля, а не зусилля. А ми обрали інший шлях. І я не дозволю їхнім отруйним словам або старим звичкам повернутися в наше життя. Ми з Тарасом побудували своє щастя, і ніхто не відіб’є його в нас.
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The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**
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