The Wanderer: A Journey Through the Unknown

The family verdict was handed down by the elder daughter, Sarah. Because of her sharp temper and lofty expectations of suitors, she had never married, and by thirty she had become a bitter, manhating crust. She was a sore ulcer, a husbandhaters nightmare made flesh.

Unwelcome, she declared, as if stamping the word into stone. The younger daughter, Emily, a plump, giggling girl, smirked approvingly. Their mother kept silent, but the sour line on her face made it clear she, too, disliked the new bride. What could possibly please her? Their only son, Tom, the familys pillar, had gone off to the army and returned with a wife. This socalled wife had no parents, no moneynothing at all. Perhaps she grew up in an orphanage, perhaps she was a relatives stray; no one knew. Tom tried to brush it off, joking that they would earn their own fortune someday. Talk to him, you fool, Sarah hissed. Who did he bring into the family? Maybe shes a thief or a swindler. Who knows how many of those there are now?

Since the newcomer, Victoria, arrived, Varvara Nikitichna in the old tongue, she had not slept a full night. She dozed with one eye open, waiting for some mischief the fresh relative might causeperhaps rummaging through wardrobes. The daughters urged her, Mother, hide the valuables among the relatives; who knows what might happen? Fur coats, gold They feared that one bright morning the whole house would be stripped of its treasures.

Tom was blamed for a months worth of complaints: Who did you bring home? Where were your eyes? No skin, no face! Yet there was nothing to be done but to live. So they learned to make room for Victoria.

The house was comfortable, the garden stretched over thirty acres, three piglets trotted in the yard, and birds filled the air in countless numbers. Work never seemed to end, but Victoria never complained. She cooked, tended the pigs, cleaned the house, and tried to please her motherinlaw. Still, if a mothers heart was cold, no amount of gold could warm it; everything would feel wrong.

The unwanted daughterinlaw, fed up with the bitterness, said on her first day, Call me by my name and patronymic. That will be better. I already have daughters; no matter how hard you try you will never be as dear as my own. From then on, Victoria was addressed as Mrs. Victoria and the mother never used a proper name for the daughterinlaw. Something must be done, she would say, and that was all. No more indulgence. Yet the sistersinlaw never let any unwelcome relative leave unchallenged; every complaint was met with a sharp retort. Sometimes the mother had to hold back the quarrelsome daughters, not out of pity for Victoria, but to keep order in the home. After all, the girl was a hard worker, grabbing any task, never lazy. Slowly, the mothers coldness melted.

Life might have settled, if only Tom hadnt gone off gallivanting.

What man could endure a wife who, from dawn till dusk, nagged in two voices, Who did you marry? Who did you marry? Then Sarah introduced him to a friend, and everything spiraled. The sistersinlaw celebrated, thinking the hateful Victoria would finally be swept away. The mother stayed quiet, and Victoria pretended nothing had happened, her eyes shrinking to hollow pits.

Then, like thunder on a clear day, two shocking news arrived: Victoria was pregnant, and Tom was divorcing her.

That will not be, the mother told Tom. I never matched you with her. Yet, once married, one must live with it. Youll be a father soon. If you break the family, Ill throw you out and never speak to you again. Sharon will stay here.

For the first time, the mother called Victoria by her given name. The sisters fell silent. Tom snapped, Im a man; I decide. The mother planted her hands on her hips and laughed, What sort of man are you? Youre only in trousers. When you raise a child, teach him, shape him, then perhaps youll be a real man.

The mother never backed down, and Tom was left muttering to his mother.

If he thought of anything, he left the house. Sharon stayed, and after the proper time she gave birth to a girl she named Vicky. The mother said nothing when she learned the name, but her eyes showed joy.

Outwardly, nothing changed in the house; only Tom forgot his way home, feeling hurt. The mother, though she worried, showed no sign. She adored the granddaughter, spoiling her with gifts and sweets. Sharon, however, could not forgive that she had lost her son through her. She never blamed her even once.

Ten years passed. The sisters married, and the big house held three: the mother, Sharon, and Vicky. Tom enlisted again and left for the north with his new wife. An elderly retired soldier, serious and older than Sharon, began visiting her, offering little help. He had divorced his own wife, left his flat to her, and lived in a hostel on a pension. He was a respectable match, but where would he take her? To the motherinlaws house?

He explained everything plainly, begged forgiveness, and left. Not a fool, he went to the mothers door and declared, Victoria, I love Sharon; I cannot live without her.

The mothers face did not twitch.

Love, she said, then live together.

She paused, then added, I will not let Vicky be moved from these rooms. Stay here, under my roof.

So they all lived together. The neighbours whispered, tongues chapped from gossip, about how the crazy Victoria had driven a son out and taken in a meddlesome daughterinlaw. Only the lazy neighbour never bothered to clean the bones for Victoria. She ignored idle chatter, never discussed the young men, and kept a proud, untouchable demeanor. Sharon gave birth to Kate, and the mother could not rejoice over her beloved granddaughters. What kind of granddaughter is Kate? she muttered.

Then disaster struck, as it often does, unexpectedly. Sharon fell gravely ill. Her husband broke down, even turned to drink. The mother, without a word, emptied the familys savings and drove Sharon to London for treatment, ordering every medicine and consulting every doctor. It made no difference.

One morning Sharon felt a little better and asked her mother for chicken broth. The delighted mother slaughtered a chicken, plucked it, boiled it. When she served the broth, Sharon could not drink it and, for the first time ever, wept. The mother, who had never been seen crying, wept with her.

What are you doing, child, leaving me now that I have loved you? she sobbed. Then she steadied herself, wiped her tears, and said, Dont worry about the children; they will not be lost. From then on she never shed another tear, sitting beside Sharon, holding her hand, gently stroking it as if asking forgiveness for all that had passed between them.

Another ten years went by. Vicky was to be married. Sarah and Emily, now aged and grey, arrived, both childless. The whole extended family gathered. Tom returned, his marriage long over, drinking heavily. He stared at Vicky, now a striking beauty, and was pleased. I never expected such a wonderful daughter. Yet when he learned that his daughter called her stepfather dad, his face darkened. You brought a stranger into this house, he accused his mother. He has no business here. I am the father.

The mother answered, No, son. You are not a father. Youve worn those trousers since youth and never outgrown them.

She said it as if stamping it. Tom could not bear the humiliation, gathered his belongings and once again set off wandering the world. Vicky married, had a son, and named him Alexander in honour of her adoptive father. Last year, Vickys motherinlaw was laid to rest beside Sharon.

Now they lie side by side: daughterinlaw and motherinlaw, and between them, a birch tree sprouted this spring. No one planted it; it seemed to have appeared out of nowhereperhaps a final farewell from Sharon, perhaps a last forgiveness from the mother.

The tale reminds us that stubborn pride and endless grudges only grow bitter roots, while compassion and forgiveness are the soil in which peace blossoms.