З життя
Повернення до батьків: наш перший візит після весілля через півроку.
Вирішили ми з дружиною відвідати моїх батьків у селі, де не були з часу нашого весілля. Я розумів, що це буде непросто, але не уявляв, наскільки. Щойно переступили поріг, мати зустріла нас холодними словами, від яких мурахи побігли по шкірі: “Тут працюють, а не байдикують”. Звучала в цьому прихована погроза, наче ми приїхали не до рідних, а на каторгу.
Моя Оксана, з її ніжністю та міською витонченістю, здавалася раптом такою крихкою, немов тендітна квітка серед бур’янів. Я бачив, як вона міцно стискає мою руку, коли мати доручила їй чистити рибу. “Олексій, це ж твоя дружина, а не наймичка!” хотілося крикнути, але я мовчав, бо знав, що кожен мій протест лише погіршить ситуацію.
Ті дні в селі стали кошмаром. Оксана працювала допізна, її пальці тремтіли від холоду, коли вона мила посуд у криничній воді. Я бачив, як вона прикушує губу, стримуючи сльози, коли мати знову і знову докоряла їй у лінощах. “Ти ніколи не будеш гідна мого сина”, — звучало в моїй голові, немов прокляття. А я стояв осторонь, ніби прикований невидимими ланцюгами до тієї землі, де виріс.
Наші вечері складалися з вареної картоплі та риби, яку Оксана готувала, але мати навіть не сідала за стіл із нами. Вона спостерігала з кута, як тінь, що чекала на помилку. А коли ми нарешті лягали спати, я чув, як Оксана тихо плаче в подушку. “Прости… Прости за все це…” — шепотів я, але слова губилися в темряві.
Повернувшись до міста, я наважився сказати матері: “Більше ніколи не ображай мою дружину”. Але вона лише посміялася: “Ти забув, хто тебе виховав? Хто годував, коли плакав від голоду?” Її слова в’їдалися в серце, наче лезо ножа.
Наступного поїздки у село я був готовий до боротьби. Батько зламав ногу, і я мусив випасати корів. Оксану взули в гумові чоботи, що натирали ноги до крові. Дощ залив поле, перетворивши його на багно. Вона йшла за мною, спотикаючись, а я мовчав, бо знав, що будь-який мій прояв турботи спровокує нову хвилю знущань.
І потім — баранина. Оксана не переносила її запаху, але мати це робила спеціально, готуючи її щодня. “Їж, якщо хочеш бути частиною цієї родини!” — гримнула вона, коли Оксана відсунула тарілку. Я взяв виделку, розірвав шматок м’яса і кинув його на підлогу. “Більше ніколи”, — прошепотів я, але це тільки початок війни.
Тепер, коли Оксана вагітна нашою донечкою, я більше не можу ризикувати. “Їдь сама, якщо хочеш, — кажу матері телефоном. — Але вона залишиться тут”. В її мовчанні чується цілий океан образи, але моє серце вперше відчуло спокій. Я обіймаю Оксану, і її теплі руки нагадують: інколи родину треба захищати навіть від тих, хто тебе виховав.
P.S. Коли мати зателефонувала наступного разу, я вимкнув телефон. Нам обом було боляче. Але інколи біль — це єдиний спосіб прокинутися.
Why Does It Matter Who Looked After Gran? By Law, That Flat Should Be Mine! — My Mum Argues With Me Over My Grandmother’s Home My Own Mother is Threatening to Sue Me — All Because My Gran’s Flat Went Not to Her, or Even to Me, But to My Daughter. Mum Claims It’s Unfair, Insists the Flat Should Be Hers. But Gran Made a Different Choice. Why? Perhaps Because My Husband and I Lived With Her and Cared for Her Those Last Five Years. You Could Easily Call My Mum Selfish — Her Needs Were Always Far More Important Than Anyone Else’s. Mum’s Been Married Three Times, But Only Had Two Daughters: My Younger Sister and Me. We Get On Brilliantly, But Neither of Us Has a Great Relationship With Mum. I Don’t Even Remember My Dad — He Split From Mum When I Was Two. Up Until I Was Six, I Lived With Mum at Gran’s. For Some Reason, I Thought Gran Was Awful — Probably Because Mum Was Always Crying. Only When I Grew Up Did I Understand: Gran Was Good, She Just Wanted to Help Her Daughter Make a Better Life. Later, Mum Married Again and We All Moved In With My Stepfather. That’s When My Sister Was Born. But After Seven Years, Mum Got Divorced Again. This Time, We Didn’t Go Back to Gran’s. Stepfather Went Off to Work and Let Us Stay in His Flat for a Bit. Three Years Later, Mum Married Husband Number Three and We Moved In With Him. He Wasn’t Pleased Mum Had Children, Though He Never Hurt Us — He Just Ignored Us. So Did Mum. She Was Obsessed With Her New Husband, Always Jealous, Always Causing Rows and Breaking Crockery. Once a Month Mum Would Start Packing, But Stepfather Always Talked Her Round. My Sister and I Got Used to It and Stopped Noticing. I Ended Up Looking After My Sister — Mum Didn’t Have the Time. Thank Goodness for Our Grandmothers, Who Helped Us So Much. Eventually, I Left for University, and My Sister Moved In With Gran. Our Dad Always Supported Her; Mum Would Call Us Only at Christmas. I Accepted Mum For Who She Was and Stopped Expecting Her to Care, But My Sister Never Did. She Was Always Hurt, Especially When Mum Skipped Her School Leavers’ Party. We Grew Up. My Sister Got Married and Moved Away. I Was Living With My Long-Term Boyfriend; We Visited Gran Often and Stayed Close, Though I Tried Not to Be a Nuisance. When Gran Fell Ill and Went Into Hospital, I Visited Every Day: Shopping, Cooking, Cleaning, Chatting, Making Sure She Took Her Medicine. Sometimes My Boyfriend Helped Out Too. After Six Months, Gran Suggested We Move In to Save for Our Own Place, So We Did. Six Months Later, I Was Pregnant. We Got Married, Had a Simple Family Do — Mum Didn’t Come, Not Even a Phone Call. When My Daughter Was Two Months Old, Gran Broke Her Leg. Caring for Both Was Hard and I Desperately Needed Mum’s Help, But She Refused, Saying She Wasn’t Well and Would Come Later. She Never Did. Six Months On, Gran Had a Stroke and Was Bedridden. If Not for My Husband, I Don’t Know How I’d Have Coped. Gran Slowly Improved, She Even Got to See Her Great-Granddaughter Take Her First Steps, and Lived Another Two-and-a-Half Years. She Passed Away Peacefully in Her Sleep. My Husband and I Were Devastated By Her Loss. Mum Only Came for the Funeral. A Month Later, She Tried to Evict Me So She Could Have the Flat. Mum Hadn’t Realised Gran Had Left It to My Daughter Right After She Was Born. Naturally Mum Was Furious, Demanding I Give Up the Flat or She’d Sue Me. “Look How Deceitful You Are! You Duped the Old Woman, Took Her Flat, And Now You Live In It Yourself! You Won’t Get Away With This! It Doesn’t Matter Who Looked After Gran — That Flat Should Be Mine!” But Mum Won’t Get That Flat, I Know That for Certain. I’ve Spoken to a Solicitor and a Notary. We’ll Stay in the Home Gran Gave Us, and If Our Second Child Is a Girl, She’ll Be Named After Gran.
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