Mom has some kind of secret from me,» Katya told her husband right after the wedding. «And I don’t look anything like my father. He doesn’t love me. And I somehow…»
It was true. Katya couldn’t help herself. As long as she could remember, she knew her father, Mikhail. And he wasn’t really a bad father. Probably even a good one. He took them, her and her mom, on vacation every summer. He brought Katya to his sports school—he was a weightlifting coach, and she was enrolled in gymnastics. Good, beneficial for health. Beautiful. True, no one asked Katya if she wanted to do rhythmic gymnastics. But she didn’t want to. Even the coach, Marina Vasilyevna, told her father.
«Muscles are rubbish. They don’t stretch at all. Mish, not everyone is predisposed. Katya has poor flexibility. Put her in volleyball if you’re so keen on the girl doing sports.»
«The more reason to stretch them if they don’t stretch!» exclaimed Mikhail. «Difficulties toughen and strengthen. I’m not asking you to make a champion out of her. It’s all for discipline and health, Marin. And if she happens to place somewhere—how is that bad?»
Overall, Katya suffered from pain and melancholy in gymnastics. And from her own imperfection. And dad was pleased. Why didn’t he care about Katya’s suffering? A mystery.
Later, when she graduated from school—she had quit the hated gymnastics a couple of years before that, she had escaped—her father was outraged by Katya’s choice of university.
«What kind of faculty of philosophy? What is that department even about? What will you become?»
«Misha, don’t go too far! Not ‘what,’ but ‘who’!» her mother intervened. «But overall, dad is right. What is this abstract profession?»
She sometimes intervened. Not as often as one would like, but it happened. She intervened and, it seemed, tried to protect Katya. But in reality, she was always on her husband’s side.
«No, Liza! You can ‘become’ if the profession is useful. Brings benefit to people. And here—neither fish nor fowl. You want to sit in a library or what?»
«And yes, I will be in the library! So what?»
Oh God, why? Why did I never feel any kinship with this man?»
There, in the library where Katya actually ended up after graduating in philology, she met her future husband. By that time, the estrangement between her and her father had become critical. It had reached its peak. Mikhail did not hide his disdain for Katya. He disliked her lack of sportiness, her strange, in his opinion, choice of profession. His relationship with his wife had also become strained. He seemed globally disappointed and didn’t try to hide it.
Katya, meanwhile, had grown up and often studied herself carefully in the mirror. Then she looked at photographs of her parents when they were young. She didn’t resemble either of them. How was that possible? Both her mother and father were light-haired, so to speak. Blond-haired. Mother with gray eyes, father with blue eyes. Katya was a brunette with brown eyes and somewhat of a Caucasian nose. Well, almost Caucasian—large, with a slight bump. Her parents had Slavic noses. Something was fishy here…
«Mom, did you adopt me?» Katya bluntly asked her mother one day.
«Are you out of your mind?» her mother gasped. «No, of course not! Ask your aunt how I gave birth to you, I almost died.»
«Why?»
«It was a long process. And you were born not so small.»
«It’s just that dad doesn’t love me…»
«Yes, he’s been weird with us. As if he doesn’t love anyone, nothing but his own work. Katya, don’t make things up. I love you very much. For both of us.»
After that conversation, Katya no longer asked her mother any questions. She met Igor, who was a good and modest guy. He frequented the library, shy but eventually asked Katya out. They quickly found common ground and liked each other. A year later, Katya decided to marry Igor. The wedding went smoothly. Even her father was there, albeit briefly—he excused himself due to an urgent personal training session. After the wedding, Katya decided to talk to her new husband. She revealed the secret.
Igor, upon closer inspection, turned out to be not only modest but also smart and fun. He worked in IT, and this was in the late nineties. Nowadays, point your finger anywhere—you’ll hit an IT guy. But back then, it was a rather rare profession. It didn’t bring in much money, but Igor loved his job.
Hearing Katya’s speech about the secret and her father, he chuckled and said:
«Dear, you’re supposed to talk about secrets before the wedding!»
She laughed. It was said in such a way that it became funny. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be bored in her marriage.
«Igor, I’m actually serious!»
«Well, okay. Let’s be serious. Did you talk to your parents?»
«Just with mom.»
«What did she say? Does she have a secret? I understand you suspect that your father isn’t your real father, right?»
«I suspected mom at first. You see, I don’t look like them at all. Not at all! But mom loves me. And I feel her kinship. Simply, when I hug her. I feel kinship. But with dad, there was always some tension. He tortured me all my childhood!»
Igor gasped and widened his eyes:
«Tortured?! What do you mean?»
They didn’t go anywhere after the wedding. They sat at home, in Igor’s apartment he inherited from his grandparents. They breakfasted on leftover wedding cake, drank coffee. And then Katya with her talks of secrets…
«He made me do gymnastics. And I have poor muscle flexibility. It was terribly painful! ‘At least the child is doing sports!’ My father has been in sports all his life. For him, people who don’t do sports and drink, even on holidays, aren’t people. Philologists for him aren’t people either. Sometimes I think that for him, nobody is people, only he himself is a person. Like a superman.»
«So what did mom say? Is your father really your father?»
«She says yes. Says he is. But I feel…»
«Kat, I think you need to think less about this. We got married, Katya! Married! We now have our own family.»
A year later, Katya and Igor had a son, Vitya, named after Igor’s father. By the way, no matter what, Katya still thought about her dissimilarity to her parents. Like Igor, for example, looked a lot like his mom. Strongly. And Katya, surely, resembled her real father. What does it mean? Did her mother… cheat?
As long as Katya knew her mother, she had been an exceptionally decent and faithful wife. Never been anywhere but work and home. Her mother worked at a school, a physics teacher. By the way, when Katya applied to university, her mother wasn’t too pleased either. Thought her daughter would choose the sciences. And, as always, stood by her father’s side. No, she didn’t hurt Katya. But always supported her father. If father says sports are beneficial, then it is. If father says that her friend Yulia has a bad influence on Katya, then it must be so. Father is always right. Katya didn’t understand her mother, but that was exactly how it was…
Supportive. Faithful. Looked at her father with loving eyes all her life. Could she have cheated? No! Katya didn’t believe it! Or… were those eyes not loving, but guilty?
Vitya, by the way, was born resembling her. Dark-haired, brown-eyed. With a large nose. No, something was off here. And her father stopped communicating with Katya at all. She had long felt him as a stranger, but now she truly felt him as an unknown. And the grandson changed nothing. He didn’t even interest Mikhail. How could he really be Katya’s father?!
When Vitya was nine years old, Katya’s mother, Liza, barged in unannounced, on the brink of madness. It was evening, Katya had just put her son to bed, and then the doorbell rang as if there was a fire. Igor jumped up and quickly opened the door.
«Elizaveta Nikolaevna? What’s wrong with you?!»
Katya’s mother stood at the door in an unbuttoned coat worn over a robe, with a disheveled hairstyle, and eyes wide with horror.
«Is Katya home?»
«At home. Come in. Did someone die?»
Liza nodded, then shook her head. They led her into the kitchen and gave her some tea. After thawing a bit from the hot tea, Katya’s mother burst into tears.
«Shh! Not so loud! Vitya is asleep, he has school in the morning. What’s going on, mom?»
«He… he left me! Found another woman, twenty years younger, and left me!»
«Did dad leave you?»
«Not left,» she sobbed. «Said we’ll be exchanging the apartment. But yes, in essence—left. Abandoned… me… after all these years… what will I do alone? What?!»
And she burst into tears again.
Mom, is Dad really my biological father?» Katya asked.
Her mother wiped her tears with a napkin and said:
«Of course, he is! What are you talking about, Katya? You are our beloved daughter. It’s just that both you and your father are stubborn. Neither of you wants to give in.»
«Mom! He left you! And you’re still defending him?»
«What am I supposed to do? What?! Who needs me now?»
«And how can you exchange your apartment?» suddenly asked Igor. «Why is he even planning to swap it?»
«When we moved in together, we exchanged our living spaces. Mine and his. Combined them. He has the right. But what will I do without a husband?!»
«Oh, come on, Mom! It’s like unyoking the mare from the cart, it’s easier for the horse.»
Katya didn’t feel too sorry for her mother. After all, she was hiding something… some family secret. And everyone was hiding it. Her mother, father, and maternal aunt. Katya couldn’t discuss her suspicions with them too openly. She had been raised to respect her elders, not to pester them with questions. To respect, love, and help.
Her parents divorced and sold the apartment. Her mother bought a small one-bedroom on the outskirts. Katya visited her, helping with the move. Elizabeth’s suffering was genuine, deep. But it felt as though she was mourning not the loss of a specific person, but rather the fact that she was left alone. Liza was over sixty. Her forced solitude was bitter. Her daughter had her own family, and her sister and her husband were doing well. And she… was left completely alone. What now?
Meanwhile, Katya helped her mother move, and while sorting things, she found an album with photographs of a baby. A baby girl. She had never seen these photographs before. Why? Her mother was busy in the kitchen, and Katya wanted to shout something like: «Mom, is this me in the photo?» when the words froze in her throat. She opened the next page and saw a sheet of paper. An old sheet, with something handwritten on it. In her mother’s handwriting. Katya sneakily looked around to see if her mother was watching. The handwriting was so-so, not easy to make out at first.
On the page where the sheet was inserted, there were photos of the same baby, but older. Katya looked closely. The child looked like her Vitya as a child. The same big-nosed and dark-haired. No, it was definitely her! And then Katya did something unexpected. Something she hadn’t expected from herself. She pulled the sheet out of the album, folded it, and put it in her pocket. Then she closed the album and shoved it back on the shelf, far out of reach. She carefully blocked it with other albums and household books. Everything was old, from the seventies—Katya glanced at the year of publication in one of the books. The books were as old as she was.
Her mother was sad and sorrowful, and Katya didn’t know how else to help her. She had already neglected her own family to support her mother.
«Do you want me to bring Vitya to stay with you? For the holidays?»
«Bring him for the weekend for now. Katya, I feel so unwell… as if I’m dying.»
«Mom! No one dies from divorce. It’ll be alright.»
«Yeah, sure…»
«Call if you need anything.»
Her mother didn’t have a mobile phone for a long time. But in 2005, Katya finally bought her one and insisted she keep it to stay in touch. It’s been three years now. Her mother will have to call her, there’s no escape. Katya was sure. Her father had left, what else was there for her mother to do?
But her mother called rarely. She suddenly decided not to suffer because of her divorce. Liza took up yoga. And went other places too. Started walking a lot. Became an active retiree, which pleased Katya greatly. Everything was good. Well… almost. The fact was that Katya had read that sheet from the album. She read it carefully, deciphering each letter.
«We are left alone with little Katya. Alex is no more…» it said on that sheet. More was written, but Katya didn’t read further. She had seen the main thing. What she had long suspected. And when she read it, her heart leapt to her throat.
Katya decisively went to visit her aunt, Nadezhda.
Nadya was making aspic and immediately set Katya to peeling garlic. The aunt was terribly businesslike and didn’t like idlers. Katya didn’t refuse the garlic, she peeled it. And when Nadya took a handful of white cloves from her, Katya suddenly asked:
«So was my father named Alex?»
Nadya collapsed onto a stool, as if cut down:
«Did she finally tell you?» asked the aunt in horror.
«No. But you just did. And I won’t let it go now!»
«Oh…»
«Well, there’s your ‘oh!’ Nadya. Please, don’t be mad, just tell me the truth. Right? Alex—is it Alexander?»
«Alexan. He was half Armenian, by his father. He passed away when you were six months old. Alex was ill. Your mother knew where it was heading. But she had waited so long for a child. You came to her late, at thirty-two. So she had you, and Alex barely had time to enjoy being a father. Not for long at all.»
«Nadya, how could this be?! I’ve been asking her all my life…» Katya wept bitterly.
«She still won’t admit it. She married Misha almost immediately after. She mourned, but she married him. He was an old acquaintance, from back when he was doing an internship at their school, and he fell in love with the young teacher. It didn’t bother him that Liza was married. He still courted her. Bringing flowers, sending cards.
«And the father? Well, Alex?»
«Alex wasn’t jealous. He chuckled. They loved each other very much. I’ve never seen such love.»
«Why did she marry Mikhail? And so quickly?»
«She wanted you to have a father. For you…»
«I don’t know! She’s so devastated by him now.»
«Forget it! She was afraid to lose her status. And being alone was unfamiliar, of course. But now your mother is busy with her affairs. She’s taken up with herself and forgot about Mikhail long ago.»
«Nadya… where is he… well…»
«Just a moment, I’ll put the aspic away, I’ll get Yurik to keep an eye on it, and we’ll go together.»
They drove to a cemetery on the outskirts of town. The aunt walked confidently directly to the right grave, as if she had been there many times.
«Here. Oganesov Alexan Davidovich. You won’t tell your mom, will you?»
«I won’t. Let her live in her castle of sand. Oh… and here everything is so well-kept. Does he have other children?»
«He has no one. He was an orphan when they met. Your mother takes care of this place. I help sometimes.»
«All these years?»
«Of course!»
Katya finally decided. She raised her eyes from the well-kept grave to the monument. She looked at the portrait in the oval frame and shuddered. She was almost a copy of the young man in the monument. Almost the same face. Katya felt moisture on her cheeks. She took two steps and laid her hand on the cold marble. Her neck also became wet. Tears flowed freely.
«Hello, Dad!» said Katya. «It’s me. I’ve grown up.»
Behind her, Nadya sobbed quietly…
