Dmitry Gusev was a fine example of the male half of humanity.
Born into a poor family where his mother was the sole breadwinner, the young man finished technical school, served in the army, and returned to his native village, where he got a job as a tractor driver.
He worked diligently, all the while building a house—for his mother and younger sister, so they wouldn’t have to keep living in the old shack.
He spent many years on construction, and once they finally celebrated moving in, he took a short break and then started building yet another house—this time for himself.
“Why a second house, son?” his mother asked in surprise. “Why do we need two? We can fit into one just fine.”
“I might get married,” the man answered reasonably. “Where would I bring my wife—into your house? No, Mother. I’ve repaid my debt as a son. You and Lyubka can live peacefully in your own home, without worries, and now I’ll start living for myself.”
Meanwhile, women in the village flocked around Gusev in little groups, though most of them already had a marriage behind them or even a child. There were younger girls, too, but Gusev didn’t look at any of them.
His mother, Natalya Grigorievna, kept trying to arrange dates and meetings for her son, but Dmitry always ran off and resisted.
“This is what happens when you grow up without a father,” the mother fretted. “He’s good-looking and well-built, but the moment he’s around a woman, he can’t string two words together, and all that charm of his just disappears!”
More than anyone else in the village, 35-year-old Marina, an accountant at the local rural council (selsovet), was determined to get this bachelor, Dmitry. She would lie in wait for him, barge into the Gusevs’ home unannounced, smile coyly at Dmitry, and drop hints—but he shied away from her as if she were on fire.
Natalya, Dmitry’s mother, rather liked the attention from Marina the accountant.
Marina was a beautiful woman, trim and stylish, with meticulously shaped eyebrows. Natalya herself had never been much of a beauty, and her daughter, Lyubka, wasn’t pretty either—chubby, a potato nose, a rather silly face. But Marina—she was like a style icon. And her dresses, all sorts of different ones—Natalya sincerely admired her.
“Auntie Natash,” Marina would scratch on the door every day, “I brought you a pie. Baked it this morning.”
Natalya would rush to the door happily, ready to welcome her guest.
“It’s a meat pie,” the accountant chirped. “Let Dmitry try it.”
“He’ll love it, of course,” Natalya would respond cheerfully, nodding her head. “Come in, come in, Marinachka.”
Marina would step inside, and behind her, hovering uncertainly in stylish little shoes, was Marina’s teenage daughter.
“Violetta, you come in too.”
“Hello, Auntie Natasha.”
The girl would follow them into the kitchen, and Natalya would study her in amazement. Just look at her—she was already a beauty, so much like her mother: the same long legs, a sweet face. So that’s hereditary beauty for you! And how impeccably dressed—always wearing white knee socks and with her gorgeous hair in some fancy hairstyle.
Natalya would seat her guests in her small kitchen and serve them tea with pies, though the visitors would barely eat—just sip their tea in small gulps. Marina and her daughter would examine Natalya’s new house and cast sidelong glances toward the second house, also large, beautiful, and new, visible from the kitchen window.
Meanwhile, Natalya would look at Violetta and muse to herself:
“If only Marina would have a baby with my Dima. A beautiful child. If I have a granddaughter, she’d be a doll like this Violetta. Oh, how wonderful our life would be then. I’d run over to their house next door to babysit, Marina would be like a second daughter to me, and Violetta—my little helper. Oh, if only it would happen soon! Why is Dima being so stubborn? What’s wrong with Marinachka? So she has a child… but she’s clever and she loves me—just look at how she wins me over with these pies.”
But as Dmitry neared completion of his second house, he suddenly announced to his mother:
“Mom, could you iron my suit? The one I wore for my passport photo and at graduation. I’m going to find a bride.”
Natalya perked up:
“What bride? You actually have one? How is that possible, when you’ve been stuck at the construction site for years?”
Dmitry cast his eyes down at the floor:
“When I was studying in the city, Mom, there was a girl I liked. I still can’t forget her.”
“What girl? It’s been so many years—she’s surely married by now.”
“She was married. I found that out,” Gusev said, lowering his head. “Recently, she got divorced.”
Without answering any more questions, he left the house, and Natalya hunkered down by the window to brood.
Natalya cleaned up the new house, waiting for her son’s return. She walked through the rooms, speaking aloud in surprise:
“There are three bedrooms here! Seems like my son built this place for a big family. One room could be for Marina’s Violetta, the other for the young couple, and the third for their future child—my future grandchild!”
In the bedroom stood a brand-new double bed. The mattress was still wrapped in plastic, unopened. In the biggest room was a sofa, also brand new from the store. Everything, including the house itself, had been paid for by her son’s blood, sweat, and tears. Natalya suddenly felt resentful that some stranger would just come in and enjoy everything all ready to go.
“As long as she’s not some freeloader,” Natalya muttered grimly. “There’s plenty of work in the next village—she can get hired. I’ll keep an eye on her! She has to pull her weight if she wants a good life… My goodness, what does he see in that city girl anyway? Marina would have been so much better.”
Marina appeared just before Dmitry’s anticipated arrival with his “bride.” Natalya ran out to meet her, flustered:
“Marinachka, I told you yesterday that Mitryushka left.”
“I’m not just here for him,” Marina replied with a smile. “I’m here to see you. My Violetta baked some cookies for you. She’s gotten attached to you, you know. She doesn’t have any grandmothers, so she’s grown fond of you. Yesterday, she even asked if it would be okay to call you Grandma!”
Natalya was startled at that, and a blush spread across her cheeks. The woman’s flattering words were balm to her soul.
“Oh really? That’s so unexpected and so nice!”
The gate slammed, and they both turned around.
Dmitry had returned from his trip, and he wasn’t alone: walking with him was a short, stocky woman with a completely unremarkable face, short, plump arms and legs, and hair coiled into a careless bun. Behind her trailed a girl of about fifteen, just as stocky as the older woman—presumably her daughter.
“Nastenka, Olenka, come on in,” Gusev said sweetly, twisting himself into all kinds of solicitous gestures. “This is my mother, Natalya Grigorievna. Mom, this is my Olya.”
Accountant Marina took one quick look at the unfolding situation and swiftly retreated from the Gusev household, handing her container of cookies to a stunned Natalya. She looked so offended that Natalya’s heart gave an unpleasant twinge. She herself had practically considered Marina her future daughter-in-law.
Meanwhile, Olya just smiled, narrowing her already expressionless little eyes.
“Lord, what on earth did my son see in her?” Natalya thought, studying Olga in surprise.
But the worst part came that night, when Dmitry, instead of staying in his new house, showed up at his mother’s place, spread his bedding on the sofa in the living room, and lay down to sleep.
“Dima,” his mother probed carefully. “You have your own house. You’ve brought this woman in, yet you sleep here. Maybe you just want to observe her first? You’re having doubts?”
“No, Mom, I’m not having doubts. Olya’s a decent woman who agreed to come here, first of all, to meet me and my family. If everything suits her, we’ll have a wedding. But for now, to avoid compromising her, I’ll stay with you.”
“Look at her with her demands,” Natalya huffed in surprise. “Tell me, dear, why do you need this woman when Marina is right here, a real beauty?”
“Oh, Mother, you’re going on about Marina again. I don’t like her. I don’t feel any warmth for her.”
“And what do you like about Olya? How could a woman like that appeal to anyone—she’s overweight and she limps!”
Oddly enough, the accountant Marina kept visiting the Gusev house. She began putting even more effort into her makeup and outfits. She would sit in the Gusev kitchen, fussing with her rustling dress, stroking the strand of pearls around her neck, and pursing her lips dramatically.
“Natalya Grigorievna, my daughter plays the piano beautifully. It’s a shame you don’t have that kind of instrument here—you could hear her play.”
“Oh, how cultured she is. I wouldn’t even know how to open one of those pianos.”
“Well, come over to our place sometime, we’ll show you. She’ll play for you.”
Natalya would smile and nod, casting sideways glances at Olya, who had just come in from working in the garden. As soon as she arrived in the village, Olya didn’t lounge around on featherbeds—she went straight to the garden, laid out the beds, and in less than a day had tilled and planted everything. She came into the house to find her future mother-in-law and the guest sipping tea.
Olya said in surprise:
“I didn’t know someone else was running the household in my house.”
Natalya quickly took issue with that:
“First off, I’m the only one running this household. You’re not even married to Dimochka yet, so you have no rights here.”
Olya seemed to pay no attention to the women’s hostile looks. She poured herself some tea and peered out the window:
“It’s so nice here in the village, lots of fresh air. My Nastya was born with allergies; just walking in the city makes her sneeze every time. But since we got here—no sneezes at all!”
Marina, in a sharp voice, asked:
“Do you have your own place in the city, or were you renting?”
Olya sighed and looked at her:
“I don’t own my own place in the city. I was living with my mother.”
“So was your mother renting, or does your mother own an apartment in the city?” the guest pressed impatiently.
“If it matters to you, my mother owns the apartment.”
Marina shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“So how did your mom get that apartment, if you don’t mind me asking? Some live-in boyfriend leave it to her, maybe? Forgive me for prying, but you don’t look like a city person at all!”
Olya smirked and sipped her tea.
“Appearances can be deceiving. You don’t look like a villager, yet you were born in the countryside. My mother’s apartment was inherited—that’s all.”
Marina fell silent, averting her gaze.
Outside, Nastya and Violetta had sat down on a bench. It was Marina who had sent them out to “bond and get to know each other.” Of course, none of the women inside could hear their conversation, so they didn’t hear Violetta hiss:
“So we’re the same age and will be in the same class. I’m the top girl in that class. I’ll make sure no one talks to you!”
Nastya opened her mouth in shock:
“But why, Violetta? What did I do to you?”
Still smiling sweetly, Violetta bared her teeth:
“You haven’t worked it out, stupid? My mom wants to marry Uncle Dima, and she will marry him. Your mother can just scram back to wherever you two crawled out from!”
Nastya gasped, and Violetta seized the moment to give her a little kick:
“Get lost! And if you dare tell anyone, I’ll make your life at school a living hell!”
Nastya sprang up from the bench, shouting:
“Hey, stop kicking me!”
The women sipping tea and watching from the window saw only that Nastya jumped up and shoved the calmly seated Violetta. It looked terrible.
Marina, the first out of the house, ran up to her daughter and helped her off the ground. Olya and Natalya rushed out as well, gazing in surprise at the girls.
“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” Natalya shouted, grabbing Nastya by the ear so the girl doubled over in pain.
“Ow, that hurts! Ow!”
“It’ll hurt a lot more!” Natalya shouted. “If you so much as touch Violetta again, you’ll be out of this house, understand?! She’s my dearest guest, and I’m not going to let her get hurt!”
Olya stepped in:
“Don’t yell at my daughter!”
Which earned her an angry response:
“So you raised a brat, and you’re just like her!”
The only one who kept her composure was Marina, who asked for silence. She turned to her daughter and asked sternly:
“Violetta, I demand an explanation. What did you say to her?”
Violetta lowered her head so that her curls fell theatrically over her shoulders. In her flared white dress now stained with grass, she looked like an angel.
“I… I was just glad we’d be in the same class. I told her about my friends… Nastya said she didn’t care. It’s my fault; I kept babbling, Mom!”
“She’s lying, lying!” Nastya cried out.
Violetta immediately burst into tears and tried to approach Nastya:
“I’m sorry if I annoyed you!”
She cried so convincingly that two of the women quickly pulled her away on either side and took her inside. That left only Nastya and her mother in the yard.
Through her tears, Nastya complained:
“Mom, this Violetta is a real snake! She said awful things! She’s such a manipulator!”
“Calm down, honey,” Olya soothed, hugging her. “Calm down, baby. Some people are like that. We can’t change them, so let them say whatever they want. Now wipe your tears and let’s go back inside. We’ll pretend nothing happened.”
“I don’t want to go back in there,” Nastya sobbed, shaking her head. “Those women look at me with such dislike everywhere I go. And Auntie Natasha basically told me not to touch anything in the house. She didn’t even like that I washed the dishes and cleaned up!”
Olya listened to her daughter and pressed her lips together.
Violetta felt she could get away with anything. She fully intended to launch a bullying campaign against Nastya at school. She gathered all her friends and set about turning them against the newcomer. Yes, it was dirty, but Violetta thought it was worth it. She planned on helping her mother conquer “Uncle Dima.”
“I need a new daddy. We’ve already won over Grandma, and we’ll soon get that gullible son of hers under our thumb.”
Marina kept coming to the Gusev house every single day. Encouraged by Natalya, she began outright ordering Olya around:
“I brought a pie—cut it up and serve it so we can have tea.”
Olya would just snort and leave, and Marina would run off to Natalya to complain, eyebrows raised in indignation. Yet she got away with everything. She was welcomed in the Gusev home and respected by its hostess, making it hard for Olya to settle in. Eventually, Olya spat in frustration and realized they would never let her live in peace. She packed her things, took her daughter, and told Dmitry:
“Why did you bring us here if I can’t feel at home in your house? This lifestyle doesn’t suit me. I’m going back to the city—pick whether you’ll stay here with your mother or come with us.”
Natalya, right there beside them, burst out laughing and grabbed her son by the shoulders:
“Look at this silly woman. She has no looks, no dowry, just that bratty daughter. Let her go back where she came from. My Dima has a line of potential brides—just say the word.”
That’s when Dmitry said:
“Be quiet, Mom.”
In front of a stunned Natalya, her son slipped from her grasp and ran after Olya:
“Olya, wait, don’t do anything rash!”
Natalya stood there on the porch, astonished, watching her son pick up Olya’s bags and follow her.
“Come back here! Don’t be stupid!” she shouted after him, but he didn’t even look back.
Only later did Natalya learn that Olya had actually had her daughter Nastya while she was a student—and that Dmitry was the father. Something had gone wrong between them back then, so Olya had the baby without telling Dmitry. When they recently met in the city, they talked, and Olya “surprised” Dmitry by revealing that he had a daughter.
So that plain, rude Nastya was, in fact, Natalya’s own granddaughter.
“Hmm, Nastya really does resemble me,” Natalya marveled. “What can I say, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree!”
In light of this news, Natalya changed her opinion of Olya:
“Oh dear, what have I done?” she lamented. “Why didn’t Dimochka tell me the truth right away? I yelled at Nastya when I should have been trying to build a bond. How could my heart not recognize my own flesh and blood?”
Now, accountant Marina’s presence was no longer pleasing to her. Natalya had no interest in Marina’s fancy dresses or her pies, nor was she tempted by Violetta’s piano performances. Marina didn’t give up trying to win Natalya’s favor, but now she only irritated her.
“Why do you keep barging in like a bulldozer?” Natalya snapped. “Haven’t you realized yet that Dima doesn’t love you? He has a wife and child, and you drove them away!”
“Me? Drove them away?” Marina dropped her sweet facade. “You were the one who clung to us with Violetta like flies to honey! You country bumpkins thought you’d join up with city folk and get a taste of the good life!”
“Is that so?” Natalya gasped. “Well, I only had one aim with you—that you’d give Dimochka a child. It looks like you’re not good for much else! You keep swanning around in your fancy clothes. Have you ever even helped weed the garden? And your Violetta—always showing off her piano skills and her outfits—couldn’t she wash the dishes for once?”
The two women, once friendly, turned into bitter enemies:
“Oh, you—!”
“And you—!”
“Off with you, you silly grasshopper,” Guseva spat at last. “You’ve completely worn out your welcome. The only ‘beauty’ in you is your fancy dress that rustles so loudly. Your soul, on the other hand, is downright vile!”
As for Dmitry Gusev, he was now living in the city with his wife and daughter in a rented apartment, not giving a care in the world. From time to time, he’d recall his property in the village:
“Honey, we’ve got a brand-new house standing empty in the village. Seems like a pity to let it go unused.”
“Let it stand,” Olya would answer. “Don’t worry—there’s someone to watch over it. Your mother is keeping an eye on it better than any guard dog…”
