Mom left suddenly.
He, Vityka, didn’t even understand how.
She was just cheerful, kissing Vityka, playing with him, and then suddenly… she had lost weight, was bald, smiling quietly with her huge eyes, telling Vityka to live well, like a human being, and in an instant, she was gone.
“An orphan,” the old women whisper, “what will happen to him now? Klavdia is already of old age, how will she handle the boy now?”
Oh-ho-ho, our heavy sins, and young Katya was such a beauty, but look at her, this cursed illness spares no one.
The old women began to cry, and Vityka couldn’t understand anything. He stared at the table, where, in a large, elongated box covered with red and black fabric, with a note on the forehead, lay someone who looked very much like his mom.
“Go, go, little one, say goodbye to your mother—oh, what a misfortune you were born into, orphan…”
“What do you mean, orphan?” said Grandma Klava in a creaky voice, “he has his real father.”
The old women fell silent, eyes on the floor, as they feared Grandma Klava. They called her ‘Boyarynya’ behind her back because of her stern character, or perhaps not because of her character at all, but maybe because of her last name, Boyaryntseva.
But it was true that they were afraid of Grandma.
Of course, like other boys and girls, Vityka also had a father, but he had never seen him.
Mom said he had visited when Vityka was small, but he was never seen again.
Then they went far beyond the village, to the cemetery.
As soon as Vityka saw the dug grave, he began to realize that his mom was there, in that box, and they were going to bury her in the ground. Then Vityka screamed and rushed to his mom.
“Mom, mom,” he cries, “who did you leave me with? Who did you abandon? How am I supposed to live?”
“It’s like an adult is crying,” the old women gossip, “oh, my dear, life without a mom is not sweet, you can live without a father, but not without a mother.”
How the old woman arranged things for nine days, who knows.
In the evening, Grandma told Vityka that the porridge would be in the pot on the stove, and he could eat potatoes with sour milk for lunch and dinner, and then Grandma would come.
She heated the stove in the morning, told him to close the window after all the coals burned out, and if it was cold, to climb onto the stove and cover himself with Grandpa’s fur coat. Grandma would turn up by evening.
“Are you scared? Or should I take you to Anatolyvna’s?”
Grandma knew that Vityka didn’t like and was afraid of Anatolyvna, who made him learn strange poems she called prayers and forced him to kiss the dark boards with pictures of people on them. No, Vityka would rather stay at home with Murzik.
Moreover, Grandma said she’d be back by evening.
A week later, clean, washed, and trimmed Vityka, sitting quietly in a chair in the middle of the room, received Grandma’s instructions.
“Vityusha, the main thing is not to be afraid, don’t be a fool.”
“Don’t give the stepmother any slack. Tell her, I came to my real father, not to you, and you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I, Vityusha, grew up with my stepmother. I know what that’s like.”
“Everything happened: she threw me out of the table, hit me on the hands when I reached for another piece of bread, and slandered me to my father, saying I was lazy and just ate and slept.”
“Oh, I suffered, I ran to get married as soon as I turned fifteen, just to escape that hell.”
“Just in case, dry some bread and crackers, I’ll bring you a napkin, put them in there and hide them. So you won’t go hungry, oh, if only Grandma had strength, if Grandma had given you up…”
Grandma cried, tears running down her brown, wrinkled cheeks, her frail, old body trembling, pulling the crying Vityka to her.
“Grandma, grandma, don’t give me to the stepmother, I don’t want to! I’ll listen to you, I’ll chop wood with Grandpa Nikishka, I’ll study in school and get straight A’s, Grandma, I will…,” the boy sobbed.
“My dear, dear, don’t worry, they won’t take you, I’m old, oh-ho-ho, I’m not your grandmother, Vityusha, I’m your great-grandmother. I raised your mother, Katya, and I cared for you, my golden one, my dear little grandson.”
Then came the big bright car that took Vityka to the city.
Oh, and it was hard for him.
His father, without looking Vityka in the eyes, said he would now be called Viktor. That’s what he said, Viktor, to live with them—his father, Vladimir Ivanovich, and his wife, Maria Nikolaevna.
For a whole week, Vityka was too scared to leave his room. He cried quietly, staring out the window, waiting for Grandma to suddenly come and take him.
When they called him to eat, he shook his head, saying he didn’t want to. But at night, he would sneak into the kitchen, steal some bread and water.
He would eat some bread and save the rest for crackers, placing them on the radiator to dry out overnight, and in the morning, he would put them into the napkin Grandma gave him and hide it under the mattress.
His stepmother found them, showed them to his father, who looked at Vityka sternly, and Vityka was so ashamed.
“Viktor, didn’t we feed you? You’re like a brother to us, what is this you’ve come up with? Sit with everyone at the table and eat as much as you want.”
Vityka began to sit at the table with everyone, but he didn’t stop drying the crackers. He just hid them better.
He stopped crying, but was still wary, afraid that his stepmother would show her true character, give him a slap on the hands or pull him by the hair and throw him out into the cold.
Aunt Olya and Uncle Stepan came.
Aunt Olya whispered something to Maria Nikolaevna, asking why they took Vityka, and Uncle Stepan winked merrily, giving him a toy gun and a picture book.
Summer came, and Vityka began to go out into the yard quietly, where he met some other boys.
He didn’t talk to his stepmother. Whenever she asked him something, Vityka shrank, pulled his head into his shoulders, and stayed silent.
Then Vasya, his new friend, said that Vityka’s stepmother was a snake because she took his father away from the family. Vasya knew for sure, his own stepmother did the same to his father.
So, Vasya, at his mom’s suggestion, when his dad picked him up, would secretly prank his stepmother.
He’d scratch her shoes with a fork, tear her skirt, or pour vinegar into her soup. She would yell, go to his dad to complain, and Vasya would bat his eyes and cry, saying it wasn’t him, that she was doing it on purpose. His dad and stepmother would fight, but Vasya and his mom would be happy, thinking that snake deserved it.
“Well, Dad’s back, we got him with mom,” Vasya said happily.
“Where did he come back from?” Vityka didn’t understand.
“He came back home to us with mom,” said Vasya. “But he left again, well, not exactly left, mom kicked him out. He started drinking, fighting. Mom kicked him out.”
Vityka came home, found the nail he had picked up outside, and scratched all of his stepmother’s shoes with it. He hid the nail in his pocket and put the shoes in the wardrobe.
That evening, when he went to wash up, he took off his pants, and the nail fell out, clinking on the tiled floor. His stepmother picked it up and looked at it.
“Vitya,” she asked quietly, “do you need this?”
Vityka shrank into himself and stayed silent, suddenly feeling ashamed.
Later, his stepmother tried to wear those shoes, but they were scratched.
“What’s this, Masha? It looks like they’ve been scratched with a nail?” asked his father.
Vityka shrank into himself, thinking, here it comes.
She had never said anything bad to him, never kicked him out of the table, always gave him food, bought him nice shirts for school, rulers, notebooks, and pencils…
“And I told you, Vladimir, that there’s a nail sticking out of the wardrobe, I told you long ago, but you never cleaned it, now look at the result.”
“Where is the nail? I’ll take it out now.”
Dad ran to the wardrobe.
“Ha, he woke up, it’s already gone… Vitya took it out.”
“Viktor?” his father asked in surprise.
“Yes, Viktor! Our Viktor!”
And suddenly, Vityka felt so sad and ashamed that he ran to his room, huddled in the corner of the bed, and cried.
He didn’t go to the table the next day. He had never felt so ashamed, bitter, and lonely before.
Then, the next day, Vityka woke up and saw presents on the table, just like Mom used to do.
It was a dream, Vityka realized…
“Mom, mommy…”
His stepmother peeked into the room.
“Vityenka, happy birthday, my boy.”
“Thank you,” Vitya said quietly, sitting on the bed, head down.
His stepmother gave him many useful school supplies, candies in a box, a beautiful shirt, and a sweater she had knitted herself.
For his birthday, his father gave him a big toy car and a backpack, Aunt Olya gave him a plush bunny, sneakers like an adult’s, and a hat with ears. Uncle Stepan gave him a toy gun with batteries, where you pull the trigger and a red light blinks with the sound of “tra-ta-ta-ta,” and a special pencil case called a compass set that his father said he would need for school.
In the fall, Vityka would go to first grade.
And also… what a gift, his beloved Grandma Klava came to visit him.
She brought him socks, mittens, and a prickly scarf she had knitted herself. She asked him if his father was kind to him, if his stepmother hurt him.
Vityka shook his head, saying no, everything was fine.
Soon they went with his father and stepmother to Grandma’s village, but Grandma was gone. His father and stepmother arranged the funeral, and there was no one but Vityka.
“Are you going to sell the house or what?” asked the old women.
“No,” his father said. “This is Vitya’s inheritance. When he grows up, he’ll decide what to do with it. For now, we’ll come here like to a dacha. The boy needs fresh air.”
His father and Vityka also visited his mother.
“Here’s Katya, Vitya’s with me, don’t worry, and forgive me, dear.”
It turned out that Victor’s brother couldn’t raise him while he was still a baby…
“Because he left her?” Vityka asked quietly.
“No,” his father shook his head, looking thoughtfully at Vityka, “you’ll understand when you grow up.”
Vityka silently traveled home, looking out the window and wiping away his tears. Grandma was gone, and he was left alone in this big world.
Vasya told Vityka that Mom found a new man, he beats her, and he hurts Vasya. Dad went back to her again, but now he doesn’t take Vasya with him. They only go for walks in the park.
Vityka came home, and his stepmother was sitting on a chair, looking pale. He washed his hands and went to the kitchen, sat quietly, and she sat there for a while, then suddenly started to fall.
Oh, Vityka got scared, thinking she had died—like Mom and Grandma. He screamed, rushed to his knees in front of her, shaking her from side to side, crying.
“Mom, mommy,” he cries, “wake up, wake up, don’t die, mommy.”
A neighbor ran in after hearing his cry, luckily the door wasn’t locked, they called an ambulance, and his stepmother was taken away.
His father ran in from work, grabbed Vityka, and he cried and choked.
“Dad, daddy, she’s going to die, mom’s going to die like my real mom, like Grandma, they’ll bury her in the ground.”
His father barely calmed him down, and in the morning they went to the hospital.
“Mom… mommy…”
“I’m here, son,” his mom Masha said, without opening her eyes.
“You won’t die?”
“No, of course not, you’re still so little.”
“Don’t die, mommy, please.”
In the fall, Vityka went to first grade, holding his mom and dad’s hands, so happy.
At night, he dreamed of Mom Katya and Grandma.
And only when Vityka grew up did he understand that Olya and Stepan were not aunt and uncle, but brother and sister, his real father’s relatives.
He didn’t even ask his parents how it happened.
He decided there was no need to stir up the past.
Good evening, my dears.
I’m late with the story today.
I hug you tightly.
Sending beams of my goodness and positivity.
