— How can this be, San Sanych? Pashka’s been your favorite grandson his whole life! And now this kind of twist at your age? Has something snapped? — fumed Pashka’s father and, at the same time, San Sanych’s son-in-law, Sergei Ivanych.
— And what exactly doesn’t suit you, Seryozha? — San Sanych looked over the tops of his antique reading glasses at his son-in-law with condescending calm.
— What do you mean “what”? You drew up this inheritance, San Sanych, only for some reason you’re giving your gorgeous three-room apartment in the very historic center, in that famous building, to your granddaughter — while our Pashka gets some shabby, run-down one-bedroom on the outskirts in a Khrushchyovka!
— Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unfair?! — raged Sergei Ivanych, while his wife — and, incidentally, San Sanych’s daughter — Margarita Alexandrovna nodded along in support.
— Well, that’s where we disagree, — said San Sanych, still sitting in his armchair, motioning toward his younger daughter, Tamara.
— Right! And why exactly should Pashka get the three-room place?! He’s a man — let him earn it himself. And a one-bedroom is not bad at all! I think my little girl, Olenka, deserves that kind of inheritance! — yapped Tamara Pavlovna like a little lapdog.
Yes, yes, friends — the author is obliged to make a note: San Sanych had two daughters, Margarita and Tamara. He considered both of them his own and made no distinction between them. But he had married his wife when she already had a small daughter.
— And I’m telling you, Pashka is already married, he has two kids, he needs a spacious place to live, and Olga is only twenty! She might not even get married! A one-bedroom would suit her just fine! — Pashka’s mother, Margarita Alexandrovna, now joined the fray.
— Oh yeah? And why are you predicting such a fate for my Olga? Is Pashka the only one who’s reached such heights? Getting married and making a couple of kids isn’t exactly a great achievement! — Tamara Pavlovna drilled her gaze into first her sister and then her sister’s husband.
San Sanych sat imperturbably in his antique armchair, watching with interest as the parties carved up the spoils.
San Sanych’s granddaughter Olga, head lowered and glaring from under her brows, also bored her unkind gaze now into Pashka, now into his parents, now into the grandfather she barely knew.
Olga rarely visited her grandfather and didn’t like coming here, but on the occasion of the will being read, she had no choice, and together with her mother she decided to visit the “ancestor.”
As for Pashka, to pass the time he kept stepping out onto the balcony for a smoke: the whole conversation disgusted him. And in general, he hated the thought that his beloved grandfather could be gone in an instant.
— All right, enough! Why are you ganging up on Grandpa and about to claw each other’s eyes out? — Pavel cut off the relatives’ squabbling when he came in from the balcony yet again and caught the conflict at full boil.
— “Enough,” you say, son?! That three-room is slipping right out from under your nose, and you don’t even bat an eye? You and your grandpa are thick as thieves, you’re always with him, and what about Olga — look at her, she’s glaring at him like a wolf; she’s seen him a couple of times at best, and only on high holidays. And he, the old… — Sergei Ivanych swore.
— Grandpa made his decision; you should respect it. They’re not your apartments, after all. So come on, let’s wrap it up — you’ve been arguing here for an hour! — Pashka cut them all off and began hustling his fidgety parents and his aunt toward the door.
— Margo, really, let’s get going, — Sergei Ivanych whispered to his wife. — Maybe Pashka will talk Grandpa into leaving the apartment to him once they’re alone?
Five minutes later, no one was left in the flat except San Sanych and Pavel.
That was perfectly normal: Pashka was the only one who visited his grandfather more than anyone else. Sometimes he even spent the night when the old man was ill; and otherwise he often dropped by just because, or called to discuss something.
For Pashka, his grandfather was more than a grandfather. You could say Pashka had been by San Sanych’s side since childhood. His parents didn’t pay much attention to their son and often sent him to Grandpa. With San Sanych he went to the dacha in the suburbs, went fishing or mushrooming, and sometimes just wandered through the forest and scenic spots in the Moscow region.
In short, Pasha grew up beside his grandfather, and San Sanych adored his grandson — not least because the boy resembled him both in looks and in character.
San Sanych’s daughter, Tamara Pavlovna, felt deeply hurt by her father, who seemed indifferent to her daughter, the younger granddaughter Olenka. And Olga herself wasn’t eager to visit her grandfather and didn’t really think of him as family; she spent more time at her grandparents’ place on her father’s side.
That’s precisely why Pavel’s parents were outraged when Grandpa announced he was leaving his elite apartment to a granddaughter who was practically a stranger to him.
With the noisy relatives gone, quiet settled over San Sanych’s flat. The old man moved from his armchair to the desk in his study and began poring over scholarly literature.
Even at eighty, San Sanych was still spry: he read a lot, wrote his memoirs, and was constantly busy with clients who wanted only his expert opinion on important questions in his professional field.
Pavel brewed tea and, without a word, brought a glass-holder with strong tea to San Sanych’s desk.
— Well, what do you think yourself? You probably curse me in your heart for a “gift” like that, right? And that apartment — you practically grew up in it, and the old fool (that would be me) went and left it to that Olga? — Grandpa addressed his grandson while examining yet another nugget someone had brought him for appraisal.
Pasha kept silent; it was clear he was deep in thought and simply hadn’t heard his grandfather’s words.
In the city, San Sanych was a famous jewelry expert, one of the old masters of the trade who could tell you a great deal about a piece, its stones, or the history of some vintage ring with a “gem.”
As a child, Pavel himself loved to sit for hours beside Grandpa and watch his thoughtful, meticulous work while San Sanych examined one item or another, made notes in his notebook, or called someone on the old corded telephone.
— Remember this, son: it’s better to own few things, but for those things to be valuable, not disposable — do you understand? — San Sanych switched to another thought that had popped into his head.
— Take furniture, for example. Nowadays they make everything out of sawdust; a sofa stuffed with foam will last a couple of years and then people toss it and drive off to buy a new one. But in the old days furniture was very expensive — and it served entire dynasties, whole generations. People were born, slept, and died on the same sofa — fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers… — mused San Sanych.
— Back then, the words “family estate” meant something — everything was steeped in the spirit of the ancestors: furniture, clocks, family jewelry in boxes passed from great-grandmothers to great-granddaughters, icons… — he waved his hand.
— Now everything’s become disposable — disposable furniture, disposable things. You even change your phones every two years. People have become disposable: they don’t remember their grandfathers, they don’t think about what happened 20, 30, 40 years before they were born. I won’t even mention… — San Sanych broke off and looked at Pashka.
— Yeah, people have turned into robots, — Pavel agreed with Grandpa. — Today I stopped at a gas station, handed over my loyalty card to pay for gas. I know the card is new; there’s nothing on it in terms of points. And the cashier sees that perfectly well and asks me, “Are you collecting points?”
— I ask her back, “Do I have any to redeem?” She looks up at me with those empty eyes of hers and mechanically says I have zero points. I smirked and said, “Then I guess I’m collecting.” She didn’t even get it. They trained her to say that, and she just keeps repeating the same questions like a parrot…
— At another station, the woman rings up the gas and mutters “blah-blah-blah” under her breath. I ask, “What are you saying, ma’am?” And she starts again: “Coffee, snacks, drinks — you earn points on every additional purchase.” Turns out they’re forced to recite it, and she’s droning on autopilot. From the side it looks like a living cyborg in front of me whose brain has jammed and can’t stop, — Pavel laughed.
— That’s exactly what I mean, Pasha. People are empty now. They only respond to money. You saw how your parents and your aunt nearly tore each other apart over the apartment today? It felt like I was already gone — they have no interest in me anymore… — San Sanych looked out the window and took a sip of already cooled tea.
— Are you going to sell that one-bedroom I gave you? — he suddenly asked in passing, as if offhand, still looking out the window but catching every movement of his grandson and every expression on his face.
— Yeah, Grandpa. My wife’s been saying for a long time that we need to expand. Vanya’s already started school; he wants a room of his own to do homework. And really, four of us in thirty square meters is cramped — it gets exhausting. That’s why I come to you — it’s quiet here, peaceful, like a museum! — Pavel replied.
— Like a museum… — repeated San Sanych. — You’ve got an eye for it. Well then, when you sell the one-bedroom, look around carefully, don’t toss the junk right away. Clear everything out first, and only then sell. Got it?
— Got it, — Pavel echoed, knowing Grandpa always spoke in half-riddles and hints.
— By the way, Grandpa, I’ve been meaning to ask: what did you even need that apartment on the edge of town for? You never lived there. There’s no renovation, it’s just an old, shabby one-bedroom, — Pavel asked.
— The more you know, the faster you’ll get old! — Grandpa grumbled at Pashka. — All right, get going to your own — they’re probably waiting for you!
A week later, Pavel started clearing out the junk from the one-bedroom. The man correctly interpreted Grandpa’s hint and understood that San Sanych hadn’t given him that particular apartment for nothing.
No one else caught on during the inheritance squabble, but grandson and grandfather had a special bond; they understood one another even in the way they kept silent, without looking at each other.
Pavel knew his grandfather was far from a simple man — he’d worked all his life with valuables whose real worth couldn’t always be measured in money.
From childhood memories Pavel recalled that burglars had broken into Grandpa’s apartment more than once, hoping to profit from particularly valuable antiques, but San Sanych merely chuckled at lovers of easy money; apart from massive antique clocks and the interior itself, there was nothing to be found that could be sold for a profit.
— Well, Grandpa always loved to set riddles, — Pavel thought to himself as he combed through every corner of the gifted apartment. He had gone through all the old things several times, but found nothing.
Pasha had already examined with a flashlight the space under the bathtub, cleaned out the old ventilation, and even peered into the toilet tank, hoping to find a mysterious bundle there. But except for a few centimeters of rust and silt in the tank, there was nothing.
— Marina, let’s send the kids to my parents today, and you and I will go to one place. I’m tired of looking for something when I don’t even know what I’m looking for — maybe your bright head will help? — Pavel asked his wife.
— Oh, how interesting! What are we going to look for? — Marina perked up.
— You know my grandpa. He’s a fan of riddles! He used to stump me with puzzles as a kid — training my brain and intellect. And this time, it’s like he’s put me through an exam — I can feel it at the cellular level! — Pavel began to explain his hunches.
— I don’t get it, Pasha. What are we talking about? — Marina truly didn’t understand.
— Look, Grandpa loves old things, and he worked his whole life in jewelry — so we’re looking for something valuable… — Pavel explained.
— I knew right away Grandpa didn’t leave me that one-bedroom for nothing. And after buying it, he didn’t spend a single day there; obviously, he needed it to store something important — but what? — he said, leading Marina to the apartment’s door on the first floor.
— That’s unlikely, — Marina doubted. — It’s a first-floor apartment, the door is old, wooden, opens inward. What could you store here?!
— You don’t know San Sanych, Marina — he’s a sly one. And a person without brains won’t find anything here even if he digs for a week! Grandpa’s a master of riddles. But he hinted to me there are valuables in the flat! — Pavel explained.
— Are you saying we’re practically millionaires now?! — Marina giggled.
— I’m sure of it! — Pavel opened the door and let Marina go in first.
— I think your grandpa simply stiffed you in the inheritance, that’s all. And you’ve imagined piles of gold, — Marina said more seriously as she strolled through the old apartment, looking over the furnishings.
The walls were covered with layered, practically Soviet-era paper wallpaper; there was lacquered parquet on the floor and wooden interior doors with hefty handles.
— Yeah… the décor’s nothing to write home about, — Marina drawled. — Did you tap the walls?
— I did… I’m thinking of pulling up the parquet — maybe there’s something under it? — Pavel consulted his wife.
— Judging by the look of it, this parquet was laid when the building was put up, and your grandpa, by your account, bought the flat in the ’90s. So it’s unlikely we’ll find anything under there.
— You never know. We could take it up and lay it again, varnish it — no one would ever notice, — Pasha wouldn’t agree.
All the next week, after work, Pavel methodically went to the apartment and pried up the old parquet, searching for anything resembling antique treasure — but all his efforts were in vain.
— Grandpa, are you just making fun of me?! I’ve turned that place upside down and found nothing! — Pavel lost his temper and came to San Sanych for a hint.
As always, San Sanych sat in his armchair reading some art-history book, studying the photos through a magnifying glass.
— Silence is golden. Got it, grandson? — Grandpa looked intently at Pavel and repeated, — Gold.
— Marina, Grandpa really is mocking me! — Pavel complained to his wife as they came once more to the apartment he already loathed. — I’m this close to just putting it up for sale and being done with it.
— Maybe you’re right; Grandpa’s just teasing me! — he added.
— Wait, Pasha. He literally told you about gold. There aren’t that many metal things here, — Marina reasoned.
Author’s note: Have you guessed it yet? What could it be? If the author has intrigued you, please be sure to like and then write your reasoning in the comments. The like helps with statistics and reach, and the comment — well, the author needs it more. After all, he decided to do everything possible so the reader wouldn’t figure it out until the very end!
— No, you’ll laugh, but… what if it’s the toilet? — Marina suddenly looked at her husband, eyes wide.
They both rushed to inspect the toilet in the flat, but soon concluded it was a classic porcelain unit. Along the way, the young couple checked the bathtub, the drain plug, and even the pipes — but the tub turned out to be cast iron, and the pipes regular metal.
— To hell with Grandpa! — Pavel finally snapped and kicked the interior door with all his might. The blow was so strong the handle — which had been hanging on by a thread — popped out of the door and clattered across the floor.
— That’s it, get your things; let’s go home. There’s nothing more for us to do here! — Pasha strode decisively to the entryway, yanking on his jacket in irritation, not noticing that Marina had already solved San Sanych’s riddle.
— Look, Pasha. It’s darkened with time on the outside, but on the inside… — Marina showed him the handle from the other side, and Pavel saw something that looked very much like gold.
— Don’t tell me — the handles?! — Pavel took the door handle from his wife and turned it over in his hands. — There’s at least 300 grams here!
An hour later, Pavel and Marina were searching the internet for ways to restore gold items and mixing up a potent brew in a bucket with warm water and various ingredients.
— I’ll sleep here tonight; you go pick up the kids from my parents, and tomorrow bring the kitchen scale. We need to have at least a rough idea of how many kilos of gold we’ve got at our disposal now…
— So, did you solve my riddle, son? — It took just a glance or two for San Sanych to understand from his grandson’s satisfied face — the same way he had in childhood — that Pavel had come to share a discovery.
— Turns out the treasure was hidden in plain sight! — Pavel said. — And where did you get so much of it?
— Well, you know, the ’90s were wild times. Some people secretly brought me bars for safekeeping, and by the next day those people couldn’t be found. No one ever came back for the ingots, — Grandpa explained.
— I didn’t dare sell it all then, but I was afraid to keep it at home, so I pulled off a little caper and had it all melted down. I even invented my own method to age those handles. That’s what I needed that apartment for — the one no one knew about until recently! — San Sanych finally laid his cards on the table.
— If you decide to sell, my boy, don’t you dare take it to a pawnshop. I trust you know whom to go to, — Grandpa winked.
With the sale of the one-bedroom, Pavel’s life changed completely. The official legend cooked up for the relatives was that Pavel used the proceeds from the apartment to open a business, which rapidly took off. Soon the young entrepreneur had an apartment in the city center, a country house in an elite cottage community, and a luxury family SUV.
— Ah, Olka! We should’ve agreed to take that one-bedroom! Look how Pashka moved up after selling his. And Grandpa’s already eighty-five and still going strong! You’re twenty-five, you’ve already married, and Grandpa’s still the same as ever! — Tamara Pavlovna scolded her now-grown daughter.
But Pavel didn’t forget Grandpa; every week he visited the now-elderly San Sanych with his wife and kids. The pensioner’s flat was no longer so quiet, but San Sanych liked having his great-grandchildren around; they would sometimes burst into his study and play tag.
— Keep your brain in shape, grandson, so you can live to old age in good health and with a clear mind! You have to be able to solve riddles so the brain doesn’t stagnate. And the story with the handles isn’t the last riddle for you! — Grandpa smiled at Pavel. — But everything in its own time, son, everything in its own time!
— And one more thing, grandson… I know you don’t like to talk about this… But I’ll say it anyway, even though I’m going to live a long time, — Grandpa looked at Pavel with eyes shiny with tears.
— When I’m gone, buy that apartment from Olga. For any price — do you understand? Don’t live there with your family, but when things get hard or you feel lonely, just come there, make tea, sit at my desk and read my notes. And you’ll feel that I’m somewhere nearby, son — that I’ll never leave you.
Tears stood in Pavel’s eyes as well… Grandfather and grandson embraced — a rare thing in their sparing, man-to-man way.
