— “Your things are outside the door, the keys are on the table, and I don’t want to see a trace of you here!” Evelina’s voice trembled with anger as she hurled yet another bag of the uninvited guests’ belongings into the hallway.
— “Eva, have you completely lost your mind? They’re my relatives!” Ignat tried to block her way, but his wife shoved past his shoulder.
— “Exactly! Your relatives! And who am I here—your free maid?”
— “Evelina, get a grip! What will the neighbors think?”
— “I don’t give a damn about the neighbors! You should’ve thought about that earlier, when you let them turn this place into a pigsty!”
Ignat stared helplessly as his wife methodically packed his relatives’ things into bags and suitcases. Angry voices—Tamara’s and Pyotr’s—came from behind the door.
— “Eva, maybe we should sit down and talk calmly?”
— “Talk? About what? About how I was humiliated for three weeks under your tender supervision?”
Three weeks before this blow-up, the Kozhemyakins’ apartment was enjoying its usual evening peace. Evelina was making dinner, slicing vegetables for a salad and thinking about weekend plans. Ignat came into the kitchen looking guilty—she realized at once something unpleasant had happened.
— “Evka, here’s the thing… Aunt Tamara called. Their renovation is dragging on; they have nowhere to live. I said they could stay with us for a week or two.”
Evelina froze with the knife in her hand and slowly turned to her husband.
— “What did you say? You decided without me?”
— “Oh, come on, they’re family! Aunt Tamara, Uncle Pyotr, and Marinka. They’re quiet—you won’t even notice them.”
— “Ignat, let me remind you—we have a two-room apartment! Where do you plan to put three adults?”
— “Well, Marinka can sleep on a cot in the living room, and Aunt and Uncle…” He faltered, avoiding his wife’s eyes. “Maybe we’ll give them our bedroom? We’re young; we can sleep on the couch.”
Evelina put the knife down and slowly wiped her hands on a towel.
— “You seriously suggest I sleep on the couch in my own apartment? Why not the kitchen while we’re at it?”
— “Eva, why are you hostile right away? Two weeks max! They’re in a tight spot—what are we supposed to do, refuse?”
— “And you couldn’t ask me in advance?”
— “What’s there to ask? Of course you’d agree! You’re kind.”
— “So the decision’s been made. Wonderful.”
— “Great! They’ll come tomorrow.”
The next day, just as Evelina came home from work, the doorbell rang. She opened it and saw the trio with huge suitcases and bags, as if they were moving in for a month, not two weeks.
— “Evotchka!” beamed Tamara Kozhemyakina, a stout woman of about fifty with brightly painted lips and gold teeth that flashed with every word. “Oh, you’ve gotten so skinny! Is Ignatik not feeding you properly?”
— “Hello, Aunt Tamara,” Evelina tried to appear welcoming. “Welcome.”
— “Hey, where’s the toilet?” Pyotr asked without preamble—a man with a red face and the distinct smell of a hangover, despite the early hour.
— “Dad, don’t be dense!” snorted Marina, a twenty-five-year-old in loud leopard leggings and provocative makeup. “Obviously it’s the door in the hallway. And where’s our room, Aunt Eva? The master bedroom’s ours, right?”
— “Actually, we thought…” Evelina began, but Tamara was already marching deeper into the apartment, inspecting the premises.
— “Ignatik, son!” she bellowed through the place. “Come out and greet your kin!”
Ignat ran out of the living room, breaking into a smile.
— “Aunt Toma! Uncle Petya! Marinka! How was the trip?”
— “Fine, just dead tired,” Marina drawled. “Where can I lie down?”
— “Oh, how lovely!” Tamara was already examining the bedroom. “The wallpaper’s a bit gloomy, but it’ll do for two weeks. Petrusha, bring in the suitcases!”
— “Aunt Tamara, maybe we should first discuss who’s sleeping where?” Evelina suggested timidly.
— “What’s there to discuss? We’re adults, we need a proper bed. I’ve got sciatica; I don’t do couches. Right, Ignatik?”
— “Of course, Aunt Toma! Eva, we’ll make do in the living room, okay, dear?”
Evelina nodded silently, understanding it was useless to protest.
The first week turned into a living hell. Tamara assumed full mistress status, rummaged through all the kitchen cabinets, rearranged the dishes to her liking, and demolished the strategic stock of canned goods and grains.
— “Evotchka, darling, what kind of meager supplies are these?” she clattered pots and bowls at seven in the morning. “Just buckwheat and rice! Where’s barley? Where’s peas? Where’s decent tinned stew?”
— “Aunt Tamara, we buy what we eat… and could you maybe keep it down? It’s Saturday…”
— “What of it? Normal people get up early instead of lazing about till noon! Petrusha, up you get, time for breakfast!”
Pyotr emerged from the bedroom in nothing but boxer shorts, his hairy belly bare, scratching and yawning.
— “Why all the yelling at the crack of dawn? My head’s splitting—let me sleep.”
— “Uncle Pyotr, could you please put some clothes on?” Evelina asked, averting her eyes from the unappetizing sight.
— “Why should I? I walk around my house how I want! It’s hot!”
— “This isn’t your house!”
— “Eva, watch your tone!” Ignat cut in at once as he appeared. “Sorry, Uncle Pyotr—she just didn’t sleep well on the couch.”
— “Ah, she’ll get used to it,” Pyotr waved magnanimously. “What’s to eat?”
By the end of the first week, Evelina realized she wasn’t living in her own apartment anymore but in some kind of dormitory. Marina had occupied the bathroom, hanging her underwear everywhere; Pyotr smoked on the balcony despite protests; and Tamara rearranged the living room furniture to her taste.
— “Aunt Tamara, could we not move things around?” Evelina asked cautiously.
— “Oh, don’t be silly, dear! It was inconvenient before. Now the TV’s easier to see, and I put the couch where it belongs.”
— “But I liked it the old way…”
— “You’ll get used to it! Young people adjust quickly. It’s us older ones who have trouble adapting.”
On the eighth day, Evelina came home from work to find all her cosmetics missing from the bathroom.
— “Marina, have you seen my makeup?”
— “Oh, that!” the girl waved carelessly. “I tried your mascara—awesome! And the cream is good too. Shame it’s almost gone.”
— “Almost gone? It was practically full!”
— “Yeah, I let my girlfriends try it. Don’t be stingy, Aunt Eva, beauty demands sacrifice!”
— “That was expensive cosmetics!”
— “Then it’s good I appreciated it,” Marina laughed. “Buy more if it’s that good.”
On the tenth day, Marina brought over a friend, Svetlana—a bleached blonde in a mini-skirt with a pound of makeup on her face. They settled in the living room and blasted music, giggling and chatting until three in the morning.
— “Marina, girls, please keep it down,” Evelina asked, coming out to them in her robe. “I have to get up early for work.”
— “Aunt Eva, don’t be a bore!” Svetlana tittered, giving the apartment’s hostess an appraising look. “We’re young; we have to have fun! You only live once!”
— “She’s just jealous we’re pretty and young, and she’s already, you know…” Marina stage-whispered loudly, tapping her temple.
— “I’m only thirty-two!”
— “Exactly—already, you know!” Marina laughed. “At thirty a woman’s done. Svetka, let’s go down to Borya’s, the neighbor. It’s more fun there and no nagging auntie.”
— “Is he cute?” Svetlana asked.
— “He’s okay, divorced. Most importantly—no uptight relatives!”
They left, slamming the door, and at three a.m. they returned, waking the entire building with drunken singing and the clatter of heels.
— “Ignat, this can’t go on!” Evelina cornered her husband in the hallway in the morning as he was getting ready for work. “They’ve turned our apartment into a thoroughfare!”
— “Just hang on a little longer. What am I supposed to tell them? ‘Get out?’ That’s unseemly towards relatives!”
— “And what’s going on here is seemly? Yesterday your aunt ate the cake I bought for my colleague’s birthday! I had to run around at eight in the evening looking for a bakery!”
— “So what? You bought another one. What’s the big deal?”
— “The big deal is you’re constantly defending them! And who am I here? A stranger in my own home!”
— “Eva, why get worked up? They’re family! My mom called yesterday asking how Aunt Tamara is settling in. What am I going to say—that we threw them out?”
At that moment a deafening crash and cursing came from the kitchen. They rushed in and saw Pyotr had dropped a big pot of borscht. Red liquid spread across the floor and shards of a plate were everywhere.
— “Oops,” he hiccuped, clutching the doorjamb. “Evka, clean this up quick. I’m late for work.”
— “Clean up your own mess!”
— “How dare you talk to your elders like that?” Tamara appeared in a greasy robe, outraged. “Ignat, your wife has no boundaries at all!”
— “Eva, apologize to Uncle,” Ignat said quietly but sternly.
— “What?! Why should I apologize?”
— “For being rude. Don’t make this worse.”
Evelina silently took the mop and began cleaning up someone else’s mess, boiling with indignation.
Two days later, Klavdiya, Ignat’s mother, arrived. Evelina genuinely hoped for her support—the woman had always been sensible and fair. But the moment she crossed the threshold, she took the relatives’ side.
— “Evelina, what do you think you’re doing?” she began. “Tamara called me in tears! She said you’re driving them out!”
— “Klavdiya Petrovna, they’ve been here for two and a half weeks,” Evelina tried to explain, helping her mother-in-law out of her coat. “Originally we were talking about a few days…”
— “So what? They’re family!” Klavdiya cut her off, casting a critical eye over the hallway. “When you married Ignat you knew he had a big family! And now you’re turning your nose up at relatives?”
— “I’m not kicking anyone out!” Evelina countered, leading her to the kitchen. “I just want to live peacefully in my own apartment, be able to rest after work…”
— “ ‘Peacefully’ is when family comes first!” Klavdiya snapped. “Not some personal whims! Ignat, son, come here!”
Ignat appeared from the room, clearly sensing an unpleasant conversation.
— “Listen to me carefully,” his mother continued, fixing him with a stern gaze. “Maybe you should change your wife—get a more agreeable, family-minded one?”
— “Mom, why would you say that…” Ignat began, but she overrode him.
— “What’s so wrong with it? Look how wonderful Marinka is at cooking! She keeps house, and she’s got such a sweet, compliant nature—pure gold!”
At that moment Marina herself appeared from the bedroom wearing Evelina’s silk robe—the expensive birthday gift from her husband.
— “Oh, Granny Klava!” the girl cried happily, kissing the elderly woman on both cheeks. “I’m so glad to see you! I’ll put on a fresh kettle now. Aunt Eva, do you have any cookies left? Oh right, I ate the last ones yesterday while watching my show.”
Evelina watched the scene in silence, realizing she would get no support from anyone.
— “You see?” Klavdiya said triumphantly. “Now that’s what I call a real woman! Hospitable, caring!”
— “Oh, stop it, Granny Klava!” Marina giggled, busying herself with the kettle. “I’m not the mistress here, I’m just trying to help Aunt Eva. Though of course, if this were my home, I’d change a lot. For example, these curtains—they’re too gloomy. And the wall color…”
— “This is my home,” Evelina said quietly but distinctly.
— “For now it is,” Klavdiya remarked meaningfully.
On the twentieth day of the “guests’ ” stay, Evelina came home earlier than usual—she’d been let off because of a water-main break. Climbing the stairs, she heard loud music and laughter coming from their apartment already on the second floor. When she opened the door, she froze in shock.
The living room was in total chaos: empty wine and beer bottles everywhere; on her favorite Persian rug—the one from their honeymoon trip to Iran—was a huge dark stain. The coffee table was piled with cigarette butts and food scraps. In the bedroom, Evelina found an unfamiliar young man sprawled on her bed in dirty boots, leafing through her personal diary.
— “Excuse me, who are you?” she asked, stunned.
— “I’m Vadik, Marinka’s buddy,” the stranger grunted without looking up. “Why so tense?”
— “I’m the owner of this apartment! And I demand you leave my home immediately!”
— “Don’t blow a fuse, lady!” Vadik smirked, finally deigning to look at her. “Marinka said we could hang here. She’s the mistress, right?”
— “No! I’m the mistress! And you’re getting out right now! Get out of my house!” Evelina screamed at the top of her lungs.
Tamara came running at once, with Pyotr and Marina in tow.
— “What’s this hysterics?” the husband’s aunt protested. “Evelina, have you completely lost your humanity? He’s our dear Marinka’s guest!”
— “I don’t care in the least! I want everyone out of my apartment!”
— “Aunt Eva, you’re overreacting,” Marina said in a patronizing tone. “Vadik just came to meet the parents. We’ve been dating for six months.”
— “In my bedroom? In my bed?”
— “Ignat!” Tamara shrieked. “Get in here this instant! Your unstable wife is putting on a circus again!”
Ignat strolled out of the kitchen, chewing a sandwich with red caviar—the very one Evelina had saved for a romantic dinner with her husband.
— “Eva, what’s the problem?” he asked lazily.
— “What’s the problem?! What’s the problem?!” her voice broke into a shriek. “There’s a drunk stranger lying in our bedroom, the apartment is a dump, and my husband asks what the problem is!”
— “Vadik’s a good guy,” Marina defended her friend. “He just got nervous about meeting everyone and had a little drink for courage. Now he’s resting.”
— “In my bed! With dirty boots! Reading my personal diary!”
— “So what!” Marina sniffed dismissively. “The sheets can be washed. And a diary—who even keeps diaries anymore? That’s so childish!”
Evelina felt something vital inside her snap—something that had kept her within the bounds of propriety for the last three weeks.
— “Enough! That’s it! The show is over!” Evelina threw open every window in the apartment. “We’re airing this place out. Everyone is leaving! Right now!”
She strode into the guest room and started flinging the uninvited guests’ belongings into a big travel bag.
— “What the hell are you doing, you nut?” Pyotr roared, trying to snatch his shirt from her.
— “Doing what I should’ve done three weeks ago! Out! Every single one of you!”
— “Evelina!” Klavdiya barked sternly, appearing in the doorway. “Stop this outrage at once!”
— “With the greatest respect, Klavdiya Petrovna, you can leave too,” Evelina replied without stopping, stuffing Marina’s cosmetics into the bag.
— “Ignat!” Tamara screeched. “Make your hysterical wife stop!”
— “Eva, stop! They’re my relatives!” her husband tried to intervene.
— “Perfect!” Evelina swung around to him, holding Tamara’s suitcase. “Take your precious relatives and go with them!”
— “You’re asking me to leave my own home?”
— “I’m asking you to make a choice!” Evelina shoved another bag into the hallway. “Either you’re a MAN and master of this house, or you’re an obedient WIMP who lets his family turn into a public thoroughfare! You have exactly seven days to think it over!”
— “Aunt Eva, you can’t kick us out!” Marina protested. “Our tickets are only for next week!”
— “Change them,” Evelina snapped, pushing the last suitcase over the threshold. “Or take a bus. Or walk. I don’t care!”
She slammed the door decisively and turned the key twice.
— “Evelina! Open up right now!” Ignat pounded on the door. “You have no right!”
— “I do! This is MY apartment—I bought it before the wedding!” she shouted through the door. “Seven days, Ignat! Exactly a week to sort out your priorities!”
— “Lunatic!” Tamara yelled from the hall. “We’re not done with you!”
— “Oh yes, we are! And I don’t want to see any of you here ever again!” Evelina answered and demonstratively turned the music up louder.
The next three days were the calmest of the last month. Evelina slowly put the apartment in order, enjoying the silence, eating what she wanted, watching her favorite films, and not hearing constant remarks about her “unfemininity” and “selfishness.”
On the fourth day, neighbor Boris called.
— “Evelina, is everything okay over there?” he asked anxiously. “The Kozhemyakins have been arguing outside my door for two hours. Klavdiya Petrovna is telling the whole stairwell what an ungrateful daughter-in-law you are.”
— “She can tell it anywhere she likes, Boris,” Evelina replied calmly, sipping tea with her favorite lemon cookies. “Just not in my home.”
— “Where’s Ignat? With them?”
— “I assume so. He’s made his choice.”
— “Well… I never would’ve thought things were that bad with you two.”
— “They aren’t bad, Boris. They’re just over.”
Exactly a week later, Evelina received a message from Ignat: “Eva, you were right. They’re unbearable. Tamara’s already managed to quarrel with my mom, Marina broke Mom’s favorite vase and was rude to the neighbor. Can I come home?”
“No,” she replied curtly.
“But I’m your husband! We’re a family!”
“We were a family. The divorce papers are with the lawyer. I’m filing tomorrow.”
“Eva, don’t do anything stupid! We can talk it out, find a compromise!”
“Three weeks ago, maybe. Now it’s too late.”
“You’ll never find a husband like me!”
“What wonderful news. I certainly won’t find the exact same doormat.”
A month and a half later, Boris dropped by for coffee and brought the latest news.
— “Know what happened to your ex-relatives?” he smirked, settling into an armchair. “Tamara and company took Ignat to court. Turns out he registered all of them temporarily at his mother’s place to show ‘family support.’ Now he can’t deregister them—they’re demanding equivalent housing.”
— “Seriously?” Evelina was surprised.
— “Oh yeah! Klavdiya Petrovna throws fits every day, ordering them to move out. They’re not even considering it. Marina’s already moved her boyfriend in; the whole crowd’s living in that two-room apartment.”
— “Karma is a bitch,” Evelina smirked, sipping coffee in her quiet, clean apartment.
— “What?” Boris didn’t get it.
— “Nothing. Just that sometimes justice does exist.”
