4

There they appeared, the two old idiots - one fat, bald and four-eyed, the other one still looking okay for her age, though, but wearing a poker face, dry and very unpleasant. Seeing her guitar in someone else’s hands, my mother gave me the stink eye.

“What’s your problem? Why are you staring at me?” I muttered in an unfriendly tone.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she hissed through her teeth.

But I got carried away and said to her:

“What the hell did you come for? No one wants you here, so come on, piss off now!”

Shurik gave me a contemptuous look but said nothing. He handed the guitar back to Tanya and left with the excuse of having things to do.

That very evening I was “put on trial”. Or, put simply, was attacked by the whole family, from my own parents to the other relatives - uncles, aunts, grandads and, most disturbingly, Uncle Anatole, Shurik’s father who was present in our house as well. Actually, he was the one who started the “trial”.

He was sitting at the table between my father and my uncle, discussing something, when I, dressed in my bright-purple low-cut top picked especially for Shurik, sat down right opposite them.

“Who is this pretty young lady?” said Uncle Anatole as he noticed me.

I flushed.

“Do you really think I’m pretty? Your son doesn’t think so, though.”

“Doesn’t he?” he chuckled exchanging looks with my father.

“No,” said I, “And it’s totally wrong of him. If you must know I’m quite a catch and I can prove it.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Oh yes,” I began with the air of importance, “First of all, I have a good dowry. I’m an only child, which means I’m sole beneficiary of two apartments in Moscow, two summer villas…”

My parents blushed beet-red, evidently wanting to sink through the floor with shame. Uncle Anatole, his cheek upon his head, lifted his brow.

“Well?”

I waved my hand.

“And that’s not even including my other grandmother’s estate…”

“You know what, young lady,” said my would-be father-in-law, “I’m only a guest in this house, yet I would like to give you some advice.”

“What kind of advice is that?” I asked.

“Never brag about your property, especially what doesn’t belong to you so far. For it’s here today and gone tomorrow; you can never know whether or not you're gonna get it. Besides, people trying to show off like that don’t get much credit but look somewhat… pathetic.”

And just like that it started and the trial was declared open.

“She wasn’t belted enough as a child!” said Aunt Klava in her thick voice, “I’m sorry for your mother and father but I’d have you thrashed if you talked to me like that!”

“Never mind, she’ll face the music quite soon,” said my father, “Life is gonna screw her anyway.”

“Dad, it’s my life, ok?” I said condescendingly.

That trial, however, had had a big impact on my father. Apparently, some negative remarks cast by my relatives along with my stunt made him thoroughly overhaul his upbringing methods. And dad, my soft dad who had never punished me and turned a blind eye to all my pranks, changed dramatically after that incident. He went ballistic and as soon as we returned back home he gave me a proper flogging.

“We won’t take her to Kruglovo anymore. Staying there made her quite uncontrollable” said my mother adding fuel to the fire.

And then all hell broke loose. Every day Dad would find new reasons to beat me up. In all likelihood, my offensive behavior in the presence of Shurik’s father and Aunt Klava’s words had got in his head. But, maybe, the reason was different - it might just be the wrath of a father whose young daughter runs after men without dignity.

But, whatever it was, my life at my parents’ home had turned into hell. Usually, at about seven o'clock in the morning, when it was still too early for me to get up to school (I always liked to stay in bed as long as possible, and would get up ten minutes before leaving) - a hard knocking at my door would wake me. After that my father would call my full name in an angry voice.

“Get up! Do you hear me?!”

Perhaps, that was the real reason I hated my original name to the extent of changing it. It was something like a Pavlov’s dog reflex: if every time you treat a canine to a cupcake you hit him on the head, the poor animal ends up fearing cupcakes. Just so did I feel when waking up in the morning to an angry roar calling my name which was accompanied by a hard knocking at my door.

“Leave me alone!” I snapped out as I shrank into my blanket like a hunted animal.

“Shut up!!!”

Thereafter, things followed both expectedly and unexpectedly, which made them even more terrible. My blanket would get blown off me at one fell swoop, then a tremendous punch on the ear would toss me down on the floor. Then I was kicked and punched all over my body, slapped in the face and belted. There was my father’s furious face hovering over me, his bloodshot eyes behind his spectacles. I felt the red mist coming over me; I was so enraged that I couldn’t even feel the pain - and I tried to kick that hateful face and knock off those spectacles. Sometimes the spectacles flew off his nose, sometimes they got smashed and his blood splashed all over the bedroom.

“I hate you!!! I hope you die in a car crash!” I screamed at my father.

He would give me another whack or two before my mother pulled him away.

It was a great start to my day, wasn’t it…

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

However sulkily, rudely, thoughtlessly etc you were to those around you: for them - adults, to try you like a killer, plus and more to humiliate and beat you is unbelievably cruel. What kind of creatures were they.. not a one of them having the courage to find some kind of reason in your character to defend you even a little?!?!

Your writing of that episode has remained calmly laid, have no idea how you managed to do that.. . your defiance is a strange type of courage.