Uninvented Stories of Invented People
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“Annie, why are people like that? Why isn’t it possible to live a sincere and heartful life, love what you do and enjoy it? Why?
“Sweet Marie, half of them are wounded themselves. It is you, who has
just come in. I’ve been working here for fifteen years. The nut house absorbs you. You see too much grief every day. You get used to it. A year goes by five, – by two according the law, but – five in fact. You live many lives or otherwise you are not a doctor. You are compelled to empathize and share, love people, and only then you are able to heal. All the rest is a fake. Fine, I got into philosophy. Shall we drink a coffee?”
“Let’s go,” and we walked along the dear nut house, having already realized that a bright pulse of true friendship had arisen between us.
Chapter two
• Dad •
Happensiness*
I am 9. A Russian literature class is on. Legs are trembling. My task is to eloquently recite a piece of poetry. It is a verse of my choice. “I’m sitting by bars in the damp blackened cell.... The juvenile eagle, who’s bred by the jail…2” . Words are pouring out of me and I, in fact, experience all the emotions of that prisoner with his eagle friend. I am taking my time, recite with passion and proper accents… finalize the declamation and hear my teachers approving
“Take you sit, Marie. It’s an 'A'!” I run jumping and sit to my place next to
Vovka, my closest and dearest friend.
Vovka is already trying cigarettes, often comes with a black eye, since “mom drinks”, and our friendship is inseparable. I do his module tests because “one needs to study well, otherwise will become a street cleaner”. I don’t want Vovka to become a street cleaner, but schooling doesn’t work out for him well. Yet he is good in carrying my schoolbag and protecting me. We giggle at out new teacher – her teeth stick up forward and Vovka mocks her quite well.
“Children bred up in impaired families are incapable of building up a worthy social unit, because they are impaired themselves,” declares Mrs. Bidmor, the teacher, through her stick-up teeth. “Therefore, Vladimir, I hold no grudge against you for mocking me out. This is just a defensive action you take, since, as usual, your home assignment is not done, therefore you get an 'F' ”.
My childish mind is overwhelmed by the rush of indignation that rises over the injustice I witness. What does “impaired” mean? In which meaning is Vovka impaired? He’s incredible. I stretch my hand out.
“Mrs. Bidmor, could you kindly tell me, what my impairment is? I understand that you don’t like Vovka and say that he is good for nothing, because he has no father and his mother drinks, but what am I inferior to? I have my mom, but no dad and I get “A’s” all the time!”
Mrs. Bidmor is bleating something, indistinct and incomprehensible. My question takes her by surprise, and I continue:
“I have two arms, two legs and a head, not a single “F” among the term grades – only “A’s”! I attend dance classes, study English and drawing, and neither me, nor Vova, or Alina, who has both dad and mom, are any different from each other. We are just out of special families, where dads love us very much. They just don’t dwell with us. Just so, why do You call us Impaired?
2 Prisoner by Alexander Pushkin, translated by Yevgeny Bonvercaptive/5324/ (TN)
The end-of-class life-saving bell interrupts this debate. The teacher announces: “The lesson is over.” I leer at her, take my school bag, and trudge home together with Vovka. His head down and he, says:
“Marie, you are wrong. Dad’s gone to jail and never ever sent a single letter. He doesn’t love me. Mom doesn’t need me either. She would always tell me that I’d better died or she had an abortion. The only one who loves me is my grandma. Sometimes I run to her at night when my mom’s too drunk and starts beating."
“Vova, I am telling you; they love you, and I love you. We just grow up, get married, buy ourselves a house and give birth to children. I’ll become a doctor, you’ll graduate and become the President and everything in this life …”
“You should be kidding, Marie. I’ll grow up to become a policeman. Have no desire or inclination to presidency. I am willing to hunt criminals, so that children were not offended …” we say our goodbyes in the middle of that dialogue.
I enter the house and I ask my grandma: “Granny, does dad love me?” Grandma says: “Very much, but he is just tied up with business and does not come over.” I’m cool, because it’s always so interesting to be special. Take me for example, I am very much special, my family is special. My mother is constantly at work and grandma makes me play the piano and doesn’t let me watch the cartoons. She says: “You are to be the best at everything. Be found of reading and make yourself a decent person”.
Whilst I am apt in dispelling clouds. If one concentrates greatly, one
may compel the clouds to disperse and the sun will appear. I made this happen a couple of times.
Now the study term already comes to the end. Summer is coming and you can read as many books as you want and swim in the pond. Then the winter comes and on my birthday he’ll be there. I will definitely tell him about Mrs. Bidmor, how bad a tale-teller she is. I’m confident, my daddy is the best of the best. While Mrs. Bidmor is impaired herself, since she speaks in that way.
I love autumn. It’s raining. The rain is soothing and refreshing, at the same time, tuning you up to a certain philosophical mood.
My Mom has taken an absence leave at work and is taking me to the hospital. I have a tumor in my breast. The breast is growing rapidly, ic, since I turned 13 and was one of the first to have a bra on, already a year ago. Transparent blouses can finally be gowned so that a bra could be seen. We arrive at the cancer detection center. An elderly lady doctor speaks to me in sweet words. I really like her. She is kind and addresses me with certain compassion. I undress, take off my pride, the bra, and she does the examination. She says I am to be urgently operated in a week. I say, I cannot because of my test in physics. My mother casts her an unrest smile and we lead on to undergo all the health screening procedures. She says, we’ll be there on Monday. To be honest, I wish no operations at all.
Mom and I go to the store and buy me boots. Though, they are not just the boots, but exactly those which I craved for – the knee-high boots! Can you imagine! The knee-high boots! To be honest I do not even know where to wear them. Probably my mother will even let me to a disco, since she bought me such ones that definitely can’t be a part of school uniform.
Monday, early in the morning, we leave to the hospital. Mom is very nervous. I’m nervous because she’s nervous. I know that there is nothing to be afraid of (as my mother says). They’re goanna give me a good ward where the girls are.