Chapter Three

The phone number turned out to be correct.

I’d noticed a long time ago that if I wanted something badly, I always got it. At first I thought it was just coincidence, but now, after everything that has happened, I know for certain: we create our own destiny. By ourselves—our thoughts, our decisions, our actions. And beyond that, there is something that I don’t fully understand yet, but I certainly know I have it. Whether it is some kind of force, or energy, well, call it whatever you like, but I know for sure—it is there. Now I have to figure out what exactly that is.

I think that you would agree with me. But we’ll take that up again later.

Now I was pretty surprised that the phone number was correct. So pretending to be an employee of the telephone company, who had to verify a list of subscribers, I made a call and with a casually businesslike tone said, “It’s the Subscriber Service Center of the ATS. Just verifying your subscription. Your last name?”

“Shalimova.”

“Address?”

“Don’t you have it?” She spoke with a hesitant voice. I knew she would offer no resistance.

“Look, I’m too busy to chit-chat, ‘cause I have to ring up more than two thousand numbers. We regularly update all the info of our subscribers. Would you be so kind as give me your address,” I continued to push.

“Two Kononov Street, apartment number seven.”

Done. I couldn’t force myself to continue. Oh! It took so much effort to fight with myself! And what for? It is a well-known fact: if a man wants to go, you will never make him stay. But why didn’t he leave? Why was he running back and forth? What made that woman better than me?

I walked over to the mirror and saw a woman, nice in all respects. A slender, athletic figure. After all, I was a master of sport in artistic gymnastics in the past. Long, beautiful legs and full breasts, a cute face with expressive brown eyes and generous sexy lips. I always wore reasonable makeup, correctly emphasizing my femininity.

I knew I was not a top fashion model, but each time I passed a company of men, I was sure to hear compliments in my wake. Once Aleksei’s boss said, “There exist very beautiful women. One glance, and you can’t stop feasting your eyes on her! And then, there is a type of woman, who seems not to be a beauty, but you want her and you want her now!”

He was talking about me. Then why the heck was my dearest not satisfied? What must this Marina be like to make him barter me away, such a wonderful woman and the mother of his son? A Hollywood star or something?

Then the pain, insult, and loneliness overwhelmed me so that I burst into miserable, bitter tears. Letting all the sorrow free, it dawned on me: there’s no use crying over spilt milk. Something had to be done.

Again I thought of Ira Romanova, a wise woman. When we were young, twenty-two or something, she once said, “For me the most important thing is that, once home, my Sasha leaves everything behind and is all mine. And I don’t care what he does outside, without me; it’s his business as long as he is happy.” Clearly it was a self-sacrificing love that she had. Perhaps that was how it should be. I wondered how she was doing. I really hoped that everything was okay.

I would finish this epic soap opera, see it to the end, save my family and for sure I would try to reach her at some point. We would laugh at all this later. But I couldn’t be like her. Jealousy was burning in me like fire, searing out all other thoughts. It deprived me of sleep and the ability to live normally.

So I pulled myself together and approached the mirror. Make-up should be flawless, hair and clothes, a bit sexy. My husband was at work now, so she was alone at home. I wondered why she was at home. Why was she not at work? How did she manage to survive? He was probably giving her money.

Yeah, I had to scrimp and save, working as hard as the Slave Isaura on the plantation from the Brazilian telenovela while she was sitting pretty at home and even more, was enjoying my man. Honestly, where was justice in this world?

And they didn’t pay much at that laboratory. His wages for May were just paid, and it was August already. So, did it mean he was buying her flowers on my money?

Well, honey, I’ll buy you flowers! From myself, personally, for your grave. Oh! Stop. That’s not right. But on the other hand why not? She could get flowers, and I could not?

So, after piling up the agony I left the house, bought a bunch of red carnations, the most hideous flowers ever. Why did I do it? I couldn’t answer. For the grave, probably. Whose grave, I couldn’t say.

I couldn’t remember exactly how I got to the right address. I knocked at the door.

A thin, short, homely woman opened the door. Even her teeth looked like a mouse’s. I could knock those teeth out with one precise strike! How could he! For this gray mouse?

A wave of malicious joy and confidence in my success washed over me. I put a foot between the door and the jamb and with an impudent smile put out my hand, filled with those hideous carnations.

“Well, hello, Marina,” I said.

The mouse’s silent question in her face started changing into blue fear. She tried to close the door, but my determination and my foot stopped her.

“How will we talk? Either all the neighbors would hear, or in your apartment?” I asked. “I warn you, I’m going to speak very loudly. You see, I have a loud voice. Very loud.”

I again turned on my all energy. Marina, with eyes full of horror, slowly opened the door and allowed me to enter. I continued to smile, and that probably comforted her enough for an expression of superiority to appear in her eyes. Or it seemed to me. In any case she said, “Aleksei told me you’re beautiful. So, you’re so beautiful, standing in front of me, in my house, and your husband prefers me to you. He doesn’t want to live with a prostitute, even a beautiful one.”

She shouldn’t have said that. My right hand, still holding the bouquet of flowers, suddenly jerked, and bam! I punched that mouse right on the nose.

Previously I had fought only in my childhood, with boys, defending my toys and my child’s dignity. There was no one to protect me; I had to do it myself. My mother wasn’t faithful to my father, who was twenty-five-years her senior. She cheated on him. But when she nabbed him with a rodent like this, she left me, a nine-month-old baby, with her mother—my grandmother. She went off to manage her own life, and somehow forgot about me. So, as you can see, I was on my own.

If I remembered correctly, the last time I had punched anyone was when I was five-years-old.

Now I was dealing one blow after another until a couple of teeth fell on the wooden floor. The sound of fallen teeth brought me to my senses.

“Oh, the flowers look damaged. Well, never mind, they’ll be perfect for the grave.”

Abruptly swinging right around I left the apartment. I went outside and threw those flowers down at my feet. I left, and they, broken, but still alive, were abandoned, lying on the pavement. I had the feeling that someone was looking at me and shaking their head with disapproval. I looked around, but saw no one.

For the first time after a few months since I started suspecting Aleksei’s betrayal, I felt relieved, even happy.

So that’s what it was, that made me so happy: a sense of vengeance! The feeling of revenge!

But I did not know that when you take revenge on someone, you had to dig two graves at the same time. One for yourself.

In the meantime, jubilating, I tried to justify what I had done. She did not have to call me a prostitute. Who gave her that right? All I wanted was just a talk.

I was trying to justify myself, although subconsciously I knew it would have ended like this anyway. I didn’t have any doubts, not even the smallest little thought of regret for what I had done. I did not even think what my precious hubby would say when he found out about everything.