Chapter Eighteen

That same evening, in order to not to put off this hard decision, or most likely I would change my mind, I called Aleksei.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, after a rather long pause.

“Can we meet? I need to talk to you.”

For a moment he didn’t say anything.

“Sure.” Suddenly he agreed. “Only, come see me in my flat. I can’t...” His voice trailed off.

I was surprised at how easily he agreed and how weak his voice was.

“Tell me where.”

I found the address easily. It was the mouse’s flat. He had rented it while waiting for the money from the sale of our house. The Marina-mouse had left and moved to Israel. Without him. But that fact was less shocking than the way Aleksei looked. He was obviously ill. Extremely thin, just a set of bones, all pale and toothless.

I immediately recollected his old joke: “I have only two teeth, and they are not against each other.” People have to think about what they say, even if it’s just a joke. [where did he say this?]

Looking at my ex, I realized that he was very close to the point after which came complete silence. And again, it was as though my son was in front of me. And I knew that I could forgive Aleksei. I knew that Vova would suffer much if he lost his father. And I also thought that he would blame me for his father’s death. Perhaps that’s exactly what the wise Maria Vasilievna and Vladislav Petrovich were trying to tell me. I felt sorry for everyone: my son who could lose his father; my ex, because he was definitely in pain now, afraid, and certainly regretting what he did; and me, because of all the Hell I had gone through.

It reminded me of the suitcase of roses.

Vova and I were celebrating our birthdays. In fact, he was actually born the day before my own birthday. The doctor who was delivering my son offered to change the date on the birth certificate to one day forward, like mine, but I demurred. I already knew that the day, month, and year of birth made a difference in the life of each person. And I did not want to create confusion in my son’s fate from the earliest days of his life.???? Destiny.

So we were celebrating our birthdays together in the middle of September. I was having my twenty-fifth one, Vova, his third.

The table was set. Guests gathered. Aleksei was late and I was angry. He had gone to visit his mother in the village. I loved my mother-in-law and never dissuaded him from visiting her, on the contrary, I believed that he should do it more often. But today, I thought he could have stayed home and helped me get ready for the celebration.

Finally the doorbell rang.???? why would ring his own doorbell? Aleksei came in with a medium-sized suitcase in his hand. Surprised, I was ready to hurry him up, when he opened the suitcase. The suitcase was full of roses. Red, pink, and white. Fresh, fragrant roses.

“Oh!” The guests uttered a chorus of oohs and aahs.

“Happy birthday, darling!”

How much I loved him then!

Now he was looking at me with the eyes of an old, tired, and beaten dog. There was fear. And suffering. And a plea.

“I brought tea,” I forced myself to speak, holding back the tears. “Should I make the tea now?”

“Yes, please.”

“I also brought some cookies.”

“I’m forbidden to eat cookies.”

“What has happened to you? You love cookies.”

“I have diabetes. The acute type. My pancreas is failing. So...”

He couldn’t say a word more. Neither could I.

I poured us some tea. I didn’t put out the cookies.

“You know,” I said after a while, “I’ve come to talk to you. I forgive you for everything you did. I forgive you.”

Alexei’s hand shook the tea in the cup.

“I forgive you, because we were together for almost seventeen years. Because we are responsible for our son, and because I thought about revenge. And forgive me if I have ever hurt you.”

I did it! I did it!

But I was puzzled by the fact that he did not say anything. He was not surprised. He didn’t say it was not him who had done it, or that it was me who made him do that. I realized that he was truly sorry for what he had done. For the fact that it was he, nobody else, who had tried to kill me. He just sat there with his eyes on the floor, completely silent.

Good heavens, you were so right, Maria Vasilievna! I didn’t want him to be sick. I didn’t want to put him to jail, nothing of the kind! Moreover, no prison could help a person experience remorse for what he did.

You were also correct, Vladislav Petrovich. I forgave him. I didn’t want him to die. And the all-consuming hatred left me. Compassion came instead, and a sense of freedom I had not expected.

I was ready to cry from happiness. No, not because my almost-murderer was punished far too much, even for me. I did not want to punish him! I felt sorry for him. Sincerely sorry. I had the feeling that all this time I had been carrying a huge bag filled with something very unpleasant and heavy. And now it was gone. So easy to move! Such freedom!

We talked about various things, looking back on some good events in our life. Yes, there were some. In every family there are hard times and happy moments. And we were no exception. I thought back then that there was no woman happier than me in the whole world. And now I felt the same way.

Out on the street, I was close to tying my leg to that old, vanished weight because otherwise I felt I might fly away, like Piglet’s green balloon. Wow! An idea flashed through my mind, how thoughts can physically put pressure on the body. I never would have thought that.

But now I didn’t want to think at all.

The world around was so colorful and it seemed that before I watched it through a dirty window. Now someone had washed it for me, and everything around sparkled. Was it Someone or had I washed it myself? No, I would not think about anything. I was so happy! So happy!