Andrey nodded. His face was blank.
“I see. Go.”
Lida went out onto the stairwell, closed the door behind her. Went downstairs. It was cold outside, the wind fluttered the hem of her coat. She took out her phone, dialed her friend’s number.
“Alla, hi. Listen, can I come over to your place today? No, not for long, until evening. Just renovations at home. Thanks, I’m leaving now.”
She put the phone in her bag and walked to the subway. Snow fell on her face. Cold, wet. The city buzzed. People rushed. Everyone was hurrying somewhere. Lida walked slowly, hurrying nowhere.
She returned home at half past five in the evening, went up to her floor. The entrance smelled of tangerines and champagne. Somewhere on the lower floors, the fun was already beginning. Lida opened the apartment door. It was quiet in the hallway. The light was on in the kitchen. She undressed, went into the bedroom, closed the door, sat on the bed. Took bread, kefir, and cottage cheese out of her bag. Put them on the nightstand. Sat back down. Half an hour remained to wait.
Lida lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Listening to the silence. It got dark outside. The first firecrackers popped on the street. Someone shouted, laughed. It was quiet in the apartment. Too quiet.
The clock on the phone showed five minutes to six. Lida stood up, walked to the door. Pressed her ear to the panel. Not a sound, nor the smell of food came from the kitchen. Nothing. She opened the door slightly, looked out into the corridor. Empty. Dim light from the living room. Lida walked there quietly. Peeked in.
Andrey sat on the sofa, in a dark shirt, jeans. Face pale, hands resting on his knees. He looked out the window. Didn’t move. On the coffee table in front of him—his phone. The screen lit up. Incoming call. “Mom”. Andrey didn’t pick up. The call cut off after 5 seconds. Again. “Mom”. Andrey sat motionless. Lida returned to the bedroom. Closed the door. Sat on the bed.
Exactly at six in the evening, the intercom rang. Long, insistent. Lida heard Andrey get up. His steps were slow, heavy. He didn’t answer the intercom. Went into the kitchen. The ring repeated. One more time. Then fell silent. A minute later, there was a knock on the apartment door. Timid at first. Then louder. Then drumming.
“Andrey! Open up! It’s us!” Tamara Ignatyevna’s voice. Ringing, cheerful. “Andryusha! Son!”
Lida froze. Listened. Andrey went out into the hallway. Lida heard his breathing. Heavy, ragged. He stood by the door. Didn’t open.
“Andrey!” Now there was irritation in the mother-in-law’s voice. “What, can’t you hear? We’re freezing out here!”
Lida stood up. Walked to the bedroom door. Opened a crack. Saw Andrey’s back. He stood by the front door, fists clenched. Then slowly, as if forcing himself, reached for the handle. Opened the door. Not fully. Shoulder width. Stepped out onto the landing, pulling the door to behind him.
Lida heard a joyful hum of voices.
“Well finally! We thought you fell asleep!” Tamara Ignatyevna laughed. “Well, greet the guests! Look how many of us came!”
“Hi, Andryukha!” A male voice, deep. “Uncle Gena! Happy coming holiday!”
“Oh, smells delicious!” A female voice, enthusiastic. “Aunt Ira!”
“Mom!” began Andrey. His voice trembled. “Mom, listen, here’s the thing…”
“What is it?” Tamara Ignatyevna became alert.
“Lida… got sick!” Pause.
“How got sick?” The mother-in-law’s voice became sharp.
“Well, the flu! The doctor said, very contagious. Quarantine!” Andrey spoke quickly, confusedly. “So… well, the holiday is cancelled. Sorry!”
Silence. Long, tense.
“Andrey…” said Tamara Ignatyevna slowly. “Are you saying we came for nothing?”
“Well… yes. Sorry. I didn’t know she would get sick.”
“Why didn’t you call? Didn’t warn us?”
“I… forgot. Hustle and bustle, you know?”
Lida stood behind the bedroom door and listened. Her heart pounded. She almost saw Tamara Ignatyevna’s face, stony, with narrowed eyes.
“Let us into the apartment!” said the mother-in-law.
“No, can’t. Quarantine!”
“Andrey! I am your mother! Let me into the house!”
“Mom! Really, can’t!”
“Let me in! Immediately!” There was steel in the voice.
Andrey fell silent.
And then a sound came from the depths of the apartment. Distinct, rhythmic.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Lida in the kitchen began to cut an apple. On the old plastic board. Slowly, methodically, loudly.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The silence on the landing became absolute.
“Sick, you say?” said Tamara Ignatyevna quietly, venomously.
Andrey was silent.
“Andrey!” the mother-in-law’s voice trembled with rage. “Are you trying to say I’m an idiot? That the whole family are idiots? We all dropped our affairs, bought gifts, came, and you made fools of us?”
“Mom! I…”
“Shut up!” The voice was like a whip. “Where is the table? Where is the food? Where are the gifts you promised?”
“Mom! I didn’t have time…”
“Didn’t have time?” the mother-in-law raised her voice. “Or was there no money? You fooled my head for two weeks, bragged that you had everything under control, that there would be a grand feast, but in reality what? An empty apartment and lies!”
“Mom, Lida wouldn’t let me…”
“Don’t you dare!” yelled Tamara Ignatyevna, not letting him finish. “Don’t you dare blame your wife! Are you a man or not? You promised, you answer!”
Uncle Gena grumbled something. Andrey tried to justify himself, but the mother-in-law interrupted him.
“That’s it! Let’s get out of here!” Tamara Ignatyevna turned around. “Happy holiday to you, son! Disgraced your mother in front of all the relatives.”
“Mom! Wait!”
“Leave me alone!”
The voices receded. The entrance door slammed. Lida stood by the bedroom door, holding onto the frame. Breathed slowly, evenly. The front door closed. Andrey returned to the apartment, walked into the living room, collapsed on the sofa. Silence.
Lida took the knife, apple, board. Returned to the kitchen. Sat at the table. Continued cutting the apple. Neatly, in even slices. Arranged on a plate. Put cottage cheese nearby, poured kefir into a glass. Took bread. Set the table for one. Sat down. Began to eat.
A few minutes later, Andrey entered the kitchen. Face gray, eyes red. He looked at her, at the plate, at the table.
“You did it on purpose,” he said hoarsely. “You knocked with the knife on purpose so they would hear.”
Lida bit off a piece of apple.
“I was cutting an apple. I needed to eat.”
“You…” His voice broke. “You knew they would come. You could have gone into the bedroom, locked yourself in. But you came out to the kitchen so they would hear.”
Lida looked at him. Calmly, steadily.
“I was cutting an apple,” she repeated.
Andrey stood swaying. Then slowly lowered himself onto the chair opposite. Covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook. He was crying. Soundlessly. Pathetically.
Lida finished the apple. Drank the kefir. Stood up, washed the plate, glass. Put them in the drainer. Wiped her hands with a towel. Turned to Andrey. He sat hunched over the table, face covered. Shoulders trembling..
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