Irkadura

Chapter 17. Owl

“Well?” says Anton.

Yulia crosses her arms.

Words crowd behind my teeth, wanting to break out. Your logic points me to either stagnant thinking or complete ignorance. Have you noticed that your son is gay? No. You choose to be blind. And when you can’t ignore it anymore, you will cast him aside because he doesn’t fit your image of the perfect son. Because he has a pathology. 

I write one word. “No.”

Anton cradles his temples. “How am I to understand that?”

I smile. Guess.

He throws a worried look at Yulia. 

She has a smug look on her face.

“This is outrageous.” His round eyes round even more. “We’re wasting our time. Can’t you see she’s playing us?” He rises, catches on the edge of the table. Spoons clink and the tea slopes over.

Yulia picks a towel from the hook by the sink and mops it up. “If you’d only listen to me.”

“But, Yulechka, if it’s not genetic, how else can you explain it?”

“I told you, we need to talk to her mother.”

Good luck catching her sober. I marvel at my calm. My future is at stake, yet I don’t panic. 

Anton draws aside the curtain and watches the snow. 

I follow his gaze, searching for winged shapes. How much longer before you strike? How much longer?

Yulia spoons sugar into her cup and swills it. “Irina, I’ll be straightforward with you, all right? We’re taking you into our family but we hardly know you. It’s a big and scary step for us. We’re doing it for Pavlusha. He seems to be very much in love with you.”

My heart clenches. If you only knew.

“Personally, I have my reservations. You’ll understand”— she narrows her eyes to slits—“when you become a mother.”

Anton turns away from the window. “Look, the sooner you do it, the sooner we can move on to discussing pleasant things. The wedding, the restaurant, your dress, your jewelry.”

Something in my face causes them to exchange a satisfied glance.

I grit my teeth. You know who you are, Irina Myshko? You’re a bribable doormat. But I can’t help it. I imagine a white gown, a bridal veil, and kissing. My face burns. Kissing! He’d have to kiss me in front of everybody. Then I remember about the gynecologist. Never mind. As soon as they find out, it’s back to Lyosha Kabansky. Might as well play along for as long as I can.

I pick up the pen and write.

I write about my school, my home, and every visit to the doctor I can remember. About mama, grandma, Sonya, and Lenochka. Our cats, our dogs. The stories I liked to invent in my head since I was little, pretending that different people were different animals. And I write about Lyosha. I don’t mention anything bad, only good things. At the end, I tell them I had a fight with mama and that’s why I ran away. Then I add one more line. 

“When I was two, I fell out of my crib, bit my tongue, and stopped talking.”

“Is that really what happened?” Anton peers at me through his glasses. He seems relieved.

I nod.

“That’s all? You just fell out of the crib and bit your tongue?”

I shrug.