The Third Day

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Liudmila Maksimova. The Third Day

The Third Day

Vasjka

Happiness

Daddy

Lyda

Nadenjka

Irochka

Nezhadva

Notes

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My father-in-law, the old man Nikolai, God rest his soul, drank methodically and regularly: “every third day” as he himself put it. For years, it had been an unalterable law of his existence. No matter what was going on around – constant arrivals and departures of numerous relatives; weddings and divorces; perpetual rows, minor and wild, with fights and without, of his sons with one another and with their wives; visits from his imbecile daughter with her little brats; moving to a new place of residence; renovations; illnesses; fires; global cataclysmic events; the end of the world, if you like – the “third day” always began, went by and ended in the same way, following the same pattern. Regardless of the presence in the house of guests or friends – not that he had any friends of his own except, perhaps, an alcoholic who lived next door and used to stop by now and then, which actually made no difference – the old man would spend that day alone.

And then the “third day” would finally come! In a buoyant mood, the old man would wake up earlier than usual, take a chunk of fatty pork and painstakingly cook it on the gas stove while the others were still asleep.

.....

– With your permission, – a voice, speaking in Russian with a slight accent, came from above. And the fifth glass disappeared in the cupped palm of a huge black hand. Out of fear, Vasjka downed his vodka in one gulp.

– Vasja, friend, don’t you recognize me? I’m Dzhamil.

.....