Old boots 2

 

Okay, I went a bit overboard with the boots. I didn't die, I just hit my head on an old chest of drawers, and my father, who had just arrived, caught the flying book. He caught it at the last second, because he's so fleeting these days, then picked me up, cut the umbilical cord stretched across the hallway, and handed me to my nearly fainted mother, who first hugged me, and then breastfed me. Yes, it was a happy picture. Grandpa, grandmother, and great-grandparents standing over my breastfeeding mother on the floor. All smiling, no arguments, with tears in their eyes.

Okay, I went a bit overboard with the tears. The truth was, they argued even more then. Right after Mom started feeding me and Dad started cuddling and petting my bald head, my grandparents, at Grandma's authoritative nod, went to the barn in single file, silently and single file, stood in a small circle, and suddenly, how they didn't start, one after another! That you're so-and-so! That you've been drinking again! That you almost killed the baby! That you're a stupid cow! That it's all because of your complaining! Don't talk to Dad! That you're idiots because you've just had a grandson! And you, Mom, have a great-grandson! That this can't go on any longer! Don't talk to Dad! That now I'll come home from work as I please because I have a grandson! That I'll give you whatever you like! That you're idiots because instead of being with the child, you're arguing! Don't talk to Dad!

- But I haven't fucking spoken yet!!!! "Great-grandfather roared, and as I later learned from neighbors who were reluctant to talk about it, suddenly red powder began to fall, and a moment later the oldest barn wall collapsed on all four of them. They would have surely perished if not for the straw and hay, which, falling along with the bricks, cushioned the impact and crushing them. And as luck would have it, they weren't completely buried, but only from the head down, so they could breathe, talk, and continue arguing for several more days before my happy father and my very happy mother realized something was missing from the house and went to the barn to search.

Okay, I exaggerated about the barn. The truth was, yes, they did go to the barn, but only to celebrate my birthday in peace and great happiness. Grandpa and great-grandpa, for the first time in a long time, drank half a liter of vodka each, and grandmother and great-grandmother did the same, which they were very happy about, because they were women in the prime of life and, as they said, they sometimes needed vodka, but in moderation and under certain conditions, which were now met, which I do not have to prove anymore.

I'll just add that they drank so terribly that they slept in the barn for three days and three nights, huddled together like children and covered with hay. I was later told that Dad had an awful lot of work, because he had to wash diapers while tending to the pigs, milk the cows while bathing me, and feed the chickens and ducks, rejoicing in my arrival and cooking food for Mom and himself.

Okay, I exaggerated about the cooking. Dad would simply pick me up from Mom, and she would go make broth, bake chickens in the oven, knead cakes, pick apples and gooseberries, even blackcurrants. And then everyone ate, drank, and had a good time. Until now, as I write this, which isn't really all that much fun for me, because you can't even imagine how hard it is to feed soup and pork chops to grandparents lying against a collapsed wall. Especially for so many years.