My mother's stories (chapter two)

My mother's stories
chapter 2
 A merry-go-round

The everyday reality during that period of my childhood was not too bright. In comparison with multicoloured demonstrations it was dull and gray, because this was the main colour in my surroundings. The air was not good either and it was not surprising. We lived in the factory region near the crossroad, which was overcrowded with cars even then, when not many people could afford to have their own vehicle. Our dwelling was one-storeyed and wet with a tiny front garden. It was situated in a common yard with similar dwellings adjacent to each other and the shell rock wall behind them.  There were one or two exits into the similar yards, and in this tangled maze of yards a big amount of children were playing, fighting and running around. A huge puddle filled almost all our yard after the rains, and people usually crossed it, walking on the separate bricks they had put in there. Once I stepped aside, running after other children, got my feet wet and had a really bad cold after that.

         A small plant, just behind one of the shell rock walls, was rumbling and clanking all day long. At the back of the yard there was a big scrap-heap and an awful common toilet with all its dirt and smell, where my mother forbade me to go. We didn’t have any water pipes inside our apartment, of course – only a common tap under a big willow-tree in the yard.  

         The only attractive thing about the place was that it was not far from the seashore. The sea could not be seen from our yard but it was heard sometimes. On our way to the seashore we had to walk past our own rubbish heap and a lot of others too. Maybe this is the reason why I hate the sight of rubbish among the grass so much.

         I forgot everything about the sea itself except that once the water was so transparent that I was not afraid of it and allowed it to support me. I was sure I was swimming on that day, although my parents said I had a false memory. Maybe they were right and it was only my father’s hands that supported me when I imagined myself swimming.

         My recollections were often different, especially from my mother’s. I could never come to an agreement with her about them. She assured me I had never been in the park where I was swinging, for example. My father and aunt confirmed the fact but it could be my friend’s family who took me there. Or maybe again it was just my imagination that I was swinging in the park as I longed to go there so much. The park was not too far from our dwelling, however all my relatives, even my aunt, refused to go there with me. And, of course, they didn’t want to go to the Central Park where I could ride a real merry-go-round. I went there for the first time with my classmates when I was 17. It was the end of our last year at school, just after “the last bell celebration”, during which our teachers declared how happy they were to have taught us and asked us not to forget our school years. We didn't care much for those sentimental speeches and just waited for the ceremony to end. After that we promised to meet each other at the bus stop and rushed home to have lunch and get some money for entertainment. To my surprise, when I said we were going to the Central Park and asked for money, my mother began to say something so unfair and offensive, that I got angry and ran away without money, forgetting completely, that my friend had to come and pick me up. Bus tickets were very cheap – so it was not a problem, anyone could lend me this sum, but I needed money for a merry-go-round and an ice-cream at least.

         I could never understand why my mother often tried to spoil my pleasure, when I had a real longing for something. And it was not greediness. That day, when I went to the Central Park with my classmates, she gave the money on my entertainment to my friend, when she came to our house. The sum was even twice bigger than I had asked for.

         And it was always like that. If I asked her for something too persistently it was the right way not to get anything or to have my pleasure spoilt – just as it was with a rubber goat when I was four or five. It was a cheap toy but for some reason I wanted it very much. My mother said if I behaved myself for the whole day she would buy it. I remember how difficult it was for me to control myself. And I knew one wrong step and our agreement would be cancelled. When I got my toy in the end I felt it was not worth it.

         It was actually a wise thought for a girl of my age. So maybe there was some truth in my mother’s belief, that I was the best and the most intelligent at the age of five. As a proof of it she used to tell two stories. One – how my aunt was complaining about her boyfriend to my mother. I was listening to their conversation for some time and then asked in surprise: “Why don’t you split up with him?” And another one – how my mother didn’t manage to place me in a kindergarten and I offered to lock myself up when she was at work. I remember as I used to sit alone at home, drawing in my sketch-book some series about a family of mice or looking through the window. It was very nice of me, of course, to be so responsible and brave. However later, as I was growing up, I felt more and more irritated, listening to my mother’s stories how I deteriorated since the age of five. Now, fifty years later, sometimes I think – maybe my mother was not so wrong after all.

To be continued…

(c) Anna Shevchenko

1. Festive demonstrations