11
Some mothers do not support their children
"A
re you sure it was the Chinese woman who kidnapped you?" I focused my gaze on her. We both knew each other well enough to sense that something was off. Could she suspect that Yuri was alive? They say mothers have a sixth sense for these things, although my mother's maternal instinct was somewhat complex. I preferred to find out what she knew.
"What do you mean?" I feigned ignorance.
"You can tell me. You've been acting very odd, and the whole thing in Greece was most bizarre. We both know you married without love for your husband, which has led me to the following conclusion: do you have a lover?" she asked, nonchalantly. "Given the huge mess that's unfolding, if you're involved with another man and Santorini was a bad idea from a spurned lover, we need to start thinking about this now."
"What the hell are you talking about? Not all of us are like you, mother," I retorted, offended. If it stung her, she showed no signs of it. "I remind you that they also tried to kidnap Sarka, it wasn't just me."
She looked nervously from side to side, then started fidgeting with her finger in a way that was typical of Jelena Koroleva when she was caught in a misdeed. Just like that time when father was away on a trip, and upon his return, he found Putin having breakfast at our house. Since he was the president, nothing happened, he had the upper hand if he did anything to him, or to his wife's lover, who claimed to be just passing through and had forgotten he was away.
I intensified my gaze on my mother. There was something she was keeping quiet about. I thought about Sarka. Yuri had interrogated the Chinese, and it didn't seem like they were behind what had happened. I thought it might have been a coincidence, but coincidences do not exist in my world.
"Was it possible that my mother had seen or heard something that revealed who was behind it? Could it be that perhaps Massimo or Don Giuliano were involved? And if so, what was their motivation?"
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What does that look mean? Do you know something I don’t?"
My mother could lie very well to men, but not to me.
"You shouldn't have sent her to Russia. You have no idea what you’ve done."
"What does sending her to Russia have to do with her kidnapping attempt?"
"That man..." My mother could drive me crazy with her unfinished sentences.
"What man?" Was there something in Saint Petersburg that I didn’t know about? Perhaps another emerging group had threatened her, and my mother hadn't told me?
"Olga’s father," she grumbled, exasperated.
"The music teacher at the school is from the Bratva?"
"No! Well, not that I know of."
"Then what?"
"It's just that your sister likes him, and you’ve sent her into the lion’s den." I blinked in disbelief.
"For God's sake, mother! Just because you throw yourself at every man wearing trousers doesn’t mean we all do the same. Well, maybe I do a bit. But Sarka? Have you seen her? She’s just a kid!"
"Not anymore. She might be a virgin, but she likes her friend's father. I read it in her diary."
Why was I not surprised that my mother had done something as despicable as snooping through my sister's diary?
"Mom!"
"What?! I was worried! She had never talked to me about boys, I thought she was Bolivian."
She used the term in Spanish, as if it offended her to say it in Russian. I admit, it took me a moment to understand what she meant.
"It's lesbian, mom. A Bolivian is a woman from Bolivia."
"Whatever it’s called, you knew what I meant."
My mother was not very understanding of same-sex relationships.
"Let's recap. You read her diary, and? Have they kissed? Has he made advances? Have they dated?"
"No! But I saw Olga's father's name with a heart around it."
Freud would have had a field day with my mother.
"Pfff. Look, mom, we all fantasize about one teacher or another during our school days. That doesn't mean we throw ourselves at them. And maybe she drew a heart thinking of someone else. Besides, what does this have to do with her kidnapping?" Again that gesture. She was so nervous she couldn't help but do it. And then I knew it. "No, no, no, no." As soon as I uttered the negatives, she looked at me like a deer caught in headlights. "Don’t mess with me. Tell me you weren't the mastermind behind the kidnapping. You've done twisted things, but to have your own daughter taken..."
She raised her brow arrogantly.
"I did what a good mother would do," she replied haughtily, "trying to prevent that scatterbrain from moving in with an unmarried man over twenty years her senior, whom she believes she's in love with." This was unbelievable, I couldn't believe it.
"That’s insane, mother! How could you?!"
"I just wanted to scare her so she would see that the most sensible thing was to stay here in Marbella. That man could take advantage of her!"
"He's her music teacher and the father of her best friend! His record is spotless!"
"That doesn’t exempt him from falling into temptation and wanting to teach Sarka the art of playing the trombone." I felt like strangling her.
"This is surreal. Olga’s father is a highly respected teacher. I went to that school, I attended his classes, and back then, he was a recent graduate. There has never been a scandal involving him."
"And what does that matter? At that time, he was married, until his wife suffered that fatal accident that left her in a coma. Maybe he caused the accident because he was fed up and now he wants fresh blood."
"You've watched too many movies. That man is not Count Dracula, mom."
"Say what you want, you'll see we'll end up regretting it."
A sharp pain pierced my temples. Someone should invent a painkiller against Jelena Koroleva. I breathed several times to relax a bit.
"So, did you orchestrate everything so they would take her?"
"You pushed me." Great, now I was responsible for her madness. "Those men assured me it would be like sewing and singing, there would be no injuries. The plan was simple, they would distract Andrey, take her away, and then release her somewhere she could ask for help. I would pretend they had asked for a ransom, that I had paid it, and that would be it. Something simple that would cause panic in Sarka. She was supposed to want to stay and you were to believe it was the best option to keep her under surveillance."
"For heaven's sake!" I couldn't stop thinking about how she could have come up with something like that. "Where did you find these people, mom? Who introduced you to them? Was it Massimo?" I interrogated her.
"No! I found them on my own," she explained proudly. "Through an ad."
"An ad? You're not telling me you found them on a dating app? Or worse... did you put up a 'wanted: experienced kidnappers' on Google?" She huffed, indignant.
"I have more contacts and smarts than you think."
"I doubt that. Who were they, mom? I need to know. Andrey killed those guys!"
"Another mistake, because what they were carrying were blank guns."
"Blanks?" Things were going from bad to worse.
"I told you it was a staging."
"I'm asking you again and this time answer. Where the hell did you find them?"
"From an ad for unemployed movie specialists. They were offered for risk scenes." I facepalmed.
"You're telling me we killed civilians over your stupidity! God damn it..."
"I didn't know they were going to die!" she excused herself. "And Massimo has already taken care of it."
"Massimo?"
"You weren't here, I needed someone I could trust."
"Of course, and besides letting him screw you, you served our heads up on a fucking platter."
"Don't talk like that! I was scared, I didn't know what to do or who to turn to. I didn't think..."
"That's the crux of it, mother, you don't think!" I shouted. I hated that her poor decisions dragged us through the mud.
"You don't need to react like that. You don't have to worry, your father-in-law sorted everything out and promised me..."
"He promised whatever, I don't care about that. What you gave him is a fucking grenade he can detonate at his convenience."
"Now we're family! He's not going to do anything that would hurt us. It was just a small favor."
"A favor he'll be delighted for you to return."
"I don't have to put up with your impertinence, no matter how hard you've had it. I deserve some respect, I am your mother and I am older than you."
"One cannot demand what they do not give. If you were so concerned about Sarka, you should have returned to Saint Petersburg and taken care of her, as was your duty." Her lips tightened.
"My life is no longer in Russia. I've already told you that." With that statement, she said everything she was holding back.
Both of us were very agitated when the door to the terrace opened and a child with a sullen face emerged, looking at me from a distance.