The news of their son’s death arrived late—like all the rare updates he occasionally sent his parents. By the time Fyodor Viktorovich and Klavdiya Naumovna arrived, the man had already been buried next to his wife Karina, with whom he’d died in a car accident.
“Will you take the girl?” Karina’s aunt—an enormous woman who had brought the sad news—dragged a small, pale-haired girl out from behind her back.
“I’ve no use for her. I’ve got a brood of my own. If she were at least our blood, but she isn’t… Who knows whose she is! Karinka got herself pregnant somewhere. No Armenian would ever have married her, but your son had the misfortune to!” The aunt stared expectantly at the couple. Klavdiya stood with her lips pressed tight. The little girl really did stand out among them: snow-white hair braided into a thin plait, white eyebrows and lashes, translucent pale skin, and unexpectedly bright blue eyes.
“An albino,” Klavdiya thought with distaste. “And what was my son thinking, marrying an Armenian girl with this… anomaly?” She was about to tell the fat Armenian woman they didn’t want the girl either when Fyodor, who had been silent until then, spoke in a tone that brooked no argument:
“Of course we’ll take her! Why should a child be shunted from one orphanage to another? We’re not destitute—we’ll raise her just as well as anyone else!” And, casting a stern glance at Klavdiya, he took the little girl by the hand and led her to the car.
The woman, saying a quick goodbye, followed her husband.
“And what’s your name, little snowflake?” Fyodor asked the girl gently.
“Katya,” the child’s voice chimed like a bell.
“And I’m Fyodor Viktorovich, but you can call me simply Grandpa. And this is Klavdiya Naumovna, my wife,” he said, looking questioningly at his spouse. She only pursed her lips.
Over time, Klavdiya resigned herself to the presence of the new family member in the house, but she never managed to love the girl. Feeling her dislike, Katya didn’t reach out to the woman either, though she unquestioningly did everything she was told to do around the house. Fyodor, on the contrary, grew to love the little girl and tried to spend every free minute with her. In summer he took her to the forest and fishing; in winter they built a slide together and shoveled the snow in the yard. Not a day went by without Fyodor bringing a little treat home for his snowflake. The girl repaid him in kind: she met him after work, helped him take off his heavy boots, kneaded his tired shoulders after a hard day, and was always ready to do anything for her beloved grandpa.
Trouble, as always, came unexpectedly. A careless forklift driver dropped a log on Fyodor during unloading. A man who’d never had so much as a cold ended up in a hospital bed. Klavdiya and Katya didn’t leave his side. The sudden grief drew them closer. A few days later, Fyodor was gone. Klavdiya moved about like a shadow, noticing nothing and no one around her. Katya’s presence once again began to irritate her. The girl sensed it and tried not to cross Klavdiya’s path.
At first the woman wanted to send the girl to an orphanage, but she realized in time that alone in an empty house she would go mad, and changed her mind. At least there would be some living soul nearby, unwanted though she was.
Two months passed. Winter set in. The New Year holidays flew by, which Klavdiya seemed not to notice at all. She didn’t put up a tree or buy Katya any presents. She didn’t bake pies as she used to when Fyodor was alive. Even the television was silent on New Year’s Eve. Klavdiya thought the girl would ask for something, but she silently went to bed.
At Epiphany the woman decided to go to church to bring back holy water. The frost outside was so fierce that even in felt boots her feet were freezing.
“What possessed me to go out in such bitter cold?” Klavdiya scolded herself. “I should have sent Katyushka! She’s younger!”
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice an icy strip on the path and, slipping, crashed into a snowbank. The landing was soft but cold. The holy water from the canister that flew out of her hands poured over Klavdiya to the last drop.
“What kind of punishment is this?” the woman cried in despair.
Angry and soaked, she came home. Barking at Katya, she went to her room to change. That night, Klavdiya developed a fever, and by morning her cough was so severe she was on the verge of choking. Huddling in blankets and gasping, she tried to call for Katya. But it was no use—her throat could produce only hoarse, inarticulate sounds. Losing hope, Klavdiya sank back onto the pillows. The girl wouldn’t help her, remembering her coldness. She heard Katya moving about the house. The front door banged, and all went quiet.
“She’s run off to play!” the woman decided. “She couldn’t care less about me—just as I haven’t cared about her all this time!”
The front door banged again. Soon the stove began to hum and the kettle to whistle. The door to her room opened, and Katya came in carrying a cup.
“Klavdiya Naumovna, I made you some herbal tea—please drink it. I’ll run to fetch the feldsher!” She set the steaming cup on the nightstand, straightened the pillows, and left.
Klavdiya took a big sip. Warmth spread through her body. Soon the door opened again, and the village feldsher entered with Katya.
“Why were you so careless, Naumovna?” the feldsher shook her head.
“I’m writing you a prescription. Katya, run to the pharmacy. Do you have money?”
Klavdiya nodded, pointing to the nightstand.
The next few days were a blur to Klavdiya. From time to time Katya’s face appeared before her as the girl gave her something bitter to drink, laid a wet towel on her forehead, changed her clothes. Now and then she imagined strange voices and the cold of metal on her chest.
Klavdiya came to with the bright sun. Her body felt so light she wanted to jump up like a child. The house was quiet; only the crackle of logs came from the stove. On the nightstand stood a cup of cooled tea and a basin with a towel. Feeling a weight on her legs, Klavdiya looked down. Katya was sitting by the bed, her head resting on Klavdiya’s knees, apparently asleep. Carefully, so as not to disturb the girl, Klavdiya got up and went to the kitchen. There she quickly mixed dough and started frying pancakes.
“Klavdiya Naumovna! Why did you get up?” Katya stood in the kitchen, alarmed.
“Because I’m completely well—and I want to thank you for your care!”
“But…”
“No buts! Sit down—let’s have tea!” Klavdiya said cheerfully, setting a plate piled high with golden pancakes on the table.
Katya obediently sat down.
“Forgive me, Katyusha. Forgive me for everything. I’m an old fool—I failed to see the treasure right beside me!”
“Oh, don’t say that, Klavdiya Naumovna,” the girl smiled.
“If I’m still worthy, you can call me Grandma,” Klavdiya laid her hand over the girl’s. “And if not, I won’t be offended.”
“Well then… you—Grandma!” Unable to hold back tears, the girl and the woman embraced.
“Grandma! Let’s plant eggplants too! I’ve never tasted them!” Katya pointed to a packet with the purple fruits.
“Of course, my little homemaker!” Klavdiya smiled, hugging the girl and turning to the shopkeeper.
“We’ll take another packet of these seeds, please.”
“What a capable granddaughter you have!” the saleswoman beamed. “A real joy for her grandmother!”
“Both a joy and a blessing!” Klavdiya replied, taking the purchase. “Come on, Katyushka—we still need to shop for some new clothes for spring…”