Exactly at 11:00 all the relatives were sitting at the table of the already old, hunched, ninety-year-old granny, who really needed someone to look after her, not the other way around. The old woman barely understood what day it was or why she’d been sat at the table and given a shot of wine. She just wanted to sit by the TV or go out on her little balcony for some fresh air, but Granny’s daughter had decided otherwise.
In the spacious living room, two big old Soviet folding tables were pushed together into one long feast. Every relative on the list was there— aunts and uncles, cousins, their wives and husbands, children.
“You can imagine,” said Tamara Igorevna in such a tone as if Alla had betrayed the Motherland and done something unimaginable, “I call my daughter this morning to congratulate her on the holiday, and she tells me she won’t be coming to celebrate this special day at her grandmother’s!”
To be honest, a good half of those present had no desire to participate in this whole chorus-line performance with the same script every single year.
At first, Tamara Igorevna—as hostess of the celebration—would congratulate that very elderly grandmother, and then she would insist on bringing each new arrival at the “party” up to Granny, and with Tamara’s and the others’ approval, that person would express their respect to Avdotya Semenovna.
Then everyone would sit down at the big table, laid out as if for New Year’s Eve. After the grandmother, everyone present, by tradition, would congratulate the hostess and mastermind of the celebration—Tamara Igorevna—more or less along these lines:
“Just look at you, Tamaročka, such a holiday, Women’s Day, and you’re here on duty at your post, putting together a table like this! What a caring daughter you are, what a good girl, here’s to you, Tomočka!”—one of the men present would usually give this toast.
Normally it was either Tamara’s brother or her son who said it. But when the brother’s wife finally had enough of having to rush over every March 8 to someone else’s celebration, within a year Tamara had made sure her brother divorced his wife.
The same thing happened with her son when he finally got married. Olga, Ruslan’s ex-wife (Ruslan being Tamara’s son), lasted around three years, and then she divorced him and left with Tamara’s grandson to live with her own parents. She simply couldn’t endure the unquestioned authority of the main woman of the family.
After the congratulations to the hostess and her reciprocal congratulations to the other ladies present, Tamara would, with a mistress’ gesture, give the signal to begin the Women’s Day festivities. The cheerful chatter would start, and with every passing minute—thanks to the generous supply of alcohol on the table—people would become more animated, talking loudly, singing songs, and having a great time.
Already tipsy, Oleg Igorevich (Tamara’s brother) would fetch the old accordion from the back room and kick off some funny folk ditties, after which everyone sang the traditional drinking songs.
Back when she was still unmarried, Alla would dutifully sit at the table all evening, carry out and bring in dishes, clear away empty bottles, and at the end of the night help her aunt clean the apartment at Granny’s. As for the old woman herself, by the middle of the evening her head would start to ache, and she’d slip away to her far balcony so she wouldn’t have to watch her relatives being drunk out of their minds. And by then, no one really remembered much about the old Granny anyway.
“Olezha, hold off on the traditional congratulations!” Tamara Igorevna cut off her brother, who was already getting ready to “shower” the ladies with his usual festive speech.
“I still want to discuss Alla and her husband Vadim at this family council! It’s Vadim who’s stirring the waters. He told me straight out that from the moment they got married my daughter no longer answers to me, and that they now have their own separate family. How’s that for you?!” Tamara raised her voice, clearly hoping for sympathy.
“Yeah, that’s not right. How dare she? That Vadik is bold, going against our Tomočka!” came the whispering from around the room.
At that moment the doorbell rang insistently.
“Well, honestly, it’s already five minutes to twelve,” Tamara said irritably, shaking her head, and went herself—with the most displeased expression she could muster—to meet the tardy “enemies of the people.”
“Happy holiday, Tamara Igorevna!” She absolutely did not expect to see the cheerful face of Vadik on the doorstep, with her daughter Allochka slipping in behind him.
“So, Tamara Igorevna, here are the salads like you asked, the cake, vodka, wine!” her son-in-law practically shoved the bags into her hands.
“At long last, you came to your senses,” Tamara grumbled discontentedly. But then she suddenly noticed that there were a lot of unfamiliar people standing on the landing, and these people started filing into her mother’s apartment.
“Come in, my dear ones! Don’t be shy!” Vadik, with confident gestures, was ushering into the apartment a bunch of completely unknown men and women, all in high spirits and clearly already buzzed.
One of the men was so hearty that he actually lifted Tamara a bit off the floor, wrapped her in his big bear arms, and planted a loud smack right on her sugary lips. He smelled of alcohol and fried onions.
“And who on earth is this?!” Tamara finally came to her senses after such a “passionate” kiss and turned to Vadik for an explanation.
“These are all my relatives. They came from a distant village—after all, you wrote that everyone should gather today at eleven at your grandmother’s place!” Vadik himself was in great spirits, already a bit tipsy, his eyes gleaming with playful sparkles.
“Alla, what’s with Vadik? Is he drunk?” Tamara was stunned; it was the first time she’d seen her always serious and sober son-in-law like this.
“By the way, where’s Grandma?! People, listen up to my command! The mission is this: find Grandma and congratulate her on March 8 so she doesn’t feel lonely! And don’t drink too much with Granny, she’s elderly!” Vadik barked out and, without asking permission, was already rummaging through someone else’s apartment in search of the grandmother in question.
The ninety-year-old granny was in shock from the crowd of strangers that had suddenly flooded in, each one eager to hug her, kiss her cheeks, and wish her many more years of life. For the first time, old Avdotya Semenovna felt like she was at the very center of the celebration.
“My dear, who are you all?” the old woman only managed to mumble as she accepted flowers and boxes of chocolates from people she had never seen before.
“These, Granny, are all my relatives. They came to congratulate you on March 8!” Vadik announced, swaying a little.
“And you, my dear, who might you be?” Granny squinted her right eye.
“Why, I’m your closest of the close—I’m Alla’s husband, Vadik!”
“Allka, wait, and who’s that again… Damn this sclerosis, I can’t remember, dear, not even if you kill me!” Avdotya laughed.
“You don’t have to, the main thing is we congratulated you!” Vadik said cheerfully. “Well, we won’t bother you enjoying the fresh air, Granny. I’ll have someone bring you tea now. Enjoy your tea and these rum-filled chocolates out here in the fresh air—they’re really something, you know!” he recommended, satisfied, and disappeared from view.
“Tamara Igorevna, tea for Avdotya Semenovna!” he commanded his mother-in-law, and then he and his relatives rushed off to hug and introduce themselves to his wife’s relatives.
“Alla, what does all this mean?! Who are these people and what are they all doing here?!” Having gotten nowhere with tipsy Vadik, Tamara now demanded explanations from the equally stunned Alla.
“Mom, Vadik already told you—they’re all his relatives. I had no idea he had so many, and that they’d already managed to get this drunk before even getting here. And I’m seeing Vadik in this state for the first time myself,” Allochka said, shrugging, just as shocked by what was happening.
“Let’s also celebrate our wedding with Allochka! We never really had a proper party together, did we? Huh? Tamara Igorevna, pour out your homemade liqueur so everyone’s glass is full. Mikhálych, turn on your boombox! We’re going to dance!” shouted the inspired Vadik.
In just a couple of moments, the whole apartment turned into a drunken, chaotic dive—hugging, back-slapping, dancing, and loud music. Someone downstairs was already banging on the radiators, and Vadik’s relatives banged back in rhythm on the old cast-iron pipes in the apartment.
“Enough noise! You’ve turned this place into a circus! I’m calling the police!” yelled Baba Nyura, Avdotya’s downstairs neighbor.
“No need for the police, we’re already leaving!” Vadik shouted back to Baba Nyura as he briskly began to hustle his kin out of the apartment.
“Tamara Igorevna, what about us? We didn’t do anything! We just wanted to celebrate together! You wanted a shared wedding party with my relatives too, didn’t you? And next week you’ve got your big birthday, don’t you? So we’ll all gather again in full force. No one will bother us at your private house, right? So everything will be the real deal—family style!” Vadik hugged his mother-in-law, then scooped up his wife and was practically kicking his relatives out of old Avdotya’s apartment.
After the “uninvited guests” left, everyone—Tamara included—sat in their places in absolute silence and, surprisingly, absolutely sober: almost all the alcohol and a good portion of the snacks had vanished from the table.
“What was that?” Tamara’s brother finally muttered uncertainly. “Did Mamai come back?”
“That,” Tamara said with a nervous laugh, “that was just the relatives of that crazy Vadik.”
A long pause followed.
“Listen, Ma, maybe you were wrong to be so upset that Alla and Vadik didn’t want to come to the celebration? Maybe we shouldn’t invite this Vadik anymore. We should never invite Vadik again,” one of Tamara’s close relatives finally said into the silence.
“Really?!” Tamara, stunned, adjusted her hair and patted herself all over to make sure that after this whirlwind of passions everything was still in place. “I was just about to suggest that we don’t invite those strange people to our family evenings anymore. After all, they’re a different family, with their own rules. Right, my dears?”
And Vadik, instantly sobered, was already handing out “bonuses” to his hired crowd for the performance as they left the building, winking at his shocked young wife.
“Well, Alla, now I’m one hundred percent sure that for her birthday, Tamara Igorevna will definitely not invite us!” Vadik laughed out loud at everything that had happened.
The only one who was quietly delighted by this entire chorus-line spectacle was Avdotya Semenovna, sipping hot tea on the balcony and nibbling on truly excellent rum-filled chocolates.
“Tamara Igorevna! Congratulations to you and Alla on your big day! We’d love to come over this evening with our whole big family to congratulate you. You know, from our family to yours, we’ll sit together, celebrate properly, as a family, huh?” Very early in the morning, at seven, Vadik was enthusiastically congratulating his mother-in-law on her milestone birthday.
“Thank you, Vadik. But the congratulations are unnecessary. I’m a bit under the weather—ever since March 8—so I won’t be celebrating. And actually, your father and I won’t be home today at all; we’ve gone to that… what’s it called… a sanatorium… Yes, a sanatorium, in the neighboring region, 500 kilometers away. So don’t go looking for us!” Tamara replied to her son-in-law’s congratulations.
“Daughter,” she then called Alla in shock when she was alone, “don’t you feel sorry for your mother?! Be so kind as to protect me from your crazy Vadik and his crazy relatives! I’m begging you as your mother!” Tamara pleaded into the receiver.
From that time on, Tamara left her daughter’s young family in peace, and to any suggestion of Vadik’s to celebrate some holiday together she answered with a categorical refusal.
It was as if a spell had been lifted—though Avdotya Semenovna, for her part, wouldn’t have minded receiving those same energetic congratulations again next March 8 and having some more tea with rum-filled chocolates