The Smith family swirled through a nighttime reverie in a foggy London suburb. Emilys school friends whispered that her son, Michael, had picked his future bride in a moment of reckless impulse, like a drunk stumbling off a pier. He had just returned from his army stint, his blood still hot, when a clever lass appeared and slipped into his life without a word of protest, accepting everything offered.
She was short, sturdy, squatlegged, waifwaisted, with a broad face and tiny, narrow eyes. To Emily, the name Eleanor seemed utterly unsuitable for a future daughterinlaw, and the girls giggled in agreement.
Shes a nonething, a threeminus, one snorted.
Did she go to teaching college and then Cambridge? another asked.
The lad was a handsome athlete, a straightA student who, straight after demob, threw himself back into his studies. The girl he barely knew had already found herself with child.
Shes doing it on purpose!
Shes no match for him!
Michael decided to marry. Emily, at reunions with former classmates, poured out her heart, then, at home, kept her thoughts to herself in terse exchanges with her son. His eyes shone too brightly; she feared the night owl would echo the days call, or perhaps she simply did not wish to hurt Michael.
She recalled how, at nineteen, a month shy of her twentieth birthday, she herself had been pregnant and given birth. The boy, who had been a frail child, grew strong, took up sport, and often surprised themnot only with his eagerness to wed. Emily was displeased but tried not to show it.
A child is never at fault for his parents mistakes. Michaels desire to behave properly, to give a proper name and be a father, earned Emilys full approval. She vowed not to act like the harsh stepmother who had never spoken kindly to her daughterinlaw from the first day, even after the divorce of Michaels father, despite living in the same town.
Divorced Emily and her baby found shelter with her mother, who registered them before she passed, pleased that the flat would not be lost to strangers. Though Emily didnt believe in God, she kept ordering prayers for her late mother from the local parish, knowing how important they were to her, and she kept her mothers photographs in a album on her bedside table. A portrait of her father, a war veteran, was framed anew and hung above the kitchen table. The old woman, in her youth, had reminded Emily of a certain English actress.
Emilys life was very different now, while Michael grew into a goodlooking lad. In autumn, Michael asked if he could stay with his mother for a while, or whether he should apply for a family dormitory. He cooked borscht and promised not to cause trouble if his mother refused.
Emily, stunned by the absurdity, gave her verdict:
Move your Eleanor. Well swap rooms. Ill give you the larger onefor the three of us.
Michael leapt up, kissed her cheek, and whispered feverishly:
Mum, youre the best in the world! Dont worry. Ill get a parttime job. We wont be a burden on you!
He believed his words, barely understanding what a child meant to a household of two students.
Emily did not open her eyes to the delighted son; life, she thought, would manage better than she could. Yet the early days of the new household, under his motherinlaws roof, unfolded contrary to Emilys own predictions.
Emily Johnson worked at the central library, heading a department, earning a modest salary she thought would suffice with careful budgeting. Then the nineties arrived, promising freedom and bright changes that turned into dread. Her friends, one after another, fell apartsome drunk, some disappearing for work, their husbands either drinking or vanishing for wages. Nightly gunshots echoed in the courtyard, blood stained the asphalt. Factory wages stopped, and the librarys modest pay looked like a pittance against soaring costs.
Michael kept his head down, studied despite everything, and on weekends helped old men in their gardens. Eleanor, ever roundfaced, kept smiling and cracking jokes, even as she waddled up the fourth floor of a grim, liftless block with a swollen belly.
After a hard labour, the very next morning she showed the newborn to Michael through the window.
Son, what shall we call him? she asked, a tiny lamp flickering inside her.
A light reflected in her eyes, a smile blossoming. Soon she struck a deal with the retired military couple living on the ground floor. They rarely spoke to anyone beyond greetings, but Eleanor found a way to befriend Ivan Nikolayevich and Elena Petrova, who agreed to tend a garden. Beneath Eleanors windows she dug up soil, planting potatoes and carrots. The following spring many neighbors did the same.
Where Emily once felt lost and worried, her daughterinlaw scratched her scalp and plotted solutions, then acted instantly. She refused to believe everything was lost. There was no time for philosophy; the child needed schooling, so Eleanor switched to parttime studies. Her favorite exclamations rang through the flat:
Brilliant! Wonderful! Simply superb!
A garden under the window meant no long trips, no thieves. No trouble, just characterbuilding! she declared. Study and a childperfect! She didnt mind the odd looks at her short stature or quirky dress, correcting accents without snobbery. Eleanor thanked her, never taking offense.
The baby grew faststanding at nine months, speaking at one year. Emily walked with him, delighted, noting he never wailed pointlessly; if he fussed, there was always a reason. He was sunny like his mother and handsome like his father.
During Eleanors exam period, young Dimitri drifted between his best friend Lenora, the veteran Smirnovs, and Emily herself, eating well, sleeping heavily, behaving like the textbook ideal infant. When Emily, exhausted by a cranky, oftensick child, declared that calm, smiling babies were a myth, she was proved wrong.
The new year brought embarrassment: Emily still hadnt met Eleanors parents. The couple had married quietly a year and a half ago, visited each others homes but never invited anyone for a celebration. Determined to mend this, Emily packed the toddler into a coach and promised Michael a weekend visit, letting them rest without the little one or their mother.
At the small town bus stationmore village than cityEleanors motherinlaw was greeted by a crowd of ten waving hands, a Welcome! banner forgotten at home. The guest room they prepared for Eleanors family was adorned plainly: a sign on the door in bright letters announced Children of Ivan and Zina, Eleanors siblings, have prepared this for you. Emily felt a strange numbness, as if the room itself had turned to stone.
A bus driver snatched the baby from her arms near the curb, refusing to hand him back. Emily wept that night, finding a festive glass of tea and a sweet bun on her nightstand, a note in three different handwritings, ink colors clashing. It read:
Dearest Molly, hugs! Sweet dreams in your new home! Dream of a groom for the bride!
Her relatives knew their towns matchmaker was divorced, and someone had teased kindly, not cruelly. The next morning, cheeky youths asked Eleanors motherinlaw how the dreamgroom had arrived, and the spry grandmother of Eleanor, waving a dishcloth, replied:
Whatre you surprised about? Shes as dainty as a child, lips like a ribbon. A pure bride! The kids decided to marry her off. Off you go!
The youngest grandson was sent off to school. The grandmother, Nastya, settled beside the guest, offering tea.
Wheres Dimitri? Emily asked, suddenly remembering.
Nah, hes with the older onesIvan and Zinas children, she replied, scratching her head.
Emily panicked, thinking the child had been taken to another house. She burst into tears, feeling both shame and terror at being a bad mother and unreliable grandmother. After sipping peppermint tea with honey and a splash of brandy, she was comforted. Zina soon sent the child back with the grandmother, promising a bath that evening. The next morning, Anastasia, the matriarch of the clan, insisted Emily attend church for communion.
The holidays stretched from two days to a week. Emily never let Dimitri out of sight, so both he and Michael were constantly visited. The relatives were eager to meet, and Emily obliged. The return bus carried the rosycheeked grandson, a slightly rounder Emily, and five bags stuffed under seatsmushrooms, preserves, pickles, knitted socks, and sweatersfor the boy, Eleanor, and Michael.
They were urged to visit often, lest they miss the new fashion. The nineties, with all their prickly edges, melted into a rough but honest school of life, where punches and pokes coexisted with sudden joy, warm knitted gifts, grandmas notes, dancing, and hearty songs.
Caught in this whirlwind, Emily found herself smiling more, frowning less, and feeling content. She discovered a nephew of Eleanor, a medical student, wanted to stay with her; she offered a room, and he accepted gratefully. He bowed respectfully, and Emilys mouth fell open in surprise. She told him that Grandma Nastya trusted her, and even if she failed, she would not hold a grudge.
In that moment, everything in the household was steady. Dimitri went to nursery, Michael taught history at a local school, and Eleanor worked for a construction firman unexpected job that paid real wages, not just school allowances. Michael, puffed up, thought the offer was for him, but it turned out his wife had been invited. He argued about moving to a university for a doctorate, and the familys fortunes shifted as the millennium approached.
When Dimitri began winning maths Olympiads, Michael met a charming young colleague, the deans daughtermuch younger, with sleek hair and a pencilskirtthat made him consider divorce. Eleanor turned pale, almost fainting. Emily rushed in, embraced Eleanor, and whispered hoarsely:
You promised a thousand times youd never abandon the family, the child.
Michael said nothing, packed his bags, and filed for divorce.
A few months later he visited, Eleanor was absent, Dimitri still at school. He asked about the division of property.
What do you mean? Emily gasped.
The flat, of course. And ask Eleanor to move out. I dont want her to cry.
In a flash, Emily realized Michael was clutching his cheek, his fists clenched, his voice hoarse:
Get out of my house! Understand?
She lamented the courts, the dirty laundry, the public spectaclebut Michaels luck ran out. The judge turned out to be an old friend of Emilys, and the second was a close associate whose own wife had been abandoned in London. The judge was unsympathetic to wayward spouses, no matter the gold offered.
Emilys former motherinlaw came to mediate, but Emily and Eleanor barred her entry. Dimitri walked around the house with the judge, listened politely, and eventually left. Emily, though exhausted, chose to stand with her daughterinlaw and grandson, hearing Michaels bitter tirades, almost curses, but never shifting her decision.
Eleanor and Dimitri are registered here. This is their home, she said.
Mother? Michael whispered.
I couldnt raise you right; Im sorry. Forgive me.
The prolonged tension lasted years, never a clean victory. Some money had to be paid to Michael to keep the flat, which Emilys relatives gathered and brought over. The young doctor Igor set up an IV drip for Eleanor, and gradually everything settled.
Twenty years later, Eleanor never remarried but thrived in her career, drove herself, bought a onebed flat next door, and dated a divorced accountant from her firm. Aging Emily no longer lived alone; Dimitri, now with a house out of town, visited his beloved grandma three times a week, teaching at a grammar school and guiding pupils to international Olympiads.
Emily had no time for boredom. Students from the sprawling family often dropped by. Grandma Nastya had died not long ago, her farewell filled with beloved songs that rang for three days and three nights, like a cracked accordion in a bad joke.
A year before her death, Nastya promised Emily she would never be left alone. Now, at sixtyseven, Emily feels vigorous, jokes that her grandmas prayers keep her looking ten years younger, and a widower named Jamesstill in his sixtiesasks to marry her. Hes younger than the heroine, yet believes that when happiness lands, you grab it with both hands, just as his grandmother taught him.
Thus, the dreamlike tapestry of the Smiths wove on, absurd yet tender, a strange, surreal lullaby of family, loss, and unexpected joy.
