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The front door opened and Mommy stepped out. She took one look at Grandad, another at me, and then at Uncle Simon.
"What's going on out here?" she demanded.
Instead of replying. I put my head down and ran up the stairs, past her and into the house. Daddy was in the hallway, a look of surprise on his face. too.
"Honey?"
I shook my head, the tears flying off my cheeks, and charged up the stairs into my room and slammed the door shut.
Thank God Chandler had driven away when he had.
I didn't put on the light in my room. I simply threw myself on my bed and pressed my face into the pillow. Grandad's horrible words circled me like insistent mosquitos, biting and stinging. How could he harbor such ugly thoughts in his mind? How could he turn something that had been gentle and kind, loving and beautiful, into the most detestable and ugly ogre of smut and filth? He made me feel dirty inside and out. I shook my body as if to throw off the stains.
What had he been doing all those years while I was growing up and Uncle Peter was at my side, taking my hand, showing me wonderful things in nature, swinging me about, hugging me, kissing me., and lavishing gifts on me? Was he hiding somewhere in the shadows, watching us, forming these disgusting thoughts? The day Uncle Peter was killed, did he actually look at me and think I was somewhat responsible?
I started to sob when I heard my door open and close softly. I stopped, took a breath, and turned. Mommy was standing there, her back against the door. The moonlight illuminated her face. For a moment it looked like a mask, her eyes were so dark and deep.
"What did he say to you, Honey?" she asked softly.
I scrubbed the tears out of my eyes with my fists and sat up, taking a breath before speaking. not knowing if I could even form the words in my mouth.
"He said I was too close with Uncle Peter and because of that God struck him down."
Mommy said something in Russian under her breath.
"He's a sick, twisted old man. You must not pay any attention to him."
"I can't look at him," I said.
Mommy came over and sat beside me. She patted my hand and stroked my hair.
"Did you have a good time with Chandler?"
"Yes, a wonderful time. He spent a lot of money on dinner. too." She laughed.
"When I was a young girl, my mother used to tell me to find a man who is frugal, who won't waste a ruble on you because, in the end, you'll have security."
"Chandler's family is very rich, Mommy. They can waste money and still have security." She laughed again.
"Why is Grandad Forman so me
an? Why would he say such a thing to me now?"
"He's coming to the end of his life and looking back on his own sins," she said. "He's trying to win back God's sympathies. He thinks he's Job from the Bible. He likes suffering because he thinks it gives him a chance to show God how faithful he is."
"What sins are in his past? He lives like a monk or something," I said.
"No man is perfect, especially not your grandfather. Forget what he said. He's like some creature eating out its own heart. I won't let him say anything like that to you again," she vowed.
"How can you stop him. Mommy? He owns everything. He never stops reminding us."
"He owns nothing," she said and stood up. "Go to sleep thinking about the nice things that happened tonight. Tell yourself your grandfather wasn't even there."
"I thought Uncle Simon was going to get into a fight with him. I was so frightened."
"I know, Don't think about it," she repeated. She walked to the door.
-"Practice your violin. Honey. Do well in school,I'll tell you what my mother told me. Find a way to leave this place," she added, then opened the door and left me sitting in the darkness, wondering what she had not said.
