Force Majeure. Aloua S.

      Content:

      Childhood

      Alma-Ata. Winter. Noon. Blinding sun, sparkling snow and light frost – to me this is the most harmonious weather. I would call it perfect if it hadn’t been spoiled by the screams and smashing of plates coming from a cottage in an elite area of the city. The cottage was big and decorated with gold elements. But the phrase: “the rich also cry” was suitable for this more than ever. It was a quarrel of an immature family: the young husband and wife again began to sort things out. And a five-year-old boy named Damir watched a quarrel of his parents sitting on the stairs leading to the second floor of the cottage.

      – Your damn job! Your night negotiations! I already feed up with it! And the son?! He’s waiting for you to show his drawings. Screw the drawings, just to stay with you! – wife shouted at her husband, while throwing the plates in his direction.

      – Why don’t you understand?! – the man shouted, trying to evade the household items flying at him: – that everything you have: this house, car, garms, all thanks to the fact that I AM EARNING MONEY! And Damir will grow up and he will understand everything himself. After all, why does he have a mother? – the husband asked indignantly. The child, no longer able to withstand the endless shouts of his parents, runs into his room and flops on the bed sobbing. The crying boy is not the first time watching the scandals of his parents, these quarrels left a deep wound in his life.

      Yes, it was me. I would like to tell the story of my life, on the basis of which you can write a manual – how you shouldn’t live. So, let’s begin. Let’s move to 1997, when I was in primary school. After classes, just at lunchtime, my father used to wait for me near the school in a company car. Full of joy and confidence, with a pleased smile, I waved my hand welcoming him. My father used to be in the car, waving back with one hand, holding the cell phone with the other, having a conversation. As soon as I got into the car, my father greeted me with the smile and hugged tightly, holding the phone with his shoulder. As always, we immediately started to play: we waved our hands, imitating the boxers. In these fights, I always turned out to be the winner, so I received from him the nickname “Ali”1. But more often, we didn’t play to the end, because persons on the other end interrupted the father all the time. And at once father became serious and completely immersed in telephone conversations. And I was left without attention and rode all the way in silence, looking out the window and being extremely offended.

      After a while, he began to work for hours and came much later than usual. And once he was so late that I had to wait for him for two hours near the school. In a couple of months later, only the driver came for me. But I still did not lose hope and waited for my father. When I got into the car, the driver only said: “Unfortunately, Mr. Keeng could not come, but he left a message that Ali should be well prepared for the evening fight”. But even in the evening my father did not always return home, as he worked until late. And if he came early, he was terribly tired. It happened every time. So I began to hate his work. It was the main obstacle between our relationships. But with my mother, we were always together: playing, learning lessons, doing household chores. She was perfect in every way: she took care for me, paid a lot of attention, protected me from the outside world and did my homework with me. But her quality as an ideal mother did not define her as a wife: as soon as the father’s foot stepped into the house, my mother changed. Before, I didn’t understand parents, I didn’t understand why they had rows. It seemed to me that they have everything they need for life: a big house, a car, money. But only now, as an adult, I realized that this is not the main criterion of happiness.

      Dad always looked good: he wore a business suit, always combed and with a perfectly shaven face. He rarely let the phone out of his hands, only when he was at the negotiating table. He spent all his time with it: at home and at work. And my mother waited for him every day until late at night with prepared dinner, and sometimes falling asleep at the table. She was a well-attended, beautiful and dignified woman. Dad did not allow mom to work, and there was no need, because we always had enough money. Therefore, mother was most often at home. Her friends often came to her, I did not abide them, as they either engrasped me or spoke unflatteringly about their husbands, including my father. So, I tried to steal away from them as soon as possible. Or, when dad came home early, I, knowing that another scandal was about to begin, silently left. In both cases, I ran away from everyone to my room – my personal temple. And my room was like a mini Disneyland, there were any toys you want. Any child in the nineties would have envied so many toys. Usually I turned on the SEGA and put on headphones with music that muffled everything around. Time passed so quickly that I did not notice how night fell. The main thing was to change my clothes before my mother would come and say good night to me, kiss and hug me tightly.

      My grandmothers and grandfathers were friends, and from early childhood they arranged a match between my parents. Unfortunately, mom’s parents died early. Therefore, the father’s parents decided to fulfill the promise and immediately married my parents. They wanted to be always there and help my parents whenever possible. Since they no longer had other children, they accepted mother as their own daughter. And as soon as I was born, they began to come more often. When we meet, Granny hugged me and kissed on the forehead, and my Grandfather greeted me coldly with a handshake. Looking at my Grandfather it was clear who my father took after. They were exactly the same, only with a difference of twenty-five years. However, Grandfather was always even-tempered and laconic than my father. His straight posture and arms crossed behind betrayed his officer nature. He was a retired General of the Army of the Republic of Kazakhstan. He and his father also had a difficult relationship. But Granny was a ray of light in the whole family. She was always cheerful, constantly joking and cooking really well. Granny is the only person who loved me sincerely for who I am, without trying to change me. Undoubtedly, my mother loved me beyond measure, but for her, I rather was a little silly, who was unable to control himself. She constantly corrected my words and actions, at first I was ok with this. But over time, I stopped resisting and eventually gave up. While Granny treated me as an equal, she was interested in my opinion and brought me back to reality, so that I completely forgot about the games. Fairy tales and life stories told by her were so interesting that I could listen to them for hours with fascination. Thanks to her, it seemed to me that I was much older and smarter for my years. But she could never explain why