The Girl from the Metropol Hotel by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya

Author:Ludmilla Petrushevskaya
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-01-04T10:42:22+00:00

Trying to Fit In

Besides bookcases, Grandpa’s room contained a full bed, a huge mahogany desk, an armchair, a tall filing cabinet, and a square dinner table.

My mother had slept under that table since 1943. It had one enormous drawback: five inches above the floor, its legs were connected with a thick plank, so that one had to sleep with her feet either over that plank or under it, which was extremely uncomfortable. That’s why my mother arranged a bed for me in the common hallway, on top of Grandpa’s trunk. I went to sleep there eagerly; I had never slept alone before. I spent two nights on the trunk, listening to the rustling of electric meters, one per room. Then, under the stepmother’s leadership, other neighbors removed the trunk and replaced it with an enormous wardrobe. I returned to Mama’s side, under the dinner table. It was our little home. On the table, we kept utensils and foodstuffs; underneath, around the mattress, our clothes were piled up.

But the stepmother couldn’t leave us alone. Soon she had another idea for how to improve our life. One day she showed up with movers: she had decided she needed the table for her summerhouse. Mama wept and tried to catch our falling things. A tough street kid, I grabbed one of the legs and wouldn’t let go. Our universe was collapsing. Stepmother stood in the doorway, issuing commands in a military voice. The pleased neighbors strolled up and down the corridor, observing this scene. The table was removed. We sat among our things in an empty space, as though after a bombing.

My mother didn’t break under this blow. She finished crying, took in the newly empty space with fresh eyes, measured it with a tape measure, and soon bought us a little desk and a bed—and they fit! The bed had a secret: one section folded, becoming a seat for the desk during the day, and at night it turned back into a bed. Now I could do my homework sitting up, like normal people. The bed wasn’t very wide: thirty inches for the two of us, and I wasn’t tiny anymore. In the evening, happy that I could lie down, I tossed and howled with joy; at night I kicked and turned and Mama complained about my sharp elbows. We slept together for seven more years, until I completely grew up, and then Mama bought me a folding cot, which, miraculously, also fit. My happiness couldn’t be described. I had my own bed!

I will mention just one more episode with the evil stepmother. I was in my grandfather’s bed with a high fever; the apartment was empty except for the stepmother. In my fever I thought the ceiling and the walls were collapsing in on me. I ran out of the terrible room and flew down the hallway, looking for any living soul, and came upon the stepmother. She heard me out, grabbed me by the shoulder with her bony hand, walked me back to the room, shoved me into the bed, and then locked the door from the outside.

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