“Vlad, listen to me carefully. ”
Varya set the calculator on the kitchen table and slid it toward her husband. Her voice was quiet, but it carried a weight he hadn’t heard in years. “The market price for potatoes is thirty hryvnias a kilo.
We bring home maybe ten sacks from your mother’s garden. Three hundred kilos. Nine thousand hryvnias. ”
She tapped the screen with her swollen finger.
“Fuel for the season costs over forty thousand. That’s not counting repairs, oil, tires. Not counting the fertilizer and seedlings we buy ourselves. We’re losing money, Vlad.
We’re paying your mother to work ourselves into the ground. ”
He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “I don’t want to be disabled by sixty. My fingers are already curling from arthritis.
” She grabbed a handful of pill packets scattered on the table and dropped them with a clatter. “And you — you live on painkillers for three days after every single trip. ”
He knew she was right. To the last penny, to the last groan of his lower back.
But that village held his mother. ||
For twenty-five years, every Friday evening, they drove the hundred kilometers to Sosnivka. Every Saturday from dawn to nightfall, they dug, weeded, hauled buckets, poisoned beetles. Every Sunday afternoon they crawled home, broken, to rest one single day before work.
Lyudmila Ostapivna was seventy-six. She could no longer bend over the rows herself — her blood pressure spiked past two hundred and black spots swarmed her vision. But the half-hectare garden was her idol, her crown, her reason for being. She refused to plant it with clover.
Refused to rent it out. Refused to rest. Her son and his wife had to keep arriving. Had to keep working.
Had to keep paying for the privilege with their backs, their savings, their marriage. ||
A few days after the calculation, Vlad found the courage to call his mother. “Mamа, we’ve been thinking… maybe this season we just buy potatoes at the market.
It’s cheaper. And with our health… ”
Silence. One second.
Two. Then the storm broke. “You’ll buy potatoes? ” Her voice climbed into a shriek.
“I’m an old sick woman slaving on the land alone, and you sit on your soft sofas! After everything I did for you! ”
“Mamа, nobody’s abandoning you. We’ll visit.
We’ll hire someone to work the garden —”
“Hire someone? Who? All the young people ran off to the cities, and the old ones can barely walk! You want me to let strangers into my yard so they can steal everything?
No! This is your Varya. She’s lazy. She never wanted to work anyway —”
“Stop it.
Don’t talk about her that way. ”
But it was too late. Varya had heard every word through the speakerphone. She went pale, then walked over and calmly took the phone from her husband’s hand.
“Lyudmila Ostapivna, I worked that garden every single weekend for twenty-five years. I dug potatoes with a forty-degree fever. I salted your cucumbers with a baby on my chest. And now I’m a lazy good-for-nothing?
” Her voice shook. “Fine. My feet will never stand on those rows again. ”
She ended the call and threw the phone on the table.
||
For two days, no one mentioned it. Then Lyudmila called back. Her voice was soft, tearful, almost pathetic. “Synochku, I measured my pressure yesterday.
180 over 110. The doctor said if I go back to the garden, I’ll have a stroke. And you don’t come. You want me to die here alone.
Order the coffin now. ”
“Mamа, I said I’d come in two weeks. ”
“Two weeks? My garden will be all weeds by then!
Come this weekend. At least hill the potatoes. And be sure to take Varya. ”
“Varya isn’t coming.
Her back is done. And she owes you nothing. ”
“Oh, she doesn’t owe me? ” The tears vanished, replaced by a familiar venom.
“Who owed me her whole life slaving for you? And now she’s too good to help? You’re all… ungrateful…
”
The tirade ran its course. When she started screaming, Vlad hung up. He walked into the kitchen and lowered himself onto a chair, face in his hands. “I’m tired, Varya.
I’m exhausted to the bone. I want to sleep on the couch this weekend. Watch football. Go fishing with Sergei.
We’ve been saying that for three years. ”
Varya set down her book and looked at him for a long moment. A slow smile spread across her tired face. “Are you serious?
”
“More serious than I’ve ever been. ”
||
They drove to Sosnivka that Friday anyway. He needed to say it to her face, as an adult, without the phone between them. His mother waited on the porch in her best robe, her face already twisted with fury.
“Finally! You promised three o’clock. I could have dropped dead waiting for you. ”
“Good evening, mamа.
” Vlad carried bags of groceries up the steps. “Let’s skip the fighting tonight. We’ve got something important to talk about. ”
“Fighting?
I sit here alone in this wilderness, and he has the nerve to tell me not to fight? ” Her eyes darted to Varya, who had just walked in and sat down on the old sagging couch. “And your wife — she could at least smile. Show some decency.
”
“Lyudmila Ostapivna. ” Varya opened her eyes and looked at her mother-in-law with bottomless exhaustion. “Please. We need to talk seriously.
”
The old woman tensed, then sat down across from them on a wooden chair, arms crossed. A judge. “Mamа. ” Vlad set the last bag down and faced her.
“We’ve made our decision. We are not working the garden anymore. Not this year. Not next year.
Not ever. ”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. The words seemed to land one by one, slowly. “We’ll come visit you,” he continued.
“Once a month or every two months, as work allows. We’ll bring food, medicine, help with firewood or fixing the roof. But the garden — no. If you want it planted, hire a worker.
We’ll pay. If not, don’t plant at all. ”
“You… what?
” Her voice rose. “What are you saying? You’re cutting me out of your lives? Paraskeva’s daughter visits twice a week!
Twice! And her mother is younger than me! ” She pointed a trembling finger at Varya. “It’s her.
She’s been poisoning you against me for years. And I, the fool, tolerated it —”
“Don’t touch Varya. ” Vlad’s voice hardened. “She dragged your garden on her own back for two decades.
She’s done. We’re both done. ”
“Done? ” Lyudmila shot to her feet, her face crimson.
“And what about me? I’ve spent my whole life on the raw earth. My legs are dry sticks. My back is bent in a bow.
But I don’t whine about it! You young people only know how to pity yourselves. And you—” She turned on Varya, her lips curling. “With your precious arthritis.
As if you’ve ever lifted anything heavier than a pen! ”
“Enough. ” Vlad stood and stepped between them. “Mamа.
You’re not made of iron. Neither are we. We’re offering to buy you everything — vegetables, fruit, anything you need. But the garden is done.
And if you hire people, we’ll pay their wages. Otherwise, let it go to seed. ”
“I don’t need your charity! ” The old woman’s scream went ragged.
“I need respect! I need you to remember whose calluses raised you! And you come to me with your crumbs, like I’m a hungry dog! ”
“Crumbs?
” Something in Vlad snapped. “We brought you gas. We dug you a well and installed a pump. We built you a warm bathroom so you wouldn’t freeze in winter.
We bought you a new refrigerator when yours burned out. A plasma TV covering half the wall. ” His voice broke. “When was the last time you said thank you?
Just once? ”
The old woman’s mouth opened and closed, gasping. “You don’t thank a child for helping his mother,” she hissed finally. “It’s the law.
I’ll take you to court for alimony. They’ll take half your salary, and then you’ll learn. ”
“Go ahead. ” Vlad’s voice was flat, calm, utterly exhausted.
“I’ll hire a lawyer and file a counterclaim for twenty-five years of psychological abuse. We’ll see who owes who. ”
She snatched the TV remote from the side table and hurled it at his head. It missed, smashing against the wall.
“Out! Get out of my house, both of you! I never want to see your faces again! I’ll die alone like a dog under the fence before I look at either of you!
”
Varya stood up and took her husband’s arm. “We’re leaving, mamа. ” He picked up his keys. “The food is on the table.
The garden is yours. Do what you want with it. We’ll be back in a month — if you want to see us at all. ”
||
They were already in the car when Lyudmila burst out onto the porch, barefoot, thin robe whipping in the cold night wind.
Her scream tore through the sleeping village and set off every dog on the street. “Be cursed! May your children do the same to you! May you crawl on all fours with that arthritis, Varya!
Don’t ever come here again! I disown you both! Don’t you dare show up at my funeral! ”
The engine roared.
The car shot through the gate. In the rearview mirror, Varya watched the small, hunched figure still screaming into the darkness, arms shaking. She turned away. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.
Not from hurt — from the hollow, crushing understanding that this was the only way it could have ended. ||
They drove for half an hour in silence. Near the twenty-four-hour roadside café, Vlad pulled over and came back with two paper cups of black coffee. “How are you holding up?
”
Varya took the cup. “Terrible. But also… lighter.
Like a stone fell off my back. We did the right thing. She would have buried us under her rows before we ever got to live. ”
Vlad nodded and drank.
“You know what she used to say to me when I was a kid and she was angry? ‘I brought you into this world — I can take you out of it. ‘ I thought it was just words. ” He stared at the dark road.
“It wasn’t just words. ”
“Here’s the rule,” Varya said quietly. “We visit when we want to. If she starts a scene, we leave.
No arguments. No drama. ”
“And no garden. Not ever.
Even if it grows weeds over the roof. ”
||
They reached home late. Varya ripped the pain patch off her lower back, swallowed two pills, and fell into bed. Vlad sat alone in the dark kitchen, waiting for his mother’s next attack.
But the phone stayed silent. At ten the next morning, it rang. Her voice was warm, calm, as if the night before had never happened. “Synochku, forgive me, I got a bit worked up yesterday.
Blood pressure, you know. So when will you come to hill the potatoes? The earth is drying out. ”
Vlad looked at Varya, who had just walked in and raised an eyebrow.
He put the call on speaker. “Mamа. I already told you yesterday. There is no garden.
If you want to see us, we’ll come in three weeks. Without shovels. ”
Ten seconds of dead air. Then her voice turned to ice.
“Fine. But you remember this: when I die, you won’t see a penny of this house. I’ll leave everything to the neighbor. She respects me, unlike some people.
”
“Go ahead. ” Vlad’s voice was steady. “Leave it to anyone you want. I don’t need anything from you.
I wish you health and peace of mind. Goodbye, mamа. ”
He ended the call and went out to the garage. Varya washed the dishes, turned on her favorite show, and realized with quiet astonishment that for the first time in over twenty years, she felt no fear of Saturday.
||
Two weeks later, they visited Sosnivka again. Lyudmila met them with icy silence. She switched off the television, lifted her chin, and disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door. They left groceries on the table — milk, bread, cheese, fruit — and drove home within the hour.
The garden stood wild, swallowed by weeds. Varya caught herself thinking, Maybe we should help. She pushed the thought away. One step back, and everything would start over.
||
Three months passed. Lyudmila called nearly every day. Vlad had one rule: keep it under ten minutes. The moment his mother’s voice rose into a threat or a scream, he hung up.
She still tried to tend parts of the garden, crawling between the rows on her knees. She told the neighbors so. But the harvest would rot, because no one came to water it. Vlad offered twice to hire farmhands.
Her answer never changed: “I won’t let strangers into my yard. ”
It was her choice. Her right, even. And they let her keep it, just as they kept their distance.
They still passed through the village now and then, they still left bags on her porch, they still answered the phone — for ten minutes. And they never touched a shovel again.
