Pryakhin came home from work sober and hungry. His wife, who usually returned from her office an hour earlier and managed to heat up dinner before Stas arrived, was not home for some reason this time.
Pryakhin turned on the TV and, melancholically chewing a piece of smoked sausage that he found in the refrigerator, stared blankly at the screen. There was another staged court hearing going on with insincere experiences of the participants in the trial, during which a fat, grumpy judge in a mourning robe angrily pounded his wooden gavel.
But Vika still hadn’t returned. Strange. This had never happened to her. Never. After waiting another half hour and finally breaking his male pride, Pryakhin first dialed Vika’s cell phone. It was silent. Then he called the office where Vika was listed as some kind of manager. Advertising, it seemed. No one picked up the phone. Finally, an irritated old woman’s voice was heard:
“Why do you keep calling and calling? There’s no one here.
” “What do you mean, no? Where is everyone?” Pryakhin asked stupidly.
“They all ran home. A couple of hours ago. It’s Friday, after all,” the old woman giggled mockingly. “Okay, don’t bother me, I’m going to continue cleaning.”
Pryakhin put the phone down in confusion. It turned out that his wife’s work day had ended more than three hours ago. Where had Vika gone? Maybe she had stopped by to see her mother for some reason? But then she would have definitely called! What if something had happened to her? Had a car hit her or had hooligans attacked her?
Pryakhin, forgetting even that he was hungry, began nervously scrolling the dial on his phone. He nevertheless called his mother-in-law first, but she said worriedly that Vika was not there. Pryakhin calmed her down as best he could, promising to immediately inform her as soon as Vika was found. Then he called all the hospitals in their, by and large, regional city, all the morgues, and was terribly offended by the police when they sarcastically advised him: “Sit and wait. She’ll have her fun and come herself. And if she doesn’t come, then come to us. But not before three days.”
Stas also had the number of his friend Vika, but she said she didn’t know where Vika was. Pryakhin looked at the time in confusion. It was already past one in the morning. And his wife, his quiet and faithful wife, had not shown up, under any circumstances. Neither alive nor dead. Neither sober nor… And then Pryakhin, even through the muttering of the TV, heard someone’s uncertain fumbling with a key in the lock of the hallway door. Someone was clearly trying to unlock the door, but they couldn’t.
Pryakhin clicked the inner lock and the door finally swung open. And behind it was she, Stas’s wife, Vika Pryakhina, a thirty-year-old beauty who had not yet given birth. But in what a state! Disheveled, disheveled, staggering, with a strong smell of alcohol and tobacco coming from her…
More confused than angry, Pryakhin stepped aside, letting his wife into the house. Vika clacked on her wobbly heels, leaving dirty footprints on the floor, into the living room and plopped down on the sofa.
“W-so what, b-big deal, my wife was a little late at work!” she said casually, her tongue slurring, anticipating Stas’s question, who was starting to turn purple with anger. “And… hic! I have the right!
” “Where have you been? I’ve been ringing off the hook on all the phones!” Pryakhin squealed in a disgusting falsetto, unexpectedly even for himself.
“W-where have you been, I’m not there anymore!” Vika burst out laughing, still clearly asking for a scandal.
– I’ll kill you now, you bitch! – Stas shook with rage and even jumped up to the sofa and swung at his wife.
– Well, go ahead, beat the drunk, defenseless woman! – Vika defiantly thrust her chest towards her angry and, apparently, deceived husband. – And don’t yell like that! I just dropped by to see a friend. W-well, we drank a little, smoked, chatted about this and that. What, no? Can I just sit with friends once after a… stressful day at work.
– Which girlfriend were you visiting? – Stas narrowed his eyes suspiciously, vaguely catching the painfully familiar notes, turns, and even entire phrases in the dialogue between him and Vika, but not yet really comprehending them. – Natasha’s, I suppose?
– W-well, Natasha’s, – Vika immediately fell into the trap. – Listen, I.. Igor, stop asking stupid questions. Let’s go have a drink and then go to bed.
– W-what did you call me? – Stas began to stutter now. – What other Igor?! And whose red hair is that on your shoulder, huh?!! Igor, right?
– W-what other Igor! – Vika waved her hand dismissively. – He’s worthless. And you’re worthless. All of you men are worthless! And Igor, by the way, is bald… bald. And anyway, help your wife undress. I’m so tired and I want to sleep. And all the questions are for… tomorrow!
Realizing that he wouldn’t be able to get anything out of Vika today – she was so drunk – Pryakhin, gritting his teeth, helped her undress and laid her down on the sofa. Then he brought a pillow and angrily shoved it under his wife’s head, and threw a blanket over her.
– Well, sleep, sleep! – he muttered, looking in surprise at his wife, who had revealed herself to him today from a completely unexpected and far from pleasant side, quietly snoring under the blanket. – We’ll talk tomorrow. How we’ll talk!
Then he went into the kitchen, put the kettle on, lit a cigarette and sank into painful thoughts. Damn, was Vika really so fed up with his recent frequent sprees with friends, constant late hours at work with his later unintelligible explanations, her tears and admonitions about “when will you calm down?”, that she decided to answer him in kind? And how could he reason with her not to continue doing this if he himself had completely gotten out of Vika’s hands.
Vika didn’t even want to give birth to his child – she said she didn’t want to be alone with a child in her arms. Like, with Stas’s lifestyle they would get divorced sooner or later anyway. And now it was high time to file for divorce himself, after Vika’s trick. If she got a taste for it, there would be simply no stopping her.
Well, I can’t beat her, can I? Despite his nihilistic attitude to family responsibilities, Stas still continued to love his wife and never raised his hand against her. And he never will. So what’s left?
With a heavy sigh, Pryakhin went to get his mobile phone, returned with it to the kitchen, closed the door behind him and dialed the number of his bosom buddy Vovan Kutyshev. The phone was silent for a long time. Finally, a disgruntled voice was heard in the receiver:
– Stas, have you lost your mind? Look what time it is!
– This, Vovan… you see, – Pryakhin said quietly. – Forgive me. But go to the sauna tomorrow without me, okay?
– What do you mean without you, without you? – Vovan whispered confusedly. – It was decided after all. There are two of us, and two grandmas were ordered. What, do you want to ruin my fun, huh?
– On the contrary, – said Pryakhin. – You’ll still get it all.
– No, I don’t get it, – Vovan didn’t give up. – Why do you want to jump ship, huh? That’s not how buddies behave. For example, I’ve already prepared mine, that you and I are going fishing tomorrow. Or rather, today. And what about you, huh?
– I don’t want to go on that fishing trip anymore, – Stas muttered. – Vika and I are going to that… what’s it called… zoo tomorrow. Or no, to the movies… What difference does it make, to hell with it! I decided to spend the weekend with my wife, and that’s it. I have the right!
– And me? – Vovan asked plaintively. – Should I ruin my day off too?
– As you wish, – Pryakhin said harshly. – Bye!
And he slammed the mobile shut.
At that moment, Vika, covering her head with a blanket, was thinking: “Have I overdone it?” But then she remembered Stas’s stunned and even frightened face, and decided: “No, just right. It should work!” And she fell asleep for real…
