Cyril married at twenty-four. His wife, Emily, was twenty-two. She was the only child of a university professor and a schoolteacher, born late in their lives. Soon after the wedding, they had two boys close in age, followed by a daughter.
Emilys mother retired and devoted herself to her grandchildren.
Cyrils relationship with her was peculiar. He always addressed her formally”Mrs. Natalie Antonov”and she responded with a cool, polite “you,” never shortening his name. Though they never argued, her presence made him uneasy. Still, she never interfered, spoke to him with deliberate respect, and remained neutral in his marriage.
A month ago, Cyrils company went bankrupt, leaving him jobless. Over dinner, Emily mentioned, “We cant live on Mums pension and my salary forever, Cyril. You need to find work.”
Easier said than done. Thirty days of pounding the pavement, and nothing. Frustrated, Cyril kicked an empty beer can. At least his mother-in-law kept quiet, though her pointed glances spoke volumes.
Before the wedding, hed overheard a conversation between Emily and her mother.
“Are you sure hes the one you want to spend your life with?”
“Mum, of course!”
“You dont grasp the responsibility. If your father were alive…”
“Oh, Mum, stop! We love each otheritll be fine!”
“And children? Can he provide?”
“He will!”
“Its not too late to reconsider, Emily. His family…”
“I love him!”
“Dont say I didnt warn you.”
Now, Cyril grimaced. Shed seen right through him.
He didnt want to go home. Emilys forced encouragement”Dont worry, tomorrow will be better!”felt hollow. Her mothers silent disapproval weighed on him, and the childrens teasing”Dad, found a job yet?”was unbearable.
He wandered the riverside, sat on a bench in the park, and as night fell, drove to the cottage where his family stayed from May till autumn. A single light glowed in Natalies bedroom. Creeping along the path, he stumbled over a tree stump just as the curtain twitched.
Natalie peered out. “Cyrils late. Have you called him, Emily?”
“Yes, Mum. His phones off. Probably still out job-hunting.”
Her voice turned icy. “Dont you dare speak of your husband like that!”
“Oh, Mum, really! I just think Cyrils slacking. A whole month on my back!”
For the first time in six years, Natalie slammed her fist on the table. “Enough! What did you promise when you married him? In sickness and hardshipto stand by him!”
Emily muttered, “Sorry, Mum. Im just tired.”
“Go to bed,” Natalie sighed.
The light went out. She paced, then drew the curtain aside, gazing into the dark. Suddenly, she lifted her eyes to the sky and crossed herself. “Dear Lord, merciful and kind, protect the father of my grandchildren, my daughters husband. Keep his faith strong. Help him, Lordmy dear boy.”
Her whispered prayers and quiet tears struck Cyril like a blow. No one had ever prayed for himnot his austere mother, devoted to her work, nor his father, whod vanished when he was five. Hed grown up in nurseries, schools, after-care. At university, hed worked straight awayhis mother despised idleness.
Warmth swelled in his chest, rising until tears pricked his eyes. He remembered Natalie rising early to bake his favourite pies, simmering rich stews, her dumplings a masterpiece. She tended the children, kept the house, grew vegetables, made jams, even pickled cucumbers for winter.
Why had he never thanked her? He and Emily had just worked, raised kids, taken it all for granted. Once, watching a show about Australia, Natalie had sighed, “Ive always dreamed of seeing it.” Hed joked that the heat would melt her icy shell.
Cyril sat under the window, head in hands, for a long time.
At breakfast, the table was laden with pies, jam, tea. The children laughed. He met Natalies eyes and said softly, “Good morning, Mum.”
She startled, then smiled. “Good morning, Cyril.”
Two weeks later, he found work. A year after that, he sent Natalie to Australiadespite her protests.
