Ignat Semyonovich Bezuglov did not much trust telephone invitations. “People talk and talk, then forget everything the next day,” he would say. So he sent all his relatives proper invitation cards well in advance of his birthday. It was a special occasion, after all: eighty years old!
“I never imagined I'd live this long,” Ignat Semyonovich said shyly to Lyusya, his social-services assistant. “But look at me now…”
“Oh, Semyonych,” Lyusya smiled, “you've got years and years ahead of you. You're a strong man. We'll be celebrating your hundredth birthday too.”
The old man said nothing. He lit a cigarette and drew on it greedily. Since New Year, Bezuglov had restricted himself to five cigarettes a day, on his doctor's advice. The doctor had told him, “Grandpa, I'm not demanding that you give up smoking entirely. I know you won't manage that now. But I strongly recommend reducing your daily cigarettes to the bare minimum. Let's start with five.”
Ignat Semyonovich did not argue. It was the first doctor he had ever met who didn't forbid smoking outright. He kept strictly to the agreement, and each cigarette became a remarkable pleasure. It was like thirst: you wait and wait and wait, and then at last you reach a spring and drink as though you'll never have enough for the rest of your life.
He remembered getting separated from his friends while picking mushrooms in the forest when he was a boy. He had wandered for more than three days and feared he would never leave the woods alive. As bad luck would have it, there was not a stream, spring or river to be found. Each morning he ran his hand through the grass and licked the dew from his palm. When he reached a river on the fourth day, he drank so long and so much that for a moment it seemed the water level was actually dropping.
He followed the river to an unfamiliar village. People there had already heard about the missing boy and immediately sent word. Soon neighbours from his own village came to fetch him. After receiving a thorough scolding from his stern parents, Ignat was forbidden for a long time to go mushrooming or berry-picking.
Ignat Semyonovich withdrew nearly all the money from his bank card a month before the party. Thank goodness he'd learned to enter the wretched PIN code.
Lyusya laughed.
“Semyonych, there's still a whole month until your birthday, and you've already taken out all your cash! What's the hurry?”
“Take it while they're giving it out,” the old man observed.
Lyusya laughed brightly.
“You're a comedian, Semyonych! The cash machine works around the clock. You can withdraw money whenever you want.”
“I don't want to take any risks, Lyudmila,” the old man sighed.
“What risks? Do you think the bank will run out of money?”
“Anything can happen.” Bezuglov shrugged. “I've invited twenty people. Suppose those bankers suddenly have some kind of crisis. Guests arrive, the table's empty. How am I supposed to look them in the eye? Better to take care of it in advance.”
“Well, it's your decision,” the woman agreed. “Just don't buy the food too early. Things have expiry dates. And as the birthday gets closer, you'll know exactly how many guests are coming.”
“I know that already,” the old man objected. “I'm not inviting strangers, just my own family. Children, grandchildren, my brother's wife, probably with her grandchildren. Twenty people altogether. I've invited Lyonka with his accordion, too. Can't have a celebration without him. We'll sing and dance.”
“Why do you need an accordion?” Lyudmila asked. “You've got a stereo system.”
“To hell with that thing!” the old man waved his hand. “It shouts and bangs and rattles, you can't make out a word. With an accordion we'll sing ourselves,” Ignat Semyonovich answered dreamily. Then he winked. “That's a big difference. You should hear the songs we know, my dear. Songs from the heart. No stereo can play them like that.”
“And who's going to cook for all these people?” Lyudmila asked.
“My neighbour.” Bezuglov nodded towards the window. “Zinka lives three houses away. She cooked for my Nyura's funeral when I buried her, and for the memorial meals forty days and a year later. Wonderful cook. She does everything quickly and it's delicious. Everyone was delighted.”
“Have you arranged it with her yet?”
“Not yet,” the old man shook his head. “But she's the sort of woman who never refuses to help. I'll speak to her nearer the day.”
“That's something you really should arrange in advance. She might go away somewhere just when you need her. On holiday, perhaps…”
“What holiday?” Ignat laughed, cutting her off. “She's got two cows and a goat. A yard full of hens and geese. No, Zina can't leave the farm. I help her myself sometimes when she has to go to town. Feed the chickens and geese. We're friends. A good wom… a good woman. Always ready to help.”
“Does she live alone?” Lyusya asked.
“Alone,” Ignat nodded. “She buried her husband too. Her children have scattered to different cities. Who lives in the countryside now except old people? The children do visit. Not often, but sometimes. She keeps calling, telling them to come and take sour cream, butter, eggs. They laugh and say there's plenty of all that in the supermarket. You can't persuade them.”
The old man waved a hand and fell silent for a long time. Lyusya did not disturb his thoughts and quietly left the house.
Ignat Semyonovich muttered to himself, gestured with his hands and crossed himself a couple of times.
“How much time do I have left?” he wondered. “Human beings are strange creatures. They don't remember the day they were born, and they don't know when they'll die. But how quickly the years have passed! I can hardly believe it. Seems I was running barefoot only yesterday, then came school, the army, the logging enterprise, marriage, children, grandchildren… I didn't have time to look round, and here I am, eighty years old. If anybody had told me I'd celebrate such a frightening number, I wouldn't have believed them.”
“Still, people live to a hundred. And there's probably a reason the Russian word for human being, chelovek, contains two parts: chelo, a head, and vek, a century. A century is how long the head gets to sit on the shoulders. So God has allotted everyone a hundred years. If we don't reach that age, well, it's partly our own fault.”
He nodded towards the packet of cigarettes. “Look at that poison, for example. Seventy years I've been breathing it in! And it was Mishka, God rest his soul, who talked me into trying one on a fishing trip. 'Go on, there's nothing to it.' I tried it, and now I still can't get rid of the habit. Damn it!”
Ignat reached for the cigarette packet, but looked at the clock and withdrew his hand. Too early. The time for his next dose of “poison,” as he called his bad habit, had not arrived.
He stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. Lately he had begun taking an afternoon nap more and more often. Sometimes half an hour was enough; sometimes he slept for an hour and a half, even two. Either way, he woke refreshed. He drank a mug of tea and went into the yard. In summer he mowed the grass and weeded the garden; in autumn he swept fallen leaves; in winter he cleared the snow; in spring he pruned the trees and bushes to prepare them for the harvest.
There was always something to do, and neglecting it was expensive. Let the yard go, and catching up was hard. Problems in a house grew like a snowball: one caught on another, then another. Show a moment's weakness and soon you needed help, because you could no longer manage alone. When he was young, Ignat could work from dawn to dusk. Those days were gone. Sometimes he still felt like throwing himself into hard work, but his body applied the brakes: steady on, old man!
“Must take care now,” he thought. “Guests are coming. Don't overdo it. It would be awkward if people arrived for an anniversary and ended up at a funeral. Remember what happened to Ivan the blacksmith? He invited the whole family for his birthday, then dropped dead the day before. Everyone turned up with flowers, presents and songs, and found a house in mourning. Still, nothing terribly inconvenient happened. They buried him, had the memorial meal, ate and drank, and went home. No one was put to much trouble. In fact, the guests saved a journey. They didn't have to come twice.”
Ignat Semyonovich happened upon an advertisement in the local newspaper: “Let us decorate your celebration with balloons!” He loved the idea. He called the number and nearly abandoned the plan when he heard the price, but eventually managed to bargain. A day before the anniversary, some young men arrived and hung bright balloons in every corner of the house. It looked beautiful.
“The little ones will be delighted,” Ignat thought. “We used to blow up balloons when we were children and burst them. The girls screwed up their eyes and squealed, while we showed how brave we were. Look at us boys: we're not afraid of anything!”
On his birthday Semyonych rose early. He pushed the tables together and covered them with a dazzling white lace-patterned oilcloth. On one side he placed a long bench; on the other he set out chairs.
Half an hour later, Zina arrived.
She counted the places and suggested, “Shall I bring another couple of chairs? You said there'd be twenty guests, but I can only count eighteen seats.”
Ignat smiled and waved a hand.
“What's the bench for? They'll all fit.”
“They'll have to squeeze together. Let me bring two more chairs. They won't be in the way.”
“Don't worry. If we run short, I'll call and send the lads over to your place. Listen, why don't you join us? It doesn't feel right for everyone to have fun while we send the cook away.”
Zina laughed.
“Who's sending me away? I'll leave of my own accord. No, Ignat, it'll be your whole family here. What would I do among them? Enjoy your celebration without me.”
“Still doesn't feel right,” the old man said, spreading his hands.
Zina fixed a meat grinder to the edge of the table and gave an order.
“Grind the meat. That's a man's job. I'll peel the potatoes.”
They set to work. By lunchtime everything was ready.
“We won't lay it all out yet,” the neighbour said. “Once the guests start arriving, you can put the food on the table.”
“Yes, yes,” Ignat nodded. “I've asked my daughter to come early with the grandchildren, around three. We'll lay everything out together. The guests are coming at four. We'll manage. You think about joining us, though.”
“We'll see,” Zina said evasively. “If I finish with the animals, I might pop in for an hour.”
His daughter Klavdiya was the first to telephone.
“Happy birthday, Daddy! I wish you happiness, health and many more years!”
“Thank you, darling, thank you. Are you far away?”
“Dad, please forgive me. I can't come today. My husband's running a fever, and we've called an ambulance. How can I go anywhere? Don't be upset. We'll come another day and celebrate with you.”
Her father sighed heavily.
“Health comes first. Give Grisha my regards…”
Twenty minutes later came a call from Nikolai, the older son.
“Happy birthday, Dad! How are you doing? Health, happiness, good spirits!”
“Thank you, Kolya, thank you! Don't be late. We'll be waiting…”
“Dad, there's a problem,” his son said guiltily. “I've been buried in work. I'm sorry, I can't make it today. Honestly…”
“And Lyuba? Is she coming? My favourite daughter-in-law…”
“Neither of us can,” Nikolai said. “Lyuba has a report to finish today. If she doesn't submit it, she'll be in serious trouble. The boss has threatened to fire her. Please don't take offence. It just happened that way. We'll come next week, bring your present and everything. You won't be angry?”
“What can you do?” Ignat answered sadly. “I understand. Good luck to you both.”
The next cancellation came from his grandson Petya.
“Grandpa, we can't make it. Svetka has classes today and she can't miss them. The lecturer's a monster. He warned everyone: anyone who misses today's lecture needn't expect to pass the exams.”
“But what about you?” Grandpa asked.
“What about me? I drive her to the university and wait. The lecture's at six, so the whole thing will drag on until nine or ten. What's the point of going anywhere after that?”
“I wish you every success, children,” Ignat said and hung up.
His brother's wife, Marina, had been a widow for three years. Since the funeral she had visited Ignat only two or three times, sitting for half an hour before leaving. They had never really had a proper conversation. This time Marina called to say she wasn't feeling well and had no heart for celebrations. She wished him health, happiness and prosperity, and that was the end of the call.
At five o'clock, Zina telephoned.
“Well, how's it going? Have you got enough chairs?”
“Plenty,” Ignat replied with a rueful smile, then joked, “If anybody runs out of room, I'll put a rug down beside the table.”
“Oh, aren't you the comedian!” Zina laughed. “Has Klava arrived?”
“Klava's nursing her husband. She said she'd come later.”
“And Kolya?”
“Kolya's working.”
“Then who's there with you? The young people? The grandchildren?”
“The grandchildren are studying,” Ignat answered.
“At least the accordion player has turned up?”
“His wife called to say he isn't fit to be moved today.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was at a christening this morning. Came home blind drunk and left his accordion somewhere along the way.”
“Then who are you celebrating with?”
“With Keks! Come over, Zina. Please.”
“I'm coming, I'm coming! Just let me see to the animals.”
Ignat had found Keks the cat five years earlier in the yard of the district hospital. The kitten followed him, running and meowing as though the old man had forgotten to feed him. Semyonych put the little creature in his bag and brought him home. Keks settled in quickly. At night he slept curled up beside Ignat's bed; when the old man worked in the yard, the cat climbed onto the fence and watched his provider attentively.
Coal-black, with a white bib and white socks, Keks knew that the old man loved him. After a successful hunt, he carried a mouse or a bird to the doorstep to report to his owner: “Look, I'm earning my keep too!”
“You little rogue!” the old man would scold affectionately.
The cat needed watching. Ignat could never teach him to stay off the table. Turn your back for a moment and he was up there, conducting an inspection. He would climb into a box of medicines, tear napkins to shreds or overturn the sugar bowl. But the old man forgave everything. Keks clearly understood that no harsh punishment was coming, and repeated his mischief again and again.
Today, while Ignat was on the telephone, Keks leapt onto the table, pushed the lid off a pan and reached the meat patties. Ignat saw the outrage, waved a hand and said nothing. He sat down at the head of the table and watched his only guest.
When Zina came into the kitchen, she threw up her hands in indignation.
“Just look what that little parasite's doing! Ignat, can't you see? Your bandit is eating the patties! Shoo, you scoundrel!”
The cat had no intention of reacting. He cast a brief glance at the agitated woman and continued his anniversary dinner.
“Don't shout at him,” Ignat said calmly. “I gave him permission. It's his anniversary too. He's lived with me for five years. I've decided his birthday will be the same as mine. So we're celebrating together.”
“I'd kill mine if he took liberties like that,” Zina said with a frown.
“Oh, stop it, Zina!” Ignat waved her off. “As if I didn't know how your Makarych steals your sour cream! And he's still very much alive.”
“I've taught mine to stay off the table… Anyway, why are we talking about cats? Where are all your guests?”
Ignat shrugged and sighed.
“Vanity of vanities, Zinaida. Everyone's busy. Looks like it wasn't meant to be.”
“What did they say?”
“They promised they'd definitely come to my ninetieth,” the birthday boy joked. “And what's another ten years to us? They'll fly by like a bird overhead. Well then, Zina, shall we have a little drink?”
“Pour,” Zina nodded, glancing sideways at the cat.
“Don't look at him like that, Zina. He knows it's his owner's birthday, and the owner is treating everybody. You know something, my dear neighbour? I'll confess something to you. I think the one I love most in all the world is my cat. Yes, yes, don't be surprised. I've never loved anyone quite as much as I love him. I love him with all my heart.”
Ignat and Zina spent a lovely evening together. They sang a dozen songs, remembered their childhoods and told one another funny stories. They parted late that night.
Three days later, every relative Ignat had invited for his anniversary gathered in his house.
But for a different occasion.
They had come to his funeral remembrance.
© Mikhail Samarsky, 2021. English translation prepared for the samarski.com working edition.