— Why are you still in a robe? — Oleg’s voice cut through the air like rusty metal scraping glass. — My mother called five minutes ago.
The jars are already sterilized, the tomatoes are wilting. We should’ve left half an hour ago.
Sveta didn’t turn around. She was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into the black surface of her cold coffee.
In the morning light filtering through the blinds, dust motes danced a chaotic waltz, and that sight made far more sense to her than her husband’s fussing.
Oleg stood leaning against the doorframe, fully geared up in his “work-commando” outfit: faded jeans stretched thin at the knees, an overwashed T-shirt, and the expression Sveta privately called “foreman mode.”
He nervously jingled the car keys in his sweaty palm, the sound working on her nerves like a dentist’s drill.
— I’m not going anywhere, Oleg — Sveta said softly but clearly. She finally raised her head and looked at the bridge of his nose. — I’m staying home.
Oleg froze. The keys went silent. For a moment, genuine confusion flickered across his face, as if the toaster had suddenly started speaking Chinese.
In his well-oiled world, where he was the captain and Sveta the silent deckhand, this kind of malfunction simply did not happen.
— What? — he asked, stepping closer. — Did you hit your head? What do you mean, “home”? There are three crates of tomatoes there, my mother can’t manage alone. You get up and get dressed. Now.
— Your mother isn’t alone — Sveta took a sip of the cold coffee, grimacing at the bitterness. — She has her husband. She has her daughter too. Lenka, if I remember correctly?
Let her go and twist those damn tomatoes into jars. They’re for her anyway. And for her husband, who hasn’t lifted a single jar in five years but sure knows how to devour the pickles.
Oleg’s face turned an unhealthy shade of purple. He hated it when Sveta talked about his sister like that.
Lenka was a sacred cow in the family: eternally tired, eternally needy, eternally armed with two children she used as shields against any obligation.
— Shut your mouth — Oleg hissed, stepping right up to the table. He smelled of cheap deodorant and last night’s booze. — Lenka is busy with the kids. She doesn’t have time to slave away in the garden.
You, on the other hand, are healthy as a horse, no kids, sitting on your ass in an office. Is it so hard to help my mother? Once a year, Sveta! Once a year!
— Once a year? — Sveta laughed, her smile sharp and bitter. — In May we planted potatoes. In June I weeded strawberries while your Lenka sunbathed on a lounger because her “blood pressure was up.”
In July we picked currants. Now it’s August, and here we are — tomatoes. I didn’t sign a contract to be a day laborer on your parents’ plantation, Oleg. On my day off I want to lie down. Stare at the ceiling. I want to be left alone.
Oleg slammed his fist on the table. The cup jumped, dark coffee splashing onto the tablecloth.
— Have you completely lost your mind?! — he roared. — You live in this house! My parents gave money for the down payment! And now you’re presenting a bill? I said, get up!
— Gave? — Sveta stood up, the chair scraping loudly. The fear that usually paralyzed her during her husband’s rages was gone today, replaced by a cold, leaden exhaustion. — Five years ago they gave a hundred thousand.
I’ve paid that back ten times over working on their plot. And Lenka got a car. Just like that. Because “poor Lenusya has a hard time driving the kids to kindergarten.” Enough, Oleg. I’m not going. Go alone. Twist the jars yourself.
She tried to leave the kitchen, but Oleg blocked her path. He was bigger, heavier, and now, in his rage, he seemed to fill the entire space. His eyes darkened. He was used to his word being law.
Used to crushing resistance with shouting. But today it didn’t work, and that threw him off balance. He felt his authority collapsing and instinctively reached for the only tool he had left: violence.
He grabbed Sveta’s forearm, squeezing painfully.
— Didn’t you understand, you stupid cow?! — he growled, yanking her toward him so hard she nearly lost her balance. — You think I’m joking? My mother is waiting. My father is waiting. I’m not going to explain to them that my wife has lost her mind.
— Let go, it hurts! — Sveta screamed, trying to pull her arm free, but the grip was iron.
— It’ll hurt when I start teaching you how to behave — Oleg leaned into her face. Sveta saw the pores on his nose, saw the rage in his pupils. — Now you get dressed nicely, get in the car, and smile at my mother. Understood?
— No — she breathed into his face.
That “no” pulled the trigger. Oleg shoved her back toward the table, Sveta’s hip slammed into the corner, she cried out, but she didn’t cry.
Something animal flashed in his eyes. He stepped forward, looming over her, and screamed so loudly the glass in the kitchen cabinets rattled:
— I don’t care that you don’t want to go to my parents’! You pack your things and we leave now, or I’ll stuff you into the trunk and you’ll help my mother anyway!
He wasn’t joking. There was no irony in his voice. He was ready to do it.
Sveta saw his fists clench — those fists that once fixed pipes were now preparing to “correct” her improper behavior. The air grew thick, reeking of violence.
— You’re sick… — she whispered, backing away.
— I said now! — Oleg roared, swinging for her.
This was no longer a threat. He meant to hit her. Instinctively, Sveta darted toward the hallway, dodging the blow. She needed shelter. The only place with a lock: the bathroom.
She ran in, nearly slipping on the tiles, and slammed the door. Her fingers fumbled, but she managed to slide the flimsy bolt. At that very moment, the door shuddered from a massive blow. The cheap pressed wood creaked, plaster fell.
— Open up, bitch! — Oleg’s scream was animalistic. — You think this cardboard will save you? I’ll rip it out with the frame!
Sveta pressed herself against the cold wall. She was gasping for air. The handle rattled as if it might tear off at any second.
— Oleg, calm down! — she shouted, her voice shaking. — What are you doing?!
— I am calm! — he yelled, kicking the door again. — I’m counting to one. If you don’t come out, I’m not responsible. One!
Sveta knew: he wasn’t bluffing. He’d break the door. And then… She shoved her hand into the pocket of her robe. Phone. The screen lit up. “Artyom.”
— Two! — the door bent inward.
The call rang. It felt endless.
— Hello? — her brother’s voice answered.
— Tyoma… come… — she gasped. — Oleg’s gone crazy. He’s breaking the door. He’s trying to drag me by force. He threatened me. I’m scared. He’ll kill me.
— Are you locked in? — his voice changed instantly.
— Yes. But the door is weak.
— Got it. I’m close. Three minutes. Don’t open it. I’m coming.
Oleg heard.
— Who are you calling, you piece of shit?! — he screamed. — Let them come!
The door gave way. The top hinge tore out. Oleg stood in the opening.
— That’s it — he wheezed.
He yanked Sveta out. By her hair. Pain. A scream. He dragged her toward the exit.
— To the car! — he shouted.
At that moment, the front door clicked open.
Artyom stood there.
He didn’t speak.
He just hit.
Solar plexus.
Knee to the face.
A crunch — the nose broke.
Blood.
Oleg collapsed.
— Get up — Artyom said coldly.
Another kick.
— Touch her again and you die — he said.
— Sveta, come on. Five minutes. We’re leaving.
Sveta took only her documents. She left the ring behind.
— You’re really leaving? — Oleg whimpered. — Over tomatoes?
— Over the trunk — she replied.
His mother was calling. The phone rang.
Sveta dropped the keys.
— Twist them yourself. Along with your life.
They stepped outside.
The sun was shining.
— Where to? — Artyom asked.
— I don’t know — Sveta said. — But let’s get coffee. I didn’t finish breakfast.
The car drove off.
And a tyrant was left alone with the rotten tomatoes.
