They divided the bear’s skin before it was even killed with such zeal that they completely forgot whether the bear even wanted to die.
This story is about how blood turns to water when elite apartments are at stake, and why the “housing issue” can shatter even the strongest relationships.
I never thought my brother’s expensive cologne would make me nauseous. But there I stood in the hallway of our shabby little two-room apartment, feeling exactly that.
Vadim was standing in the doorway, grimacing at the smells, shaking invisible dust off his cashmere coat.
— Tanya, you understand, the situation is critical — he began without any preamble. — Uncle Boris… is in a vegetative state. The doctors say the outlook is uncertain. He needs care.
— Hi, Vadim. Long time no see — I crossed my arms over my chest, not inviting him in. — Would you like some tea? Or shall we get straight to the point?
— What tea? — he rolled his eyes. — I’m saying, Uncle Boris will be discharged the day after tomorrow. Where should I put him? Not at my place, Inga has a migraine, the kids are little, the dog… and I’m constantly on business trips.
— But he can stay at mine, right? — I smiled.
— You know, Vadik, in my place the two kids share a room, my husband comes home from the factory like a squeezed lemon. Where should I put an old man who can’t get out of bed? Under the kitchen table?
— Why are you exaggerating? — Vadim grimaced, pulling a stuffed envelope from his pocket. — Of course, I’ll compensate you. For diapers, medicine…
He handed me the envelope. I didn’t take it.
— Vadik, Uncle Boris has a three-room apartment downtown. Why don’t you hire a nurse and let him stay there?
— Can’t — my brother replied immediately. — There… renovation is starting now. I decided to replace the pipes while he was in the hospital. It’s dangerous for him to be there alone. And nurses… they’re thieves and cheats. No, Tanya, only the family. Our blood.
“Our blood” — it echoed in my head. Of course.
— Vadim, say it plainly. You want the apartment, don’t you?
— Tanya, don’t be ridiculous! — he got angry, and his carefully maintained exterior immediately began to crack.
— I’m thinking about the uncle! He needs care! Warmth, home-cooked meals. You… you help with money. Fifty thousand a month. Too little?
I looked at him, and I didn’t see the brother I knew from childhood, with whom I fought over our bicycle, but a businessman looking to make a deal.
— Hundred — I said quietly.
— What?
— Hundred. And you pay for the transport, the medical bed, and all the medicines.
— Are you crazy? — his eyes widened. — That’s robbery!
— That’s care for a seriously ill man, Vadim. It’s in your interest for him to live as long as possible, isn’t it? Or quite the opposite?
His face flushed.
— Fine. Seventy. And I’ll bring the bed.
— Agreed. But know this: if you ever delay payment, I’ll bring Uncle Boris to your office and leave him at the reception.
Vadim grimaced, put the envelope on the dresser, and left without a word. The door slammed, leaving the scent of expensive cologne and impending trouble in the air.
Two days later, they brought Uncle Boris home. The movers grumbled, swearing under their breath, pushing the heavy medical bed into our room, blocking access to the balcony.
Uncle Boris himself looked like a deflated balloon. Small, yellowish-faced, sharp-nosed, with a piercing, angry gaze. The stroke had chained him to the bed, taken his left hand, but not his mind or speech.
— Where are you taking me, vermin? — he growled as they moved him. — Tanya, you? Why do you look like that? Water!
I handed him a glass. He took a sip, then immediately spat it onto my robe.
— Lukewarm! Are you trying to poison me? Did you get it from the tap to save money?
— Uncle Boris, I boiled it — I tried to stay calm. — I’ll bring something cool.
That evening my husband, Sása, came home. He saw the room barricades and ground his teeth but didn’t say a word. The kids, 12-year-old Lesika and 5-year-old Masha, cowered in the corners.
— Mom, it stinks — whispered Lesika as she passed Grandpa on the way to the bathroom.
— Hush, he can hear — I scolded her.
— Let him hear! — Uncle Boris shouted from the bed. — And you kids, do you smell? Tanya, bring the potty! Quickly!
Hell began. Uncle Boris didn’t sleep at night. He wanted the TV on full volume because “you can’t miss the news,”
then he cursed the anchors so violently my ears nearly failed. He chased for tea, newspapers, pillows, opening the windows, closing the windows.
Sása endured for a week. On Friday evening he came home with a bottle of vodka, sat in the kitchen, and said:
— Tanya, I can’t take this. I work all day, come home to rest, and this… is a military camp.
— Sása, just endure. Vadim pays, we need the money. The car loan is due.
— You know what with the loan! — he slammed the table. — Masha will start stuttering, constantly shouting. Yesterday she threatened with a stick!
I went into the room. Uncle Boris stared at the ceiling.
— What are you whispering there? Are you cutting bones for me? — he growled.
— Uncle Boris, why are you scaring Masha? — I asked, tired.
— Don’t run around! My head hurts. Tanya, you fool.
— Why?
— Because your brother, like a spider, pulled me down, and you’re happy. You think he just wants to help? He wants my apartment.
— Well, he does. You also wrote a will for it.
Uncle Boris winked cunningly.
— I did. Maybe I changed my mind. Tanya, you fool, but you cook well. Vadim… only counts money. He’ll get his chance…
He didn’t finish, coughing. I adjusted the blanket.
— Sleep, Uncle Boris. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.
Vadim appeared only three weeks later. He brought a package of oranges and a self-sacrificing expression.
— So, how’s our hero? — he entered cautiously, careful not to touch the doorframe.
— Alive — growled Uncle Boris, not even looking at his nephew. — Why are you here? To check if I’m not dead yet?
— Oh, Uncle Boris — Vadim tried to smile. — I brought oranges. Vitamins.
— Eat your vitamins too. They give me heartburn. Did you bring the papers?
I watched carefully. What papers?
— I brought them, I brought them — Vadim glanced at me. — Tanya, make coffee. Stronger.
I stepped into the kitchen but didn’t fully close the door. The clinking of dishes drowned out their conversation, but fragments of sentences reached me.
— …general power of attorney… simplify everything… accounts frozen… — muttered Vadim.
— …I won’t sign… — he rasped. — …conditions… for Tanya…
— …will handle it… I’ll pay her anyway…
I returned with the tray. Vadim quickly put something into the folder.
— Thanks, little sister — he said. — Uncle Boris needs peace. You have kids, noise, chaos. I found a great boarding house near Moscow. Pines, fresh air, doctors.
— Retirement home? — I shouted.
— Boarding house! — he corrected. — Private, expensive. I’ll pay everything.
— No way! — Uncle Boris shouted. — I’ll die here, but I won’t eat government food!
— Uncle Boris, that’s unwise…
— Get out! — he tried to sit up, his face flushed. — Take your own oranges!
Vadim jumped up, knocking a coffee cup onto the carpet.
— Madman! — he shouted. — I want to help, and you… Tanya, calm him!
— Go, Vadim — I said quietly. — You’ll cause a second stroke.
My brother ran out, slamming the door. Uncle Boris gasped for breath.
— What the hell… — he rasped. — Tanya… validol…
With trembling hands, I gave him the medicine.
— What did he want to sign, Uncle Boris?
— Sell the apartment — he sighed. — I’m still alive, but they say the prices are falling, we must hurry. And me… to a nursing home.
— I won’t allow it — I said firmly. — As long as you’re here, no one can take you away.
He looked at me with unexpected sympathy.
— Oh, Tanya… It’ll eat me up. And me too. My teeth… shark teeth.
A week passed. Vadim paid late. I called him, but he brushed me off. Sása got angry.
— Tanya, we don’t have money for the apartment, and your oligarch won’t answer his phone!
— I’ll reach him, Sása. Maybe he’s busy.
On Wednesday, an unknown number appeared on my phone. I answered, expecting spam.
— Tanyechka? — the voice was sweet, slow, like syrup. I recognized it immediately and narrowed my eyes like during a toothache.
It was Inga. Vadim’s wife. We hadn’t spoken for three years since my father’s birthday when she declared my “Olivie” salad “bourgeois” and said my kids were “poorly raised for good society.”
— I’m listening, Inga. What’s the situation? — I asked coldly.
— Tanya, here’s the situation… Vadim is in a difficult spot. His company… temporary problems. He asks you to know that he’ll be late with the money this month.
— Late with what? — I sat down. — Inga, Uncle Boris eats like a strong man, the medicines are insanely expensive, diapers fly from my hands!
— But you’re family — she purred. — Endure a little longer. By the way, Tanya, we found a buyer for Boris Petrovich’s apartment. A very good offer. Vadim would like you to… help.
— How would I help?
— Well, you’d persuade the old man to sign the power of attorney. He listens to you. And… we’ll give 200,000 rubles immediately. As a bonus.
I shuddered.
— You’re selling a living person? And where? Onto the street?
— Why the street? Boarding house, I said. Or… he could stay with you for a while. You’re kind.
— You know what, Inga… You and Vadim can go to hell.
I hung up. My heart raced. Two hundred thousand. That’s a huge amount for us. But sell Uncle Boris?
I went into the room. The old man wasn’t sleeping, staring at the window.
— Did they call? — he asked.
— Inga. Vadim’s wife.
— And what did she say?
— No money. They’re selling. They want you persuaded to sign.
Uncle Boris gave a crooked smile.
— You? You gave in? You need the money. I heard how you argued with your husband.
— I need it — I said honestly. — But I’m not Judas, Uncle Boris.
He was silent, then gestured for me to come closer.
— Lean over.
I leaned. Old age and the smell of medicine emanated from him.
— Under the pillow… a notebook. Take it out.
I reached in and pulled out the old, worn, squared notebook.
— Open the last page.
There was a phone number and a name: “Arkady Lvovich, notary.”
— Call tomorrow. Say Boris Petrovich wants to revise his will.
The next day I called the notary. He promised to arrive on Friday. On Thursday evening, Vadim broke into our apartment. He was not alone — a bespectacled woman and a folder came with him.
— Vadim, do you see the time? — Sása blocked his way in the hallway. — Nine o’clock!
— Get out of the way, worker — Vadim shoved him. — Urgent matter.
They went into the room to Uncle Boris. The old man sat in bed, hands under the blanket, measuring the intruders with a sharp gaze.
— What do you want? — he growled, his voice rasping but firm. — I’m not signing anything!
Vadim’s face showed anger and frustration, but his eyes revealed the calculating businessman who seized every opportunity.
— We just want to talk, Uncle Boris — he began calmly, every word trembling with effort. — We’ll take care of you. Comfortable apartment, doctors, everything you could want…
Uncle Boris laughed, a snorting, mocking laugh, sounding like a rusty key in an old lock.
— Comfortable apartment? You want my apartment, not my comfort! — he shouted. — Tanya, see? They only see money.
— Uncle Boris, forgive me — I said calmly, though my heart pounded. — I won’t let them sell you. No one can take you from what is yours.
Vadim grinned and slowly stepped closer.
— Don’t be naive, little sister — he said quietly. — He’s just listening. But you know well that time is on my side.
Uncle Boris furrowed his brow, then slowly leaned back among the pillows.
— You know what? — he grumbled. — If you want to “help” so diligently, let’s do a trial. But remember: I am a living person, and I am not for sale.
Vadim’s face turned pale, but there was no time to dwell. The woman with him opened the folder, trying to get the old man to sign. Uncle Boris just laughed and coughed.
— Look at this folder — I pointed. — Completely empty! Just paper and ink, no power.
Vadim growled, then snatched the folder from his hands and slammed it onto the dresser in anger.
— This is ridiculous! — he shouted. — Everything will be ready in a week!
— Only by my rules — Uncle Boris replied, squinting in the sudden light. — And on my time.
That was the moment I realized: nothing is stronger than the will of an old man. Vadim had money, connections, plans — but Uncle Boris was the master of his own life, and no one could take that from him.
As he left the room with the woman pretending to be a housekeeper, Vadim turned back and glared at me.
— Tanya… this isn’t over yet.
But I knew his anger wouldn’t reach Uncle Boris. The old man smiled and withdrew among the pillows, his hand resting on the notebook, the one thing protecting him from all power.
That evening the apartment was quiet. The children slept, Sása held his head in the kitchen, and I resolved: as long as Uncle Boris lives, no one will take what is his.
And I knew: the coming weeks and months would be hard, but Uncle Boris had already won in his quiet, stubborn way.
