Moscow Nights

The world you grew up in no longer exists, Ivan! Thundered Vera.

It was one of the regular arguments Ivan Nesterov got used to having with his wife. Since the dissolve of the Soviet Union in 1991 she had been nagging about moving out of Russia, something Ivan profoundly refused even when the arguments heated after the birth of their daughter, Maria.

Vera: Your brother figured it right long ago! He did what’s best for himself and his family! While you still hold on to rubbles!

Ivan’s face was expressionless. His tired blue eyes looked at her silently.

Vera: Think of me! Think of our children! You even refuse to work at a private hospital! You insist on working in pathetic state owned ones which have nothing and pay nothing!

Their children, Pyotr and Daria, watched with gloomy faces as their parents argued. They couldn’t understand why they argue or what the problem was, but they hated it, it hurt them and they just wished it would stop. Baby Maria’s crying voice came from her cradle, as if sensing the tension around her. Ivan got up and went to carry her.

Vera: Are you even listening?!

Ivan: Enough!

He hissed finally.

Ivan: I will not leave Russia! My children will not be raised anywhere but Russia! Do you understand? This is my final word.

Vera: What do you have here? Who do you have here except for me and our children? Your parents died, Ivan! So is their world! Wake up!

Vera fired and paused. She inhaled deeply as she realised what she just said.

Ivan: I know..

He replied in a broken voice.

Vera closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Vera: I will go to my family’s house for a few days.. Think about it

The kids finally spoke in one voice, asking their mother if they are going with her

Vera: No, my dears. You stay with papa.

They were brave. They didn’t cry

Ivan felt tears well in his eyes. He was speechless. He loved Vera and never thought things between them would get to this point. She wants him to make an impossible choice, her and their little family or his homeland.

Vera left, and Ivan found himself all on his own with his 3 kids.

He did his best to sooth Maria and put her back in her cradle. As soon as she was in her cradle she started crying again. He sat on the chair next to the cradle and look at his distressed baby. Tears returned to his eyes

Ivan: I’m sorry..

Maria was still crying when the little radio that was on started playing a song

Не слышны в саду даже шорохи

Ivan froze and look towards the radio

Всё здесь замерло до утра

Ivan: Если б знали вы, как мне дороги
Подмосковные вечера..

He repeated the lyric quietly and couldn’t help his tears.

Maria on the other hand, stopped crying. He looked at his daughter and found her listening intently to the song. It seemed to sooth her completely. He carefully picked her up

Ivan: Do you like it?

He asked proudly then resumed singing along the song for her as he carried her around the room

Ivan: You are your father’s daughter indeed

He said as he put her back in her cradle. At that moment, Pyotr and Daria came in. Their eyes teary

Ivan looked at them affectionately and pulled them in for a hug

Ivan: We will be alright.. I promise you we will

Daria: We didn’t want mama to leave

Ivan: Me neither

Pyotr: Is she coming back?

Ivan seemed to hesitate for a moment

Ivan: She will. You know she loves you and your sisters so much

He paused for a moment. Ivan knew his children had no fault in any of this. The difficult life or the arguments with their mother, and if they are to bear with him then he owes them an explanation. They need to understand why he holds so much to this land. They need to understand they have roots that started in much better times.

He went to his room, now empty of most of Vera’s things, and opened his wardrobe. Inside, on the last shelf laid an old wooden box. Ivan took a deep breath before he carefully carried the box off its shelf. He could swear it has a distinctive smell that never fades, though he could never determine what smell it is. It simply grounded him.

He laid the box on the bed and went to his children

Ivan: Come, I have a story for you

He said as he carried baby Maria off her crib

Daria and Pyotr seemed puzzled, yet they followed him into the room.

They settled on the bed, with Maria in Ivan’s lap. Her curious eyes darted towards the box. Her siblings equally curious.

Ivan: This is your grandmother’s box

He said as he carefully opened it.

Inside were a batch of letters, an old pocket watch, military medals, a pair of old reading glasses, a pen and a book titled “Moscow Nights”

Ivan picked up the book and looked at his children, smiling

Ivan: Your grandmother wrote this. It’s her memoir

Pyotr: What’s a memoir?

Ivan: It’s when someone writes down their memories. The things that happened in their life, what they did, what they felt and who they met.. She actually wrote it for you.

Baby Maria tried to grasp the book with her tiny hands. Ivan smiled at her

Daria: For us?

Ivan: Yes. For you

He opened the book and read the first page

I write these lines now as I miss a part of my heart, rather a part of my soul, my husband and my life companion, Mikhail.

I know very well why I’m writing this, and why I’m doing so with tears running down my face like the moskva ran on that dark day when I lost Mikhail..

I want to live all those memories with him again.

I write these lines hoping to hear his voice through it.

And I write it for my grandchildren who I pity as they only got to live a few years with their grandfather.

I, who lived a lifetime with him, feel it wasn’t enough. How about them? Having lived only a few years in his presence?

To my sons

To my grandchildren

May these words guide you through your lives

May it be the reminder that you have roots stronger than time

Nadia Nesterova

Baby Maria babbled as if she could understand every word. Ivan looked at her in his lap, still trying to grab the book and looked up at her siblings

Ivan: Would you like me to read more?

He didn’t want to force it on them, but he asked with all the hope in his heart.

They nodded.