On my cheek, I feel the rays of the sun and open my eyes. Then I hear my husband: “If you’re forty and nothing hurts, then you’re dead.” It is my birthday today.
I shudder slightly. Normally I try to go on holiday at this time to avoid all the fuss called celebration. But this year we bought a new flat and are having it renovated, so money is tight. Travelling is not an option. I tried to get out of the looming party by pointing out that celebrating your 40th birthday was bad luck. Yet I was told that I had never been superstitious, and neither were any of them. My next move was to propose an evening gathering at a café.
“A café in a dusty and stuffy city where there is hardly any fresh air to breathe, while you have such a cozy dacha in the peaceful and quiet countryside?” – mum rolled her eyes. “And besides we can take a dip in the river. We can move around. While in a café we will be confined to the table.” And so it was decided.
The decision was probably not a bad one. During the renovation, we are living in the dacha anyway, so having the guests over here saves us the trouble of travelling.
My phone beeps with a message, reminding me that I have things to do. Time to get up.
The reflection in the mirror shows a familiar face. A little bit puffy after sleep, but I actually prefer some chubbiness to the haggard look I will definitely have by the end of the day. For the greater part of my life, I used to look younger than I was. Even fifteen years after I came of age, shop assistants would not sell me alcohol unless I showed my passport. It all changed overnight. One day I woke up to find that I had aged over a decade. To this day I do not know the reason behind it. It was like a spell cast by a witch. Yet we live in three-dimensional reality, not a magic tale. Or do we?
Coming to terms with a new reality is never easy. Especially when your acquaintances point out your exhausted looks every time you meet them. As a result, I started wearing sunglasses and had a new haircut to conceal or at least soften the changes. I wonder if I have fooled anyone.
Suddenly the niggling feeling I have had for days crystallizes. Forty. I close my eyes. It feels like sand slipping through your fingers. Soon there will be none left.
“Mum wishes you a happy birthday,” Egor says, abruptly entering the room.
“Oh, thank you,” I respond.
“I guess, one day she will congratulate you herself.”
“Oh” is the only reply I can think of. My marriage to Egor came as a heavy blow to his snobbish mother. She thought he would marry her friend’s daughter who came from a family in the intelligentsia. The lady in question actually would have preferred a Swiss millionaire, but my mother-in-law still thinks I have ruined Egor’s life. So she has refused to talk to me ever since. However, some years ago she started congratulating me on special occasions through her son. Egor sees this as a sign of improvement and never fails to mention that one day we will certainly have a face-to-face conversation ‘like regular folks’. I’m kind of dreading that moment: the need to sustain a conversation, affecting interest and enjoyment, with a dreary… I shake off the images. It is much better if everything remains as it is.
After a quick breakfast, I start making a festive meal. It will feature cucumber tomato salad, Olivier , imitation crab salad, half sour pickles, meat cuts and salo, cheese plate, boiled potatoes as a side dish, and a bowl of fruit and a watermelon. There will also be a cake from a pastry shop for the afters. Egor is responsible for shashlik which, as they say, does not tolerate female hands.
When I am almost done peeling, cutting, slicing and laying the food (hopefully!) beautifully on the plates, I hear a car beeping. Without looking, I know it must be my mum and my younger sister. Greetings and congratulations follow. I get some cosmetics from my mum and a gift card from Vika. Earlier in the morning Egor gave me a bread machine. And I got a money transfer from my dad, who won’t be back from his fly-in, fly-out job till next month.
Mum volunteered to make kompot for the gathering and immediately starts unpacking her bags. “Here you are. I made it this morning. Had to cool it in a cold water bath before pouring it into plastic bottles.”
“Thanks, mum, but I’m afraid four 1.5-liter bottles is way too much for such a small company,” I note tentatively.
“You do not have to drink it all in one go. It will be as good as freshly brewed for at least a week.” She casts a look at the shelf with grains. “And why don’t you use the containers I gave you? It’s more convenient to keep grains in containers than in packets. And they will prevent bugs from infesting your supplies.”
I doubt the last statement, but say nothing. After I decline any help in the kitchen, Egor proposes to show them around. Although both are familiar with our standard six acre plot of land, they gladly accept the proposal. Ten minutes later mum is back, fetches some gardening gloves and starts weeding the carrots. Egor begins grilling shashlik. Vika meanwhile is taking selfies, while I am mostly busy replying to congrats. Even my sons call from summer camp. I bet someone had to remind them of the special date.
(…to be continued…)
Transadaptation Volume 5 – Of Flowing Vicissitudes
January: The Night the Stars Stopped Shining – Sarah-Leah Pimentel (South Africa)
February: Three Sides to Every Story – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)
March: Rain Trap – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
April: Priorities – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
May: The Night in Heaven – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
June: Witches Don’t Burn – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)
July: A Regular Flat – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)
August: Many Happy Returns – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
September: And Now, It Will All Go Downhill – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
October: Planet Qirim – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)
November: You Are Her, Aren’t You? – Seyit Ali Dastan (Turkey)
December: Culture Shock – Veronika Groke (Austria)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Top row (left to right): Russia – Dacha – Artic photo (Shutterstock), Saratov, Russia – Cityscape along the Volga – Viktor Karasev (Shutterstock), Voronezh region, Russia – Dacha – thekovtun (Shutterstock)
Center image: Altai, Russia – Dacha – Nick Night (Unsplash)
Background image in lower half: Saratov, Russia – Kirov Avenue – Aleksei Butenkov (Shutterstock)
Lower left image: Saratov, Russia – Over the Volga – Sergey Lavrentev (Shutterstock)
Lower right image: Saratov, Russia – Downtown – Cad Wizard (Shutterstock)
Source: The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed