“Where are you taking my television?! Put it back! I don’t care that the plug on your TV burned out—that’s no excuse to strip my apartment bare! Have you completely lost your conscience? You drag away anything that isn’t nailed down!” the daughter-in-law screamed, blocking her mother-in-law’s path as the older woman attempted to carry the plasma television out of their bedroom.
The scene unfolding before Olga’s eyes in the narrow hallway bordered on complete, unfathomable absurdity. Barely a minute earlier, she had come out of the bathroom and noticed strange noises coming from the bedroom—metallic scraping, heavy grunting, and the sound of someone struggling with something. Olga had assumed Vitalik was looking for something in the wardrobe. But the steady clinking of a spoon against a deep bowl and loud smacking noises were clearly coming from the kitchen. Her husband was calmly eating his lunch.
When Olga looked into the bedroom, she froze in shock. An empty metal bracket gaped on the wall. The cables had been roughly ripped from the sockets, leaving dirty black streaks across the pale wallpaper, while the long plastic cable duct lay on the neatly made bed, torn out along with chunks of the wall.
And now the person responsible for this small-scale destruction was attempting to flee the scene of the crime.
Galina Sergeyevna, a large and extremely ungainly woman, now resembled a stubborn ant burdened with stolen loot. Her short, plump fingers were wrapped so tightly around the broad black frame of the fifty-inch television that her knuckles had turned blue. The heavy plasma screen rested awkwardly against her prominent stomach, which was tightly covered by an old, brightly patterned housecoat. The thick black power cable, which the mother-in-law had not even bothered to coil or lift from the floor, dragged across the pale laminate like an ugly snake, its plug catching against the corners of the baseboards.
Galina Sergeyevna’s face had turned a deep, unhealthy crimson from the tremendous physical strain. Large beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead and above her upper lip, and her breathing had become a heavy, broken whistle. Yet her small, deeply set eyes showed not the slightest trace of embarrassment, guilt, or fear at being caught red-handed. They contained nothing but an ironclad, shameless certainty that she had every right to take someone else’s expensive belongings.
“Don’t you shout at me, you hysterical woman! Screaming loud enough for the whole building to hear, like some fishwife at the market!” Galina Sergeyevna snapped, panting heavily and spraying saliva without even considering putting the heavy television down. “My set broke! The plug melted, and now I have nothing to watch! You only sleep in this bedroom anyway, so you don’t need it at all! You have another television hanging in the living room. One is enough for you—you’re not royalty! I’m Vitalik’s mother, and I have every right to take whatever I need!”
Olga lunged forward and completely blocked the way to the front door.
The wide plasma panel was obviously heavy and extremely inconvenient to carry. The narrow hallway, crowded by shoe racks on one side and a built-in sliding-door wardrobe on the other, turned this brazen theft into a comical but no less revolting spectacle. Galina Sergeyevna physically could not turn around while holding the television straight, so she had to carry it sideways, repeatedly scraping the corner of its black plastic frame against the wallpaper. Every movement was accompanied by strained puffing, but she stubbornly pushed forward with the grace of an armored tank.
The situation had gone far beyond anything a reasonable human being could comprehend. The older woman had not merely entered their private bedroom. She had somehow unscrewed the fasteners on the wall bracket by herself, removed the enormously heavy television, and started dragging it toward the exit.
And all of this was happening to an infuriating culinary accompaniment from the open kitchen door.
Galina Sergeyevna’s own son and Olga’s lawful husband, Vitalik, was calmly finishing his rich bowl of borscht. Olga could clearly hear a stool being moved and the knock of a knife against a cutting board—her husband was cutting himself another slice of bread, completely detached from the fact that his mother was literally carrying property out of their apartment at that very moment.
“What right are you talking about?! You are in someone else’s home! Put the television down immediately!” Olga hissed, pronouncing every word distinctly.
She planted her feet wide apart in her house slippers, pressed her shoulder against the wooden doorframe, and made it clear with her entire posture that her mother-in-law would not get past her with that enormous black rectangle under any circumstances. Olga had no intention of allowing this shameless robbery to go unpunished.
“That television belongs to me! You didn’t buy it, and you didn’t pay a single penny for it!” Olga continued harshly, keeping her furious gaze fixed on her mother-in-law’s sweaty face. “I couldn’t care less that you’re bored and have nothing to watch! Go to a store and buy a new television with your own money. I wouldn’t even let you take a broken remote control from among my belongings!”
Olga realized that words were completely useless here. Galina Sergeyevna stared at her with such impenetrable, mule-like stubbornness that it seemed as though she were holding not someone else’s expensive television but her own personal cross, which she had to carry back to her apartment at any cost. The enormous black rectangle of the plasma screen seemed to have fused with the mother-in-law’s immense figure, becoming an inseparable part of her.
“Let go of it right now!” Olga roared, stepping sharply forward.
She threw out both hands and gripped the broad plastic frame on the opposite side with fingers that turned white from the strain. Her nails scraped unpleasantly across the smooth, matte plastic before digging firmly into the reinforcing ridges on the rear panel.
The television jerked noticeably as the two adult women simultaneously pulled the bulky device in opposite directions.
“You greedy little witch!” Galina Sergeyevna shrieked, clenching her plump fists tightly around the thin casing. Olga’s powerful counterpull nearly knocked the heavy woman to the floor, but she remained standing by spreading her legs wide in her worn-out house slippers. “Take your hands off my television! Nothing here belongs to you! You buy everything with Vitalik’s money, which means it belongs to me too!”
“I bought this television with my own bonus, you old thief!” Olga hissed through clenched teeth, pulling the heavy device toward herself with all her strength. “Let go before I call the poli—before I break your fingers!”
The television, clamped tightly between the two enraged women, instantly became the centerpiece of an absurd, primitive tug-of-war in the middle of the cramped hallway. The wide fifty-inch screen became a black bridge transmitting pure physical aggression from one woman to the other.
Galina Sergeyevna’s fingers, resembling short, thick sausages, had turned bluish white. Ugly greasy streaks and smeared prints from her sweaty palms began appearing across the delicate glossy screen. The thin modern casing creaked ominously under the tremendous pressure of two forces pulling in opposite directions.
The mother-in-law breathed so loudly and hoarsely that it sounded as though she were suffering a severe asthma attack, yet she did not loosen her bulldog grip by even a millimeter. The sharp smell of stale sweat from her physical exertion mixed with the almost animalistic stubbornness radiating from her.
“Let go, I’m telling you! You’ll break it!” Galina Sergeyevna wheezed, attempting to use the full weight of her soft, heavy body.
She slowly began backing toward the safety of the front door. The soles of her rubber slippers slid across the pale laminate with a long, revolting squeak, leaving black marks behind. The thick power cable dangling below wrapped itself around her ankle, but she paid no attention and continued pulling the television toward herself.
“You let go before we drop it!” Olga braced her bare foot against the base of the sliding-door wardrobe, creating the perfect leverage, and yanked the black frame toward herself and slightly upward, trying to wrench the device from her opponent’s sweaty hands.
Once again, a perfectly peaceful clinking sound came from the open kitchen door. Judging by the distinctive noises, Vitalik was pouring himself fruit compote from a glass pitcher, completely ignoring the crashing struggle, the creaking plastic, the heavy panting, and the furious screams of two women only a few meters away.
That infuriated Olga even more than her mother-in-law’s blatant looting. A healthy grown man had simply removed himself from the situation, buried his face in his bowl, and allowed his mother to shamelessly carry property out of their bedroom.
“You materialistic bitch! You’re ready to strangle someone over a piece of plastic!” Galina Sergeyevna shouted, spraying saliva. Her broad face twisted with rage, and thick veins bulged along her neck. The faded housecoat stretched so tightly across her massive chest that its cheap plastic buttons looked ready to fly off at any moment. “Vitalik will see what a greedy monster you are! You wouldn’t even spare his own mother a television! I’m taking this set even if you split yourself in half trying to stop me!”
“You can choke on your own greed!” Olga growled, feeling the muscles in her back begin to burn from the strain.
She made another sharp, short pull toward herself while simultaneously twisting the thin frame to the left, trying to wrench one corner from her mother-in-law’s grip.
Something inside the expensive device gave a dry, pitiful crunch. The thin plastic casing bent dangerously into an arc. For a fraction of a second, both women froze in their ridiculous dance, breathing heavily into each other’s faces over the black rectangle of the screen.
Galina Sergeyevna suddenly realized that she was losing her balance because of the cable tangled around her legs and was about to fall backward onto the shoe rack. She immediately changed tactics.
Instead of pulling the television toward herself, she used all of her considerable weight to shove it forward with all her strength, directly into her daughter-in-law’s chest, hoping to knock Olga off her feet with a powerful battering-ram blow.
Galina Sergeyevna’s sudden push caught Olga completely by surprise. The full force of the mother-in-law’s enormous weight traveled through the rigid plastic casing and directly into Olga’s chest. The daughter-in-law instinctively recoiled, trying to keep her balance. Her bare heel slipped on the smooth laminate.
At that exact moment, Galina Sergeyevna’s damp, sweaty palms slid off the broad frame. She simply failed to hold the weight, multiplied by the momentum of her own aggressive forward thrust.
Deprived of support on one side, the television tilted sharply.
Olga tightened her white fingers with all her strength, desperately attempting to hold the fifty-inch monster by herself, but her awkward grip and the severely displaced center of gravity made it impossible. The heavy plasma panel crashed edge-first onto the hard hallway floor with a deep, hollow thud. The corner of the casing slammed into the seam of the laminate, leaving a deep dent.
For a fraction of a second, the television balanced on its narrow edge before falling flat on its screen.
The sound of the expensive device dying was revolting. It was a rich, multilayered crunch of the high-tech display panel shattering, mixed with the cracking of broken internal mountings and deformed outer plastic.
When the television struck the floor face-first, its thin frame could not withstand the impact. The screen was instantly covered by a dense, impenetrable web of deep gray and black cracks, spreading from the center toward the edges in ugly, uneven rays.
Galina Sergeyevna jumped away from the fallen device with an agility completely unexpected from a woman of her size. She pressed her massive back against the shoe rack, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at the mangled black rectangle lying at her feet.
The momentary confusion on her sweaty face instantly transformed into an expression of brazen, aggressive triumph. The mother-in-law immediately assessed the situation and unerringly chose the most advantageous tactic: attack.
“What have you done, you lunatic?!” Galina Sergeyevna screamed hysterically, pointing her short, plump finger at the shattered television. Her voice rose to a shriek that filled the narrow hallway. “Why did you throw the television on the floor?! Has greed completely rotted your brain?! You don’t watch it yourself, and you won’t let anyone else have it! You broke it deliberately just so I couldn’t get it!”
The crash of the falling television and the mother-in-law’s subsequent shrieking finally pierced the sound barrier surrounding the peaceful kitchen.
The door swung wider, and Vitalik stumbled into the hallway. He was wearing stretched-out sweatpants and a faded gray T-shirt. In his left hand, he was still tightly clutching a half-eaten slice of dark bread covered with a thick layer of mustard. His jaws moved rhythmically as he continued chewing his hearty lunch.
Vitalik stopped in the doorway, shifting his dull, chewing gaze from his red-faced, screaming mother to Olga and then to the destroyed television blocking the entire passage to the exit.
“Have you all completely lost your minds?!” Vitalik roared, swallowing an unchewed piece of food and advancing threateningly toward his wife.
He did not ask any questions. He did not even attempt to think logically about why the television, which had still been hanging on the wall bracket in their private bedroom that morning, was now lying in the hallway with its cables tangled around his mother’s feet.
Vitalik’s brain followed a primitive, long-established defensive pattern in which anyone could be declared guilty except Galina Sergeyevna.
“Why the hell are you smashing things in the house?! Have you gone insane, attacking my mother over a piece of plastic?!” her husband continued shouting, waving the slice of bread in front of Olga’s face.
“She ripped the television out of my hands and smashed it on the floor!” the mother-in-law immediately added fuel to the fire, theatrically clutching her chest through her worn-out housecoat. “She grabbed it like a madwoman! I thought she was going to kill me over that machine! She was shoving me around like a rabid animal! She nearly crippled me for life!”
“Have you lost your mind, Olya?!” her husband thundered, turning crimson with blind rage.
He threw the unfinished bread directly onto the open shoe cabinet and took an aggressive step toward his wife, placing his full weight directly onto the cracked screen of the shattered television. Another revolting dry crunch came from the display as the sole of his slipper finished destroying it.
“Not only did you smash an expensive television to pieces, but you attacked my mother too?! You need treatment, you sick woman!” Vitalik shouted, towering over Olga and spraying saliva in his outrage, completely convinced of his own righteousness and his wife’s absolute guilt for the entire chaotic situation.
Olga watched Vitalik’s heel, still inside his worn-out house slipper, continue grinding the remains of the expensive display into the floor with a disgusting crunch.
There was not a trace of pity inside her, nor the slightest desire to defend herself or explain anything to these two people. The situation had reached its absolute, concentrated peak of absurdity.
Her husband stood over the destroyed television, shaking his fists. Spittle flew from his mouth, and his face was distorted by primitive, completely unjustified fury. Behind him, Galina Sergeyevna swelled with triumph like a gigantic toad. The mother-in-law adjusted her faded housecoat while sparks of open malice danced in her deeply set eyes.
In a single moment, she had masterfully transferred all responsibility to her daughter-in-law and was now enjoying the spectacle she had created.
There could be no more compromises. No more lengthy discussions or attempts to resolve their problems.
It was as though an invisible switch clicked inside Olga’s head, cutting off every emotion and leaving behind only cold, calculating anger.
Without a word, she stepped forward, placing her bare feet directly on the mangled plastic of the television frame. The sharp edge of the broken casing painfully dug into her foot, but she did not even flinch.
With a sudden, predatory movement, Olga threw out both hands and seized the stretched collar of her husband’s gray T-shirt. The fabric pulled tight and crackled at the seams.
Caught by surprise, Vitalik choked on his own shout. His eyes widened in astonishment. He was accustomed to his wife always trying to negotiate and smooth things over, but now a completely different person stood before him.
Taking advantage of her husband’s momentary confusion and the adrenaline surging through her blood, Olga pulled him forcefully toward herself and then to the side.
Vitalik’s body weight worked against him once he lost his footing. He flailed his arms awkwardly, trying to grab the wall, but his fingers slid uselessly across the smooth wallpaper. His legs became tangled in the thick black power cable from the shattered television, and he fell heavily against the built-in wardrobe, striking his shoulder against its mirrored door with a dull thud.
“Get out of my apartment! Both of you! Now!” Olga roared.
Her voice sounded steady and hard, like the clash of metal, without the slightest trace of panic or confusion.
She took another determined step, reached for the heavy handle of the front door, turned the lock with one confident movement, and flung the steel door wide open, allowing the cool air of the stairwell into the suffocating hallway.
“Hey, have you completely lost it?! Take your hands off me!” Vitalik roared, struggling to regain his balance and push himself away from the wardrobe. “I’ll throw you out of here myself!”
Olga did not allow him to finish his threat.
She planted both hands firmly against his broad chest and shoved him through the open doorway with all her strength, pouring all the anger she had accumulated over the destroyed television and the brazen theft into that single movement.
Vitalik shot out onto the landing. His rubber slippers scraped loudly across the dirty concrete floor. He tripped over the edge of the doormat and narrowly avoided falling face-first down the filthy stairs, grabbing the rusty metal railing with his fingers at the final moment.
The mother-in-law, who had watched the physical expulsion of her beloved son with her mouth hanging open, finally realized that her turn had inevitably arrived.
The insolent expression on Galina Sergeyevna’s face instantly changed into open, animalistic fear. She tried to press herself deeper into the corner between the shoe rack and the wall, genuinely hoping that her massive, ungainly body would become an insurmountable obstacle.
“Now get out of here, you looter!” Olga hissed, firmly grabbing her mother-in-law by the thick sleeve of her patterned housecoat.
“Help! Somebody help me! Vitalik, my son, save me! She’s going to cripple me!” Galina Sergeyevna screamed loudly enough for the entire stairwell to hear. She began desperately waving her short, plump arms, attempting to pry her daughter-in-law’s iron grip from her sleeve.
Olga completely ignored her piercing shrieks.
She jerked her mother-in-law forward by the sleeve, forcing the older woman to take an awkward step through sheer momentum. Then Olga planted an open palm against her massive, sweat-soaked back and shoved her powerfully toward the exit.
The heavy woman toppled over the high threshold like an enormous sack of potatoes.
Galina Sergeyevna spilled onto the landing and slammed her immense stomach directly into her son’s back just as he had begun turning around, preparing to charge back into the apartment with his fists raised.
“Have you completely lost all sense of what’s acceptable, you lunatic?!” Vitalik shouted so loudly that his voice echoed throughout the fourth floor as he desperately tried to keep his moaning and wailing mother upright. His face had turned the color of an overripe tomato, and the veins in his neck bulged like thick, throbbing ropes. “I’ll grind you into dust for this! I’ll make sure you end up homeless on the street!”
“What kind of monster attacks her own mother-in-law?! All over a piece of plastic!” Galina Sergeyevna wailed, leaning against the peeling green wall of the stairwell and breathing heavily.
Olga stood motionless in the doorway, towering over them. Her gaze remained completely empty, detached, and incredibly cold.
She slowly looked toward the wooden cabinet in the hallway.
There, directly beside the half-eaten slice of bread Vitalik had abandoned, thickly covered with cheap mustard, lay the long black remote control for the shattered television. It was the only surviving part of the destroyed device.
Without taking her heavy gaze from her screaming, red-faced husband for even a second, Olga slowly reached out and picked up the remote. The smooth plastic felt pleasantly heavy and comfortable in her hand.
“You forgot your plasma television,” she said in a completely even, icy voice.
She clenched the remote tightly in her fist, swung her arm sharply, and hurled the rectangular piece of black plastic directly at Vitalik with tremendous force.
The heavy remote whistled through the air and struck her husband’s forehead with a sharp crack. Vitalik grunted from the sudden pain and grabbed his face. The remote bounced away and smashed into pieces against the concrete wall with a loud snap.
Two AA batteries flew from the casing and rolled cheerfully down the stairs with a metallic clatter, disappearing into the darkness of the stairwell.
Without waiting for another round of carefully chosen screams and insults, Olga silently stepped backward, took hold of the handle, and smoothly closed the heavy metal door without making a single unnecessary sound.
She immediately turned the inner lock through all four rotations…
