37.the shadow of the past 2

2012, Moscow.

Leonardo looked at the city where he was born from a distance, a city he had never seen even once. It was cold; the icy air bit his skin while he watched the falling snow for a long time. His father had taken him back to Italy on the day he was born. He had no memories related to this country. No sense of belonging. But this was wrong. His mother was Russian, and she was still living a captive life in this country.

He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address he had found on his own. He had just turned nineteen and had only one photograph of his mother. That single photograph had become his most treasured possession.

When he arrived at a grand mansion, he got out of the taxi. With his backpack on, he approached the guards at the gate.

"я пришел повидаться с Дмитрием Ивановым" ("I've come to see Dimitri Ivanov.")

The guard sized up Leonardo. "Do you have an appointment?"

Leonardo laughed sarcastically. An appointment? Did he need one? He was born within these massive, icy walls. Had he ever smelled his mother? He didn't know. Did his mother know he was alive? He didn't know that either. Maybe he had siblings. But Leonardo knew nothing.

The only thing he knew was that his mother was still alive.

"Tell that old man that Katya Ivonov's son is here. I'm sure he'll want to see me," he said with a mocking tone.

A minute later, as the doors opened wide, Leonardo walked heavily towards the house. A mansion built on hundreds of acres of land. But in his eyes, there was nothing but cold walls. With every step, he despised this soulless house even more. Was he really born here? When he reached the door, a very old man greeted him.

"You are Dimitri Ivanov."

"Didn't your father teach you to be respectful to your elders, young man?" Leonardo laughed mockingly. His father had taught him more about how to use a gun.

"Excuse me, old man, my father only taught me how to shoot. I didn't have a mother to teach me manners. Ah, she was with you, wasn't she? My being so rude is partly your fault."

"You don't resemble Katya at all; you look just like your father."

"I take pride in that, old man. I came here not to see you but to see my mother. Where is she?"

"Come with me." Leonardo frowned. Had he agreed so easily? Despite all the risks, he followed the old man. They went up to a separate floor of the mansion, like a maiden's tower.

Inside, a middle-aged woman was sitting, just looking outside through the window. His mother was in a wheelchair.

"Can't she walk?"

"She threw herself off the balcony," he said with an emotionless voice, his eyes fixed on his daughter.

"When?" asked Leonardo, his eyes filling with tears. He dropped his backpack and took a few steps forward.

"A day after you were born."

Leonardo turned to the old man with fiery eyes. "You told her I died, didn't you?"

"I wanted her to move on with her life."

"Damn you, what kind of man are you? What kind of father tells his daughter that?"

"Mind your tone, boy. I am still your grandfather."

"My only relative is my mother, and believe me, old man, I will take her and leave. Now get out of my sight."

Leonardo took step by step closer to his mother. His palms were sweaty, and his heart was racing with anticipation. Finally, he was in front of his mother.

"Mother," he whispered in Russian. Katya shifted her gaze from the window to the person addressing her.

"Who are you?" She asked with a faint voice. Why was her voice so weak? Why were her eyes staring blankly? He knelt in front of the wheelchair, taking the woman's hand into his own.

"I'm Leonardo, your son. I came here to take you with me."

"I don't have a son. He died because of me, my baby. Did you know that if he had lived, I would have named him Leonardo?" A hysterical laughter escaped from her mouth.

"I never saw my baby, though. They didn't show him to me. My father never took me to his grave either. Speaking of which, where is he? If he sees you here, he'll kill you. Leave, go!" She said, trying to push her son away with her hands.

"Leave, before he hurts you."

Leonardo began to cry. He laid his head on his mother's lap, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Why are you crying? Stop crying. I don't like the sound of crying. If you're going to cry, leave."

"Mother."

"I'm not your mother. My baby died; I was his mother, but I couldn't protect him. I can't protect you either, go away."

Leonardo looked deep into the woman's eyes. "I'll protect you, mother, okay? I missed you so much. It's me, Leonardo, I didn't die. Look, I'm alive. I'm here to take you with me," he said, hugging her tightly.

"But my son is dead."

"I didn't die, I'm here, right next to you. Look, I found you."

He had found her. But what he found was only a shell of a person. When his mother began watching outside again after a while, Leonardo stood up and left the apartment.

Outside the door, he saw Dimitri Ivanov. Clenching his fist, he threw a punch, landing it squarely on the old man's face.

Dimitri fell to the ground.

"What happened to my mother? What's wrong with her? Tell me, or I'll kill you right here," he said.

"Personality disorder."

"What?"

"Katya has a personality disorder. Her mother had it too, but Katya's is different. There are two Katya's. One is the daughter I know. The one who gave birth to you, ran away from home, confronted me. The other is the person you saw inside. That's also Katya, but in her reality, you're dead. A hopeless, desperate, introverted Katya. She won't recognize you, of course, until the real Katya emerges."