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The telephone rings again. With a sense of doom, Mama picks up the receiver and says automatically: „Editorial office.“ I hear Olga’s agitated voice.

„Mila, are you OK?“

Mama sighs heavily:

„I feel better already.“

„That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the pregnancy. Are you serious?“

„Olya, I’m not a young girl anymore.“

„Can I come over today?“

„Just don’t come before seven. I still have to put together the materials from the party conference, and then get groceries. My refrigerator is always empty before payday.“

„Should I bring anything?“

„A man…“

When I hear this vile word, I bang against the wall of my cell in vexation. She stammers and explains.

„I don’t have anything to lose now.“

„All right, keep your chin up. See you this evening.“

„So long.“

Mama slowly puts down the receiver. She stares dully at the table, not thinking about anything. I don’t understand what’s going on with her now. Why doesn’t she want me? Why isn’t she happy that she is carrying a son under her heart, the way any woman would be? Would she be more reasonable if she knew that? Many women dream of having a boy for their first child. I have no idea how to give her a hint that I resemble her long deceased father. And when I grow up, I will be just as handsome, tall and broad-shouldered.