The Ultimate Bound of Family

It was the first time I had ever heard my father yell. I would even say screamed, even though my mom had always taught me never to curse or even think about cursing. Dad can only raise his voice, but he cannot yell. But now he screamed and cursed and used words that would not appear in a dictionary or that a well brought up boy would say. Two hundred meters from us, on the autumn concrete, lay a corpse...

Dad stood in the middle of his make-up room, half washed. He already had his robe on, but still had his wig and make-up from playing Count Di Luni, and bombarded me with colourful, yet unpleasant words. To be honest, my old man, the famous baritone, Vladimir Doroshin, often allowed himself to raise his voice, but in our family they called it “letting off steam” and considered it essential for him. Fortunately, his complaints were never addressed at someone in particular. He’d say things like “it’s hard to find good help,” or “nobody knows how to prepare a decent show around here,’ or that he’s retiring from the stage tomorrow, that he cannot work in that kind of atmosphere, that the hotel was cold and he almost lost his voice, etc...  I never heard that he’d direct his yells at mom, or me, or the person with whom he is currently speaking. In other words, Dad would always say “everybody is dumb,” but he would never say “you’re stupid.”

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