Island Has Ghosts

Epilogue

Violet stared unblinkingly at the greasy, dark yellow mire that spilled over the freshly mopped floor. She, hardened by many similar situations and never losing her fighting spirit in the most stalemated ones, was stunned. Her silence was so eloquent that the house had been unusually quiet for five minutes. Apparently, the perpetrators of the mischief were expecting an explosion of emotion, so they huddled together fearfully, gawking green eyes, and did not move. But Violet had neither strength nor words to scold the two redheads.

Five liters of thick olive oil littered the clean kitchen floor. A plastic bottle and an empty dog food bag lay nearby. This same food was drowning in the oil in generous islands and emitting a stench. The difficulty of the situation was that the oil 'swamp' flooded the part of the kitchen from which there was an exit to the utility room with mops, rags, buckets and detergents. Usually Violet in such cases did not hesitate and instantly began to act, but now she was more tired than ever.

It was because the last few days had been spent in excitement. The day after tomorrow Papa would arrive, but not alone, but with Marco, Enzo and, unexpectedly, Elizabeth. Dad's legal spouse decisively declared that she is now also a grandmother, albeit not a native one, and therefore she is obliged to get acquainted with the three-year-old granddaughters. All members of the Minelli family flew to Moscow, each with his own purpose. Dad was going to buy an apartment in Moscow: for the girls for the future, and in the meantime, so that he or his sons could stay in it during visits to Russia. The eldest, Marco, was only coming for a couple of days. He worked for the same company as his father and was assigned to handle contracts with Russia. Marco planned to visit the Moscow office and return soon to Rome to see his pregnant wife. Enzo had met a Russian girl on his last trip and now, after several meetings with her in Italy and constant correspondence, he was flying to meet her family. Elizabeth had to stay in Russia the longest - she had set herself up for the role of grandmother and was going to spend all her days babysitting the girls. This circumstance worried Violet most of all. First, how will mom and Elizabeth find a common language, if they had not gotten along well with each other before? Secondly, will the two grandmothers agree on the upbringing of granddaughters? Thirdly, the twins could bring even a stone to an emotional explosion, let alone the temperamental Elizabeth? Violet secretly suspected that dad's wife would pack a suitcase in a day and a half. But on the other hand, Elizabeth had a lot of experience in raising Marco, Enzo, and Violet herself, because every time the three of them got together, the house threatened to turn into another Roman ruin.

All week, in preparation for her family's arrival, Violet had been active, collected, and relatively calm. But the reaction to the oil puddle showed how worried she really was, because instead of reprimanding the girls and cleaning up the leprosy with them, she panicked. The evening's going to be a bust! She can't make it! She's not going anywhere! Mom's on her way, but how can she cope with such naughty girls?

Maybe she shouldn't go on vacation. After all, the twins will give even Elizabeth a heart attack. Violet realized that she would be away from home worrying not only about her daughters, but also about her mother and Elizabeth.

She was only distracted by a phone call that didn't even last two minutes, but Marta took the five-liter bottle of olive oil her dad had brought from Italy out of the kitchen cabinet, unscrewed the cap and poured the liquid onto the floor, pulled out a bag of dog food and poured it all into the puddle. Her twin sister, meanwhile, was in her parents' bedroom painting on the light-colored wallpaper with mom's new lipstick.

"Ma?" One of the girls called softly. Violet looked over and saw two doll faces with remorse written on them. Well, they realized what they had done! Marta was staring at her mother with green eyes and sucking her thumb. Pellets of dog food were tangled in her unruly dark red curls. This one still had to wash her hair. Marfa smiled happily, realizing that her mother had thawed, and wiped her red lipstick-stained palms on her homemade pants and flannel blouse. And this daughter went straight to the washing machine for a long wash with no spin. Next to the twins, looking ingratiatingly into the eyes of the mistress, sat plump for four years of nourishing life Gray and beat his pale tail on the floor. Marfa had painted the dog too: she had painted his glasses red. The lipstick was permanent, so Gray would have to wear glasses for a long time. Just like Marfa - to smile with a clown's mouth, because the 'makeup' did not take ordinary water and soap, and to scrub off the lipstick special milk daughter flatly refused.