CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Earlier...
It was a two hour drive north of St. Petersburg; his hometown was more like a hamlet than an rural pocket of modern civilization. Victor barely remembered it, but he wasn't surprised that the funeral would be held there. He felt a little silly for thinking it would be held anywhere else.
I almost could've gotten away with not meeting Konstantin at all. I should've known the funeral would be there. The whole family is buried there.
Victor was entirely unaccustomed to the kind of scenery that greeted him there. People stared as the Mercedes pulled through, but it wasn't the adulatory stares of impressed and excited fans; it was the hard, stern, judging stares of people who wanted nothing to do with the modern world, and saw their arrival as a threat. The village looked like a time capsule with a futuristic wonder-machine heading through.
The funeral was set up on a small farm a minute further behind the town. There were several cars there already. Some were more modern - a white Hyundai Creta, a blue Toyota Prius, and a black AvtoVAZ Lada - which likely came from nearby cities, but most were old and worn down, looking like they were salvaged from the Soviet days. Some people had even arrived on horseback, and their mounts were tied to fences or trees at the end of the dirt road leading to the small, dilapidated house on the hill ahead of them. Yakov parked his well-kept 1985 Mercedes-Benz Brabus next to the Lada; as far away from the horses and their leavings as he could get.
From the look of everything, Victor's lifestyle was miles apart from where his family had come from. He didn't doubt that this humble beginning is what made it possible for his mother to tolerate the ultra-conservative ideas of home-life that his father had forced onto them.
Dogs barked and ran around them as they parked and got out of the car, and the duo took in the smell of the countryside, like they'd just found themselves on another planet.
"It's been an age since I was out here last. It's hard to believe these are your roots." Yakov said quietly, and stepped out ahead of the vehicle to walk with his athlete up the small, wet hill. They could see a small crowd of people past the edge of the tree-line, where a small clearing gave way to what looked like a family cemetery.
Victor was too busy scanning their surroundings for his father to notice anything else. He eventually spotted Konstantin coming out of the hovel with two other men, though thankfully, neither was near as large as he was. When the two of them caught sight of each other, Konstantin started calling for the group to gather around. A scruffy Russian Orthodox priest was quick to follow out of the house shortly after that.
The hole had already been dug, and a simple, white-painted wooden box was next to it. There was a framed picture sitting on top of it with flowers all around. The photo showed Victor's mother from years ago. There probably weren't many photos taken after he'd left the family. Tatiyana was a beautiful woman in her youth, and probably into her elder years as well. Long, wavy, silver-grey hair cascaded over her shoulders and framed her face. She had warm green eyes and a pale, soft complexion. Truly a song-bird that married a monstrous, wild animal.
There were simple benches set up, and people started to sit down as Konstantin gave his little speech. Victor kept his eyes down; he heard the words but didn't listen too hard to them. People sitting nearby were whispering about him, turning their heads over their shoulders to gawk at him. He wasn't sure if he was seen as some morbid curiosity returning home, or if they were even sure who he was. He could only hope that his silver hair was enough to reveal who he was in relation to the woman about to be buried. There were enough people around with similar hair to make it clear that he belonged on some level.
Yakov kept himself between Victor and the rest of the attendees, acting as a buffer in case there were problems.
Most of the whispers Victor heard seemed to be about the days prior, and insulting remarks about how the 'ungrateful son' hadn't bothered to come during that whole time.
What was I supposed to do? He thought angrily, I was in South Korea all weekend. I only just found out yesterday where I was supposed to go. There's no way I could've been here in time to help with the washing and dressing of the body. He paused and shook his head. ...Why am I even trying to justify this? They don't know a thing about me. They'd look at me like a carnival side-show if I tried to explain it.
He hadn't had the courage yet to look at the head of the coffin, where he could barely see the fluff of the blankets and pillow that made-up the 'new living-room' his mother was to be interred in.
They must've done the funeral procession this morning, Victor thought on. Usually those things take hours...how long had they been finished and waiting for me? Did Konstantin deliberately give me the wrong time so I'd show up when it was inappropriate? Or maybe he just wanted to be sure I'd be here for the least amount of time.
People started to stand and approach the coffin, placing things inside it as they passed and started to wail. When it seemed like it was Victor's turn, he stood and followed the line. Anxiously, slowly, he approached the coffin, and for the first time since he was twelve, looked upon the face of the woman who had given him life.
He barely recognized it. The accident had done extensive damage. But her hair...washed, combed, set with flowers...he knew it well. Silver-grey just like his, long and wavy, it framed the battered woman's head, neck, and shoulders before disappearing under the edge of the blanket.
Hidden in his pocket, Victor withdrew a small gift. A small wedge of brie and a bag of candied pecans. He placed them near her right shoulder, alongside dozens of other gifts of food, money, and precious heirlooms that other members of the family had already left behind.
He noticed that the priest was giving him dirty looks though, and he moved on to sit with Yakov while the 'seeing off' ceremony began. The priest put a paper crown on Tatiyana's head, and Konstantin returned with the two men from before to nail the coffin lid down; one of them kept looking over at him, but Victor didn't notice. A few minutes later, the coffin was in the pre-dug hole, and people returned up to toss dirt and coins down onto it, symbolically uniting the deceased with the earth, and paid for her transit into the next world.
A horse whinnied at the bottom of the hill, and Victor lifted his head, realizing most of the ceremony was over at that point. Several people lamented loudly nearby, sobbing openly...be he couldn't bring himself to evoke anything close to that level of sadness.
He thought back on the contents of the letter.
Victor...
I don't know that we will ever speak to one another again, but if it ever comes to pass that you get this letter, you should know that I still love you, as any mother could love her only son.
There was mournful singing all around him; songs of family life, leaving to ascend to heaven, and other such melodies. If nothing else, Russians were loud at funerals. Most of them, anyway.
Victor stood to approach the mound of dirt that had replaced the hole. He kept his hands in his pockets as he looked down at the freshly turned earth, trying to think back on the happier times from his long-gone childhood. There were a few years, after all, before he developed his love for skating, where his family seemed relatively normal. It hadn't really occurred to him until years after his departure that things were so specifically structured as they had been. His mother stayed home, his father did manual labor, and their life was simple.
He recalled one particular winter; the ice had frozen rather smoothly at the local pond. He was six, maybe a little younger, and had found the slippery surface to be the greatest thing he'd ever known. Even with the snowdrift and only his boots to slide on, it was tremendous fun. At the time, when his father had condemned his mirth and made him get back onto the banks, he thought that it was because the ice was dangerous. He would sneak out with his mother to play on it though anytime Konstantin was gone for the day.
It was his mother that got him his first make-shift skates.
His mind went blank after that; he closed his eyes and tried to push the memories out. He then heard footsteps behind him, but for some insane reason, he thought it was Yakov, since no one said anything.
"Vitya...!" Yakov's voice rang up; it was further away than Victor had believed.
His eyes went wide with realization, but then half-narrowed when he felt the cold trickle of a liquid being poured over the top of his head. His left eye twitched nervously, feeling the...whatever it was dribbling down the sides of his face, behind his ears, down his neck, and into his clothing. He was paralyzed though, aside from how he trembled. The pouring continued for a while. When the last drips finally ended, the cold had made its way half-way down his chest, and made everything bitter cold. He turned his eyes a little to the left see the shadow of Konstantin standing directly behind him.
[You made us wait.]
[We were here an hour before you said to show. Whatever tardiness you're accusing me of is your own fault.]
[At least you had the sense to leave your wife behind.] Konstantin chortled.
Victor snapped. The world was red.
He felt a searing pain in his right hand as he turned on his heel to cram his fist as hard as he could into the older man's face. He felt the crunch of cartilage under the impact, and saw the droplets of blood that flew away as Konstantin wobbled a little.
"VICTOR!" Yakov yelled, "What are you thinking!? Get out of there be-"
Konstantin was too large to put off balance by a little fly-peck like Victor's sucker-punch, and he easily reached out with one hand to grab him by the throat as the other came up to set his nose back into place.
Yakov came scrambling up to try and pull them apart, but Konstantin backhanded him in the jaw and sent him sprawling to the mud, then turned his attention back to the man in his grip.
He put his thumb over one of his nostrils, blew a snort to clear it, and then did the same with the other, [So at least you had some balls in the end.] The bear taunted, holding tight even as Victor tried to hit his arm for release, [But maybe it's just that, between you and your girlfriend, you had half a ball between you. Did you borrow it to come out here?]
[...Yuri...is a better man than you ever were...] Victor struggled to say, trying to draw breath when he could, [You're just...an animal...!]
Konstantin shrugged, and used sheer brute force to force Victor down to his knees by his neck. That massive bear-arm came up after that, and Victor would only watch in horror as the world turned to slow motion. He felt the first crack against his eye socket, but not the second, and he went sprawling to the ground. Searing pain shot through his entire body, and he felt a kick to his ribs, which pushed him a few feet further back on the grave mound. His head spun as he quaked, but tried his best to see if anymore assaults would come.
"KON!" A new voice yelled, shrill and horrified, but still too far away to be helpful at all.
The bear just looked at the broken heap in front of him, and moved to pull the large flask from his coat pocket again; he took a sip before he poured the remains onto Victor's head again. The alcohol made Victor's eye burn, and he moved his hand up to try and protect it, pulling it away only to see blood everywhere. He couldn't hear the sound of foot-falls rushing through the snow and mud to get to him; he could barely hear himself, [What do you want from me!?] He barked weakly, refusing to look up at the man.
[Nothing.]
[Do you get some sick pleasure from watching me suffer, then!?] Victor argued, and tried to push himself back to his feet, but found it difficult with his head spinning like it was, [Do you like inflicting pain on others!?]
[What are you doing, Kon!?] The second voice came up again, this time much closer. The footsteps ended right between Victor and the bear, and the darkly-clad figure lifted his arms up to the side, [You're desecrating Tat's grave with this! What's wrong with you!?]
[What's wrong with me?] Konstantin echoed, [What's wrong with him?] He asked instead, and gestured at the downed 'child.'
Victor was incensed, [...I never did anything to deserve this...] He said, still struggling; his jacket and pants were filthy with the freshly dug dirt, and made worse by the blood falling freely from the deep cuts on his left cheek.
Konstantin just howled with laughter at that, [You never did anything? You've spent every day of the last twenty-something years insulting this family with your ridiculous prancing about on the ice.] He harped angrily, not even needing to tilt his frame to look around the skinny figure between him and his son.
[Are you his coach!?] The second man asked, looking towards Yakov as the man still struggled to get up the hill, [Get up here and help carry him! He can't walk on his own!]
[So what!?] Victor went on, heedless to the other converasation, [So I can't knock down trees with my fists or scare wolves away with my presence. Who cares!?] He yelled, able to get up by holding tightly to the statue-headstone behind his mother's grave, [I love what I do and I'm more successful than you ever were. My name is recognized around the world! I have enough money that I can retire today and be well-off until I'm too old to care anymore!]
[And what have you done with all that success?] Konstantin wondered odiously, [Kept it to yourself. You come back here with all your nice clothes, chauffeured by a man in a black Mercedes, showing off to all these people who've broken their backs to put food on the table for their families...and all you did was, what...dance? Strippers do the same thing, selling their bodies for the world to gawk at. There's nothing honorable about what you do. Nothing noble.]
Victor grit his teeth, [I'm not a stripper. I'm an ATHLETE. Figure skating is an Olympic sport for fuck's sake!]
[You perform for visual appeal, not skill.]
The battered silver pressed his fingers to the wounds, and pulled back a bloodied mess. He could feel himself starting to slip down again; he couldn't keep a grip on the statue anymore, [What...what do you want from me...?] He asked; pleaded, [I came all this way...to say goodbye to my mother, and you've just...tortured me this entire time.]
[I already told you. I don't want anything from you.] The bear shrugged, [Tatiyana asked me once that if anything ever happened to her, that I would find a way to tell you. I'm a man of my word and I did ask she asked. That's all.]
[I'm sure she'd be proud of you for what you've done since getting me here.]
[It doesn't matter what she thinks anymore. She's gone.]
[I wish it was you instead...] Victor said quietly.
Yakov knew that was the end of it, and he moved in to gather his athlete. The man who'd stepped between the pair helped lift Victor back up to his feet, and walked a few paces around to be sure they were clear of Kon's reach, then backed off to let them go on their own. Konstantin just watched them without a word.
As the two made it half-way down the hill, Victor planted his heels, and turned once more to glare hatefully at the man who had sired him, [I never want to hear from you again.] He said stiffly, [Don't ever find a reason to contact me. Don't contact Yakov, or even the ISU for that matter. I don't even want to hear about it when you finally die.]
[Just go back to your queer lover, Victor. You're not welcome here.]
Victor's brow furrowed at that, but for some reason, all he could do was laugh at it. Yakov thought the man had lost his mind and tried to shove him down the hill again, but still, Victor laughed, [His name is Yuri Katsuki...and soon, it's going to be Yuri Nikiforov! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?]
[Victor I swear to God if you don't shut up and get in the car-] Yakov protested.
[He's going to be my husband and we're going to do all kinds of unspeakable things to each other!]
"VITYA!"
Konstantin just glowered at them, those hateful slate-blue eyes trained on the man he knew - but refused to accept - as his son. The man nearby to him - thin and well-dressed, with a flat-cap to cover wisps of silver-grey hair - watched and shook his head quietly.
Yakov shoved the bleeding man into the front passenger seat and slammed the door closed after him, then headed to the other side. Despite the clamor, he pulled out calmly, not wanting to cause a scene in the little town as they practically fled from it.
It was a few miles down the road before Victor finally let himself accept that it was over, and he look at where the skin on his knuckles had been slashed on his father's nose. Yakov pulled over briefly to pull a travel-size wrap of tissue from the glove box and threw it in Victor's lap.
No matter how much he tried to dry his face though, the alcohol that saturated his hair continued to drip for a long time after, drawing new, faint red lines down his face and neck until he finally gave up. He felt tremendous guilt and worry as they pulled back into St. Petersburg. The weight of not knowing how badly Yuri would react was crushing him.
But, when they finally got back to the skating arena and his young fiancé had fainted, Victor knew - in a weird, roundabout sort of way - it was going to be okay.