Chapter 47: Cheek Kisses and Reunion After Long Separation

Normally, meeting one’s mother and younger sister after a long separation should be a joyous thing, but when Mikhail, who had been chatting with others in the living room, saw those two figures etched deep in his memory, before he could move, the two of them rushed toward him with an exuberant cry of delight.

Under the gaze of everyone present, Mikhail’s mother and sister clutched him tightly in their arms, crying and laughing, kissing him incessantly.

Though slightly stunned, some emotion deep within him compelled Mikhail to embrace them instinctively, then awkwardly returned a cheek kiss.

Notably, the cheek kiss is a long-standing Russian custom, largely shaped by the profound influence of Eastern Orthodoxy.

In Russian Eastern Orthodoxy, kissing symbolizes love for one’s close kin, and such kisses are commonly part of rituals—for instance, during prayer recitation: “I will love You, Lord!”—the priest touches his lips to the sacred vessels; after receiving communion, the baptized are kissed within the church.

Typically, the traditional Russian cheek kiss consists of three touches: right, left, right—because three is a sacred number in Christianity, such as the Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—and Christ’s three transfigurations.

And the three crosses at Christ’s crucifixion.

That alone would have been normal, but later, the “Order King” and wholesale order dealer Old Bona fully embraced his scientific spirit, altering the ritual: he kissed twice on the cheeks, then delivered a final, passionate kiss to express his sincere emotion.

How passionate? Let’s put it this way: Tito’s lips bled from his kiss; Castro lost several whiskers; this fiery kiss showed no gender preference—many famous figures had experienced Old Bona’s embrace; even Britain’s Thatcher narrowly avoided it, skillfully dodging at the last moment.

That said, Old Bona was a man of principle—he never initiated a kiss with anyone from capitalist nations. Once, the U.S. president unexpectedly kissed him; Old Bona was furious, likely feeling he’d been tainted by a capitalist kiss, as if his purity had been violated…

Of course, when relations were close, a kiss was acceptable—so later, Old Bona and Carter did share a fairly intense kiss.

Mikhail could only think: thank goodness he wouldn’t live to see that day—otherwise, he’d carry a lifelong shadow of aging.

Finally, Mikhail resolved that once he truly became famous, he would inscribe this into Russian history: “Cheek kisses are for cheeks only—no kissing the lips.”

At first, people might find it baffling, but like the saying “Cultural workers must have culture,” one day the boomerang might strike someone on the head…

At this moment, these thoughts flashed through Mikhail’s mind briefly; he was far more immersed in the overwhelming emotion of reunion.

When their emotions finally calmed slightly, Mikhail’s mother spoke incoherently: “My dear Misha, thank God! Seeing you so well makes me overjoyed—only God can understand how I feel right now!

Your novel was published in ‘The Fatherland Chronicle,’ right? Isn’t it called ‘The Poor Folk’ and ‘Sleepy’? My daughter Du Niya and I, the moment we finished listening in the café, forgot everything else and rushed straight to those gentlemen, demanding the author’s name!

That incomparably brilliant author must be you, dear Misha? The surname and given name are identical! How could such a coincidence exist?”

“It’s my mother.” Seeing Prilikhriya on the verge of fainting, Mikhail quickly nodded: “It was published just two days ago. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could have met you.”

“It really is you, Misha! We’ve been hearing your name all over St. Petersburg!” Perhaps due to overwhelming excitement, the old woman’s words were exaggerated—but looking at her aged face, streaked with tears and smiles, Mikhail said nothing, only held her tightly and nodded again and again.

As for Mikhail’s sister, the usually quiet, slender girl, now wore bright flushes of excitement on her face; she gripped Mikhail’s arm firmly, and after a long pause, finally spoke in a trembling voice, tears welling:

“Dear brother, Mother and I are so proud of you! You’ll be a great writer! Then we’ll be the mother and sister of a great writer!”

“No, you’re wrong, sister.” Mikhail wiped away the girl’s tears, then replied in a voice trembling even he didn’t notice: “I am the son of dear Prilikhriya, and the brother of dear Du Niya.”

Once the intensity of their reunion gradually subsided, Mikhail politely greeted the others in the apartment, then led his mother and sister toward his small room.

Before they could express concern over his living conditions, Mikhail smiled first: “In a few days, I’m moving to a new place. I haven’t told you yet in my letters—but my latest manuscript already earns me sixty rubles! If I keep writing, I might become rich soon.”

Well, might as well brag a little first…

Hearing this, the mother and daughter exchanged a glance—initially startled by his living conditions, but after recalling the commotion they’d witnessed on the streets of St. Petersburg that day, they ultimately believed him.

Still, Prilikhriya couldn’t help muttering: “You really should move, dear Misha. Staying here too long will ruin your mood—and eventually make you sick! Take care of your health—you have such a bright future…”

As Prilikhriya chattered on, Mikhail’s sister first surveyed the cramped room, then silently began tidying it.

Though the old maid Nastasya was responsible for cleaning all the rented rooms, she was never meticulous—sometimes even making a mess, merely shoving everything into one pile.

But this quiet girl tidied with remarkable order; after she carefully arranged everything, the room visually seemed much more spacious, and Mikhail’s haphazard belongings were now neatly categorized and properly placed.

When they finally sat down after finishing, the old maid Nastasya, with the landlord’s permission, brought three cups of tea. As she set them down, she heard the beautiful girl say:

“Brother, it’s clear you don’t know how to live. You should find someone to take care of you.”

Mikhail: “?”

Did his sister just imply he should get married…?

“I agree with you, dear young lady.” Hearing this, the old maid had held back for a long time, but couldn’t resist her gossiping urge, and blurted out:

“How can a fine young man stay cooped up day after day? Even when he does socialize, the people he meets are all men. How can men take care of him? Oh no—perhaps some men can.”

At these words, Mikhail’s mother and sister froze for a moment. When they realized what she’d implied, they both turned sharply toward Mikhail.

Mikhail: “???”

Everything she said was true—but why did it sound so strange strung together?

(End of Chapter)