were so
dirty. She would go for days without changing her clothes and
combing her hair.

Once Mastan noticed that his wife's manner of walking and posture
had changed as well. Her manner of laughing was scaring Mastan
for some reason now. She was stirring up the dust in the air
when she walked. His son was climbing the walls. He was biting
into the trees like a wolf and saying nasty things to his parents.
There was not a single dog or cat left in the dacha because of
him. They had all run away and hidden in some corner.

Mastan had really lost himself. What was going on? Was this a
dream? Why were they acting like this? Was this what they called
a quiet and independent life?

When his son again started to gnaw on the trees likea mad goat,
Mastan got really angry and lost his temper. He was repairing
the handle of the door that his wife had broken when slamming
the door. And the heat was burning his back.
That moment a clamor rose from the depth of the dacha, and Mastan
understood what was going on. He found himself grabbing his son
by the ears and lifting him up and screaming and yelling as loud
as he could.

He didn't realize himself what he was doing. He couldn't pull
himself together or stop his hands from shaking. He was biting
his son's arms, twisting his ears, pinching his cheeks and kicking
him.

No matter how much his wife tried, she couldn't calm Mastan down.
Mastan himself tried, but couldn't calm down. He was trying to
stop, to cool down, but his hands and legs were