Two years ago, we opened an old suitcase in the attic and found a bunch of tapes inside. It turned out that my mother had told the hidden secrets of her life on a tape recorder. For months he sat in his dimly lit room and recounted the miracles. How as a little girl she was wildly in love with a head waiter with a family, how she fell in love with my father, how bitter their wedding night was on an ice-cold train, she told me how she lost her virginity and got pregnant with me; what she felt when I was in her womb giving her vital signs from the inside.
We found a treasure in the suitcase.

My children typed the tapes and I read the manuscript.
I had a crying fit. I've never cried like that before. I screamed. If he heard it in the afterlife, he must have been shaken. He didn't tell me his memories. Himself. He didn't even hope that I would ever find this wonderful monologue of his.

"In my own theater, I not only play the main role of my life - but I am also the listener of my tale."
I came across this treasure as an old, well-known writer.

He is also sometimes called: "My writer son".
I started working on it so that his voice would become a book.
He was a great storyteller. His book is full of humor, serenity, laughter - and tragedy. I consider this book to be the most beautiful work of my life - our work.

I DIDN'T THINK THAT I WOULD EVER BE A PARTNER TO MY DEAD MOTHER.

I think it is unprecedented for a writer to see himself through his mother's eyes. The eyes with which he saw were those of a wise woman. There is a great lesson in every tale. His secret book teaches you how to live happily even in hell.