When I was a child, my father Melvar and Masha were separated. I was living with my father in Moscow and Masha came to visit us every now and then. Strangely enough, I do not remember how she was in those turbulent years, when she was torn between her three loves. Even the word «mother» did not exist in my vocabulary. What I remember, however, was her love and tenderness. But I could not tell who I was looking at in this picture.