«Son, on the fourth of August it will be five years since your father’s death. But I’ve invited friends and relatives over on the day after. I think this way it will be more convenient for everybody.»
«OK, Mum, don’t worry, I’ll be there.»
«We’ll be expecting you, son… I hope I haven’t disturbed you, son. You’re probably as busy as always, aren’t you? Don’t overdo it, I beg you. Don’t forget that your father’s heart did not hold out, so do be careful, be careful…»
«Don’t worry, Mum, don’t worry, I hear you. I’m fine.»
I rang off; there was a short ring. I made a note on the desk calendar – 5th AUGUST, ANNIVERSARY OF FATHER’S DEATH. There was still one and a half weeks till the fifth. I sat down at the desk again, but of course, it was all gone. The words, as fluffy as cotton wool, would not rest on the white paper, and thoughts, what thoughts – where are they? I always breathe heavily, but today – what’s happening to me today?…
«It’s a bad day today,» I explained to myself.
It’s a bad day. I pushed aside the fountain-pen, crossed my hands and put my head on the table, on these hands of mine.
I closed my eyes.
«Father, if it is not given to the living to comprehend the pain of the earth, then how do the dead sense it?»
«The dead are wiser than you, the living…»
I moved forward. I wanted to hold my father for a while, but at that moment I sensed the yawning gulf between us – he in the other world and I in this one… I wanted so much to help him get out of the grave, that I reached out to him with both hands.
«Be careful, you could fall and kill yourself,» warned my father who was wrapped up in a torn white shroud.
… And so disaster came to the people of the Genghiz Hills in the summer of 1953 – it came in a single hour. The children, tending the goats and sheep behind the village, all heard the terrible cries, screams and women weeping. Leaving the sheep and goats on the steppe, jostling each other as they ran, their bare feet flashing, they rushed to the village. What was taking place there was unimaginable – people were embracing each other, saying farewell, making vows and promises, shouting and weeping. Commotion, confusion, chaos – and we young boys were standing with our mouths open, unaware of the misfortune which had befallen the inhabitants of our quiet and cosy village. Perhaps, war had broken out? It dawned upon some of us that it might be a war against the Americans or some other imperialists and we greedily began to examine the enormous military vehicles arid the soldiers rushing everywhere, all of whom seemed to have appeared from under the ground.