Come to think of it, in every house someone has died. The street across the river, all the women there live without menfolk; there are no men, the men have died. On our street, my grandad lives here, and one other man. God takes the men first. Why’s that? Nobody can decipher that for us, nobody knows that secret. But think about it: if only the men were left, and no women, it wouldn’t be much better. They drink, my love, they drink. The sadness drives them to it. Who feels happy about dying? When a person dies, they get so sad! There’s no comforting them. Nobody can make them feel better, there’s nothing you can do. They drink and natter. Talk about things. They get drunk, make merry and poof! – they’re gone. Everyone dreams of an easy death. But how can you earn it? The soul is the only living matter. My dear girl. And our women are all barren, their women’s parts have been cut out, a good one in three. Young and old alike. Not all of them had managed to have children in time. When I think of it, it’s all just flown past.
What can I add? You just need to live. That’s all.
And another thing. Before, we used to churn our own butter, sour our own cream, make soft cheese, hard cheese. We cooked milk soup with dumplings. Do they eat that in the towns? You pour water into some flour and mix it up into these ragged pieces of dough, then drop them in a pot of boiling water. You boil them a bit and add some milk. Our mum explained it to us, showed us how. ‘Learn how to make this, children. It’s what I learned from my mother.’ We drank birch drink and maple drink. We steamed runner beans in iron pots in the big oven. Made kissel from the cranberries. And in the war, we picked nettles, orache and other wild greens. Swelled up from hunger, but we didn’t die. Had berries and mushrooms in the forest. But now we’ve got a life where that’s all ruined. We thought it would last and last, things would carry on the way they’d always been. And what was bubbling in the pot would be there forever. Never would have believed it could all change. But that’s what’s happened. You’re not allowed milk, not allowed beans. No mushrooms, no berries. They tell you to soak the meat for three hours. And you have to drain off the water twice when you boil potatoes. But you can’t fight against God. You just need to live.
They frighten us that our water can’t be drunk. But how can you go without water? Everyone has water inside. There’s nobody without water in them. You even find water in stones. Well, this is water we’re talking about, maybe it’s eternal? The whole of life comes from it. Who can you ask? No one will tell you. And you pray to God, you don’t ask Him things. You just need to live.
And now the wheat’s coming up. It’s good wheat.
Anna Petrovna Badaeva, returnee
Monologue on a song without words
I’m on my knees, begging you.
Find Anna Sushko for us. She used to live in our village, in Kozhushki. Her name is Anna Sushko. I’ll give you her description, and you print it. She’s got a hump, been mute since childhood. Lived alone. She was sixty. In the resettlement, they put her in an ambulance and took her away to an unknown destination. She never learned to read or write, so we’ve never had a letter from her. They carted off people living on their own and the disabled to homes. Hid them away. Nobody knows the addresses. You please print it all.
The whole village cared about her. We looked after her like she was a little child. Someone would chop her firewood, someone else would bring her milk. Someone would sit with her in the evenings, light the stove. It’s been two years since we stopped drifting about those strange places and came back home. And tell her that her house is sound. The roof is still there, and the windows. We’ll help her fix what was smashed up and looted. Just give us the address where she’s living in her misery, we’ll go and fetch her. Bring her back. Before she dies of sadness. I’m begging you, on my knees. There’s an innocent soul suffering out in that strangers’ world.
There’s another detail. I forgot. When something hurts, she’ll start warbling this song. No words, just her voice. She can’t talk. When she’s in pain, she’ll sing it: ‘Ah-ah-ah.’ Whimpering.
‘Ah-ah-ah …’
Maria Volchok, neighbour
Three monologues on ancient fear, and on why one man stayed silent while the women spoke
The K. family. Mother and daughter, and a man
(the daughter’s husband) who did not say a word.
Daughter:
At first, I cried night and day. All I wanted was to cry and speak. We are from Tajikistan, from Dushanbe. There’s a war there.
I shouldn’t really talk about it. I’m expecting, pregnant. But I’ll tell you. In the daytime, they’ll come on the buses, checking passports. Ordinary men, but with guns. They look at the passports and throw some men off the bus. And right by the doors, they’ll shoot them. They don’t even bother taking them aside. I would never have believed it, but I saw it. I saw them taking two men, one was so young, good-looking, he was shouting something to them. Both in Tajik and in Russian. He was saying that his wife had just had a baby, and he had three small children at home. And they just laughed, they were young as well, really young. Ordinary men, but with guns. He fell to the ground, he was kissing their trainers. Everyone was silent, the whole bus. The moment we drove off: ‘Rat-a-tat.’ I was afraid to look back. (She cries.)
I shouldn’t really talk about it. I’m expecting. But I’ll tell you. Just one thing: please don’t use my surname, my first name is Svetlana. We still have family there. They’ll kill them. I used to think we’d never have another war again. It was our huge country, we loved it. The strongest! Before, they used to tell us that our life in the Soviet Union was poor and modest because we’d been through a great war, the people had suffered, but now we had a powerful army, no one could touch us. No one could conquer us! But then we started shooting each other. It’s a different kind of war from before. Our grandfather told us about the old war. He reached Germany, got to Berlin. Now it’s neighbour shooting neighbour, boys who went to school together, and now they’re killing each other, raping the girls they sat next to at school. Everyone has gone crazy.