‘They distributed firewood to burn in the little stoves that the wagons were equipped with, and a little bread and ice-cold water. The train left, and after a terrible journey lasting a month we reached our destination, here, in the region called Transnistria, which some also called Bessarabia.
‘When the train stopped we realized that the soldiers were no longer on it, only the drivers and a few railwaymen.
‘We didn’t know anyone here; we only had a bit of gold with us; a lot of people had managed to bring their weapons too.
‘We went to live by the river: we’d grown up on the Siberian rivers and were good at fishing and sailing; and that was the origin of our district, Low River.’
In present-day Russia hardly anyone knows about the deportation of the Siberians to Transnistria; some remember the times of communist collectivization, when the country was criss-crossed by trains full of poor people being moved from one region to another for reasons known only to the government.
Grandfather Kuzya used to say the communists had planned to separate the Urkas from their families so as to make our community die, but that instead, by an irony of fate, they had probably saved it.
From Transnistria many young men went to Siberia, to participate in the war against the communists: they robbed trains, ships and military stores and created a lot of difficulties for the communists. At regular intervals they returned to Transnistria to lick their wounds, or to spend time with their family and friends. Despite everything, this land has become a second home, to which the Siberian criminals have bound their lives.
Grandfather Kuzya didn’t educate me by giving lessons, but by talking, telling his stories and listening to my opinions. Thanks to him I learned many things which have enabled me to survive. His way of seeing and understanding the world was very humble; he didn’t talk about life from the position of one who observes from above, but from that of a man who stands on the earth and endeavours to stay there as long as possible.
‘Many people desperately seek what they are not able to keep and understand, and consequently are full of hatred and feel bad all their lives.’
I liked his way of thinking, because it was very easy to understand. I didn’t have to put myself in someone else’s shoes, I just had to listen to him, remaining myself, to understand that everything that came out of his lips was true. He had a wisdom that came from deep down, it didn’t even seem human, but as if derived from something greater and stronger than man.
‘Look what a state we’re in, son… Men are born happy, yet they convince themselves that happiness is something they have to find in life… And what are we? A herd of animals without instinct, which follow mistaken ideas, searching for what they already have…’
Once, while we were fishing, we were discussing happiness. At one point he asked me:
‘Look at the animals: do you think they know anything about happiness?’
‘Well, I think they feel happy or sad now and then, only they can’t express their feelings…’ I replied.
He looked at me in silence and then said:
‘Do you know why God gave man a longer life than that of the animals?’
‘No, I’ve never thought about it…’
‘Because animals base their lives on instinct and don’t make mistakes. Man bases his life on reason, so he needs part of his life for making mistakes, another part for understanding his mistakes, and a third for trying to live without making any more.’
I often went to visit Grandfather Kuzya, especially when I was a bit depressed or worried about something, because he understood me instantly and managed to make all my unpleasant thoughts disappear.
That morning, after I’d been beaten up by the police, I felt such a weight in my soul that it almost hurt me to breathe. When I thought about what had happened to me I was close to tears, I swear it – tears of despair and humiliation. The boat trip with Mel had done me good, but now I really needed Grandfather Kuzya and his warm words. I walked towards his house like a sleepwalker who doesn’t know where he’s going; it was a kind of instinct that guided me at that moment.
Grandfather Kuzya always woke up very early, so as soon as I reached the gate of his sister’s house, where he lived, I found him already on the roof, launching the first pigeons into the air. He saw me and beckoned to me to come up. I got an old, twisted ladder with two rungs missing, rested it against the roof and started to climb. Grandfather Kuzya in the meantime was watching a female pigeon fly off into the sky; she was already quite high. Then he looked down at me and said:
‘Do you want to fly this one?’ showing me a male pigeon which he was holding in his right hand.
‘Yes, I’ll try…’ I replied. I knew very well how to launch pigeons – we had a lot of them in my family. My Grandfather Boris was famous for his pigeons – he travelled all over Russia looking for new breeds, then crossed them and selected the strongest ones.
Grandfather Kuzya didn’t have many pigeons – no more than fifty or so – but they were all exceptional specimens, because the many people who came to see him from all over the country brought him the finest pigeons they had, as gifts.
The pigeon Grandfather Kuzya was holding in his hand was of an Asiatic breed. He came from Tajikistan. He was very strong and handsome, one of the most expensive on the market. I picked him up and was about to launch him, but Grandfather Kuzya stopped me:
‘Wait, let her get up a bit higher…’
To wait was to risk losing her – if they fly too high, many female pigeons drop down dead. They’re used to being in a pair, together with the male: without the male to help them descend they can’t return to the ground; they have to be guided. So it’s essential to launch the male at the right moment: he rises, and the female, hearing him beat his wings and turn somersaults in the air, starts flying down towards him. But our female was already a long way off.
‘Now, Kolima, let him go!’ said Grandfather Kuzya, and at once, with a vigorous sweep of my arms I launched the pigeon.
‘Well done! Good boy! May Jesus Christ bless you!’ Grandfather Kuzya was pleased; he watched the pigeons approach one another in the air. Together we witnessed that spectacular union: the male did more than twenty somersaults, and the female flew in ever tighter circles around him, almost touching him with her wings. They were a beautiful couple.
Eventually the two joined together in the air, and one beside the other they began to descend lower and lower, in wide circles. Grandfather Kuzya looked at my face, pointing at my bruise.
‘Come on, let’s make some chifir…’ We got down from the roof and went into the kitchen. Grandfather Kuzya put the water for the chifir on the fire.
Chifir is a very strong tea which is made and drunk according to an ancient ritual. It has a powerful stimulant effect: drinking one cup is like drinking half a litre of coffee all in one go. It is prepared in a small saucepan, the chifirbak, which is not used for any other purpose and is never washed with detergent, only rinsed in cold water. If the chifirbak is black – dirty with the residue of tea – it is more highly prized, because the chifir will come out better. When the water boils, you extinguish the fire and add black tea, which must be of whole leaves, not crumbled, and must only come from Irkutsk, in Siberia: there they grow a particular tea, the strongest and tastiest of them all, and beloved of criminals all over the country. Very different from the famous tea of Krasnodar, which is highly popular with housewives: a weak tea, widespread especially in Moscow and in southern Russia, and good for breakfast. For a proper chifir you use up to half a kilo of tea leaves. The leaves have to be left to brew for no more than ten minutes, otherwise the chifir becomes acidic and unpleasant. You put a lid on the saucepan so that the steam doesn’t escape; it’s advisable to wrap the whole thing in a towel, to keep the temperature. The chifir is ready when there are no more leaves floating on the surface: hence we say the chifir has ‘fallen’ to indicate that it’s ready. It is filtered through a strainer: the tea leaves are not thrown away, they are put on a dish and left there to dry; they will be used later for making ordinary tea, which can be drunk with sugar and lemon, while eating cake.