Walking on the bones Bashny.Net

The blockade - not history, the blockade - bikes. About Comrade Zhdanov, who ate cakes in the hopper (a lie, he was a diabetic). About botanists who have died from hunger, protecting seed stocks (but it's true). About two thousand of Leningrad cannibals (also true). I Leningrad only in the first generation, my grandmother did not eat rats and was not living in a stairwell with a cannibal. But I - Leningrad, so I write about the blockade, I can not write. Today - the seventieth anniversary of her breakthrough

January 18 of the year the whole school there was kicked on the football field. We built three ranks, musician pressed his mouth to stynuschemu fake trombone, waiting for the sound track. We had to take from the caretaker clove, walk twenty steps and hand flower terrible old man-blockade. Or her body-blokadnitse. One schoolboy - one Blokadnik - one clove. To the sounds of a trombone. Stupid, thick headmistress in a purple coat pushing it:

- Dear veterans, I assure you, we will not forget your feat. Let the earth you rest in peace!

Pause. Surprised elderly persons. Chortle, a cloud of steam above the crowd chilled children.

Thus came into my life the blockade - stupid, to the soundtrack. He grew up, I look on the internet schedule of celebrations: a memorial rally, memorial swim walruses concert "With love in my heart." The same false trombones.

Leningrad blockade unlucky with PR. There are good books about tanks and paratroopers, there are great films about partisans. But about the residents of besieged Leningrad nothing eternal has been removed and have probably not withdraw. Seven hundred thousand people silently died of hunger - there is no intrigue, no heroics, cinema and literature are baffled, so does the music ... But even the sounds of the Seventh Symphony blockade will disappear much faster than the Battle of Kalka and Great stand on the Ugra river. Will future students lazily flipping electronic textbooks and yawn: at-at history.

Blockade - This is not Pearl Harbor, her dramatic podspuden on the surface - a terrible routine. Three years of slow death - well, we did it surprise themselves slowly die, and post-roll us some better bare-chested on recess, and that the breast - Women.

I would be in this day showed no bombing, no corpses on a sled, much more than the current propaganda rubbish. I have all the channels showed blockade diary of Tanya Savicheva and all networks repost it. To quote a whole, when someone remembers.

December 28, 1941. Eugene died at 12 o'clock in the morning.

Grandmother died January 25, 1942 th, at 3 pm.

Leka died on March 17 at 5:00 am.

Uncle Vasya died on April 13 at 2 am.

Uncle Lesha May 10 at 4 pm.

Mom - 13 May 1942 7:30 am.

Savichevs died.

All died.

Tanya was left alone.

It is now stops breathing. Twenty years ago, we do not chuyuschie death of the children, told about Tanya Savicheva erotic jokes. And stories about cannibals blockade. It was believed that they were still alive and that one of them - fizruk.

It's silly, but fun. This is not a memorial race. The blockade was imprinted all over, even in school folklore. This is the memory. There is the memory space. If you long to wander in St. Petersburg, one wall is solid classicism interrupted, and lumen - a public garden or Khrushchev. Why is there a public garden? So was the house was bombed. The whole city is in such holes.

Or we were walking with a friend on the Walk of Fame, a great place girls shot - wild park, soft moss, river Dudergofka. We walked there, walked in here, staring at the sun, rolling on the moss, and then I suddenly remembered that this kilometer birch alley specially planted along the former line of trenches, a living monument. Over there, where the prospectus and flats, were ours. Over there, where the river and the poplars - the Germans. And my friend and jump the bones. And all life on the bones go, we're Leningrad. It was suddenly cold at heart - rose, kissed warmer, went further.

In St. Petersburg, I saw a woman in the metro is very old, almost blind and very beautiful, a real beggar Leningrad. In the hands of a plate - the son is sick, her husband died, help blokadnitse. The cap for alms someone threw a piece of limp "Napoleon." That is - the blockade cakes. And about Zhdanov - bikes.

How it is getting through to the depths. Could not census began reading about the aforesaid and it was horrible ...





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