My father died in December 1991 at the age of 70 from heart failure. Two days before his death, I went to see him in the hospital, he hastily put his arm around me and with a terrible uncertainty in his voice asked: "Son, why should I go on living?»
I caught napping issues for which has risen suddenly his whole life, to be honest, "I do not know." And he did not know. Therefore, I think, two days later he died.
He is the 41st went to the front from college, was surrounded, and then went to the partisans to fight them in the Bryansk forests, received the Order of the Red Star and many medals. And in the 43 th he became voenkorom, and recently I have found it interesting on the Internet "will soon come our" extracted by one of the "Partisan truth." And this note, written more youthful unsteady hand, shook me to the core, to tears.
"In the cold unheated room, wrapped in rags, huddled children in tormented mother. Dry, cry eyed woman looks through a broken window at the dead mutilated street. Pat on the back and the hungry children, in order not to cry, they repeat for the umpteenth time: "Soon will come our» ... »
I suddenly realized the scruff of why we won the war. There was the Battle of Moscow, stopped the plan "Barbarossa", and Kursk, which decided the outcome of the war and many great battles, but the essence is still not in them. Even if we lost, and at Moscow and Kursk, would still have won. Because millions of people thought and felt as thought and wrote my dad. This article was it is imbued with, and even a sense of - written in one breath, to make a nation invincible: no matter what happens or happened - we come!
And the fact that they really come from and daddy's military notes were not nonsense, and pure truth, it otlilos some cell, neubiennym optimism with which it was useless to argue.
Belief in these "our", synonymous in his time, the Soviet people, the victory of fascism, generated by the world bourgeoisie, to the end was the most solid in it. And when Gorbachev came all the turbulence, I was first excited, then disappointed, it is a comic cover his indestructible faith said: "Nothing! Our standing near Tula! "And the more I with his rebelliousness, did not have behind him the victory, argued with him, the more it seemed to me that they are a kind of Invisible City of Kitezh there really are ...
But I reached the age when it is necessary to have some solid Kitezh for the soul. Alas, it is so illusory, that the fact his father, Bolshevik and close does not compare. And I realized what our main difference with him. He lived all his life rays of tomorrow, which by definition was better for him yesterday. I, we, who live now, more and more are drawn back to the past.
Having joined the communists in the war, he called lapsed into insanity Secretary General Brezhnev "brovenostsem" and "gibbon". But believe it - and our superficial as the demobilization, which the army saying inevitable, still to come: "The more they change the mummy, the better! Our is on the way! "The whole experience of his life said that we are moving to a better, and no excesses, like the great river meanders, it can not be undone. Why bend to bend, responded with characteristic humor: "Because we go through the unexplored!»
He was born in a remote village in the Stavropol region, and even in the end of the village, which was called Nepochetka. And as a child the greatest wonder of the world for him was "fimichesky" pencil given to him for plowing, "horse" a neighbor's garden. And he lived to Gagarin, color TV; Round five of him, rolled up in Moscow with a skinny wallet, took in the most elite while university of the country - the institute. "Here it is - he said - democracy, when a peasant's son has the right to education and to any post in the country on a par with the son of the minister!»
And all of his relatives in the Stavropol Territory, in Boksane, Nalchik, Grozny, on which he drove me once for an object lesson, showed the same growth. In just one generation on the periphery have risen by a kerosene lamp to e; covered roof instead of shingles roofing material, then the slate and iron; bought "tevelizory", "motsiklety" refrigerators; began to fly to Moscow by plane - those who have recently knew nothing faster horse carriage and no one more important than the rural priest. And then there's the son of Anya with Nepochetki Vaska Roslyakov teaches at the University of Lomonosov Moscow Home!
And when my grandfather explained to my illiterate grandmother who became her son in Moscow, from an overabundance of feelings she crashed to the floor, barely pumped. And our people have received unprecedented benefits from the Soviet regime, is very aware of that fought in the Patriotic War in which he fought, and my father and grandfather. Just for "Stalin" no one would have such extraordinary heroism not fight began.
Before Stalin's father admired both to the greatest genius, made the country great, though at the cost of innocent victims. But his memory in the villages of innocent lives perished from starvation and lack of doctors far more than all of Stalin's repressions. He died because of the three older brothers. But he did not think about the return of Stalinism, understanding it not as an end but as a start, great and tragic, like every beginning, a point of going to a better country. He looked to the future as looking at the crop farmer, bloody blisters plowed and planted put it on.
But this yielding peasants have almost gone, and zhrem mainly from foreign fields. And looks like it is paradoxical for not leaving the country's reform, more and more of the past. Some - in the Soviet, more apparent paradise for his fans. Others - in the royal, the third - the Orthodox archaic, the fourth - in dopravoslavnoe even paganism.
And I, like any pull yourself by the ears to the future roll soul in the Soviet former, which was still more equality and fraternity, and music, and literature, and scientific progress and achievements inspire a love of country and faith in personal immortality. And in the future, in addition to rotting bloated belly, the life of me, I do not see anything.
My father is the same until the last even a year and a month of his life saw a bright future. And it certainly was the happiest of my.
But at the end of '91, end all, for which he lived, the hour has come for him most grievous life of reckoning. When faced foreheads Yeltsin and the Emergency Committee, he was neither for the one nor for the other side. Accurate human instinct to live life once he caught that Yeltsin, whose courage I admired at first - not the sower and not a builder, and a desperate power-hungry Destroyer.
But gekachepisty with their personal cowardice and the similarity with the earlier "gibbons" - were also for him "not ours." And we, who according to his faith he had come to break the key, and did not come. And he with all terrible for sincerely believing obviously realized that and did not come.
The most despicable word for it was "shopkeepers", always give rise to the end of fascism. He loved Pushkin, Tchaikovsky, read with gusto teachings Monomakh and other history of his native country. However, I realized that the country for which he fought and lived, for which fought and lived Monomakh, Pushkin, Tchaikovsky and over. As the nation of shopkeepers. But living in a country he does not like.
And then, when the Russian drove like some dirty, the Caucasus, I received a letter from his father's 90-year-old teacher, ejected from Grozny, where he had previously dispatched to teach children. Old people do not ask, just bitterness shared by all that my father is not surprised and did not see. I read this letter - both from some Nerchinsk links, though the old man returned to his same warm Stavropol region.
But he was expelled from the country, which he built together with my father. And I thought as well that my father did not live to see this disgrace! Prior to the country in which our people, the victory of fascism, once again found themselves in the position of women in a cold room that looks through a broken window on the street - but nothing can not tell the kids. Since we no longer come.
We therefore pyatimsya as cancers, back, aware that: the future of us does not shine and the highest than we can calm down - do not think about it at all. Once eaten their natural resources, then we and the end: nothing for the future'm not harvested, the fields are not plowed and planted, and tools handed themselves in Vtorchermet.
But life abhors a vacuum, and if we do not come on our land will inevitably come not ours. As for her all the same: who is working on it, and soweth, that she accepts, and will give birth to.
These strangers every year on home soil more, their speech zapolonyayut our streets - as once it German occupants. But this new stranger I have no evil - they are conquerors, but peaceful, enslaving us vile plan "Barbarossa", but by the holy work.
On the contrary, I cherish them even respect on the verge of admiration: how they manage to settle in a foreign land, with all its unfriendly Aborigines and cops. But still escape the feeling that they are - the same invaders that my father and grandfather were repulsed when something - I can not.
Yes, the happiness of my ancestors - not to see all this misfortune, bessmyslyaschey their faith, sacrifice and efforts. But you do not have to collect my descendants lost their knapsacks on the ground for them?
Copyright © «Alexander Roslyakov"