Глеб Бобров - The Torn Souls - An Anthology of Prose About the Soviet War in Afghanistan

He got embarrassed and began to excuse: “You know… everyone is looking for life”, “now it is time for change”, and so on…

I understood: no need for excuses.

It is time to celebrate our reunion…

Two of us sat in a BMW but inside the car a heavy silence was a third passenger between us. In contrast to the past, we have nothing in common. His full of shit crew were mumbling about something meaningless and stupid. We drove for a long time. The driver was an illiterate half wit who obviously did not love his car. His driving was unprofessional and erratic: with no need he presses the gas giving to the poor car 5000 rmp, and then suddenly puts on the brakes. He did it all the time! Idiot! I got tired to see how disrespectful he was to the people from the other side of his tinted window. He was changing lanes without any signal, horning, beeping and torturing the transmission constantly. Maybe he got an idea that he should be the only one on the road and other people should be removed as an obstacle to his driving? It was typical, nothing new in this department, I had already seen this kind of behavior many times and it was no novelty for me.

Finally we have arrived. I did not know Voronezh at all. This typical city from the Soviet era, was presented by numerous unified and faceless suburbs, in which buildings were arranged in a way of marching solders. The ugliness of these Soviet buildings was contrasted to a soft beauty of the traditional houses you can find in some parts of Voronezh.

Members of the gang started their official ceremony of farewell. Slightly hugging each others, they mimic a kiss with their cheeks touching both sides of a face. It reminds me of the way how rhinos head butted among themselves. May be they adopted this cult farewell from rhinos?

Clearly embarrassed of his mates, Lyoha came closer to me. The latest 325 BMW like a black shadow, sped to a traffic light and again burned tires in an attempt to reach the green light, but suddenly changed its mind and brakes howled. Driving back at full speed, the car stopped at the point where the short journey started. Indeed, this is a good car but with a shit driver. I have got my satisfaction and sarcastically looked at Lyoha. The poor guy completely lost in his embarrassment, trying to find some excuses:

— Well, what can you do with these guys?!

Yep, indeed… what?

We decided to have a drink and went to a pub nearby specifically designed for this type of people. Apparently Lyoha was known in this place and received a full stream of respect. We sat in the corner and for a while we enjoyed food specially made by a chef and numerous drinks, until time for a topic “Do You Remember” arrived. And then Lyoha asked:

— Do you remember Fedor?

Of course I remember him! He is my bro! I am his army Godfather!

And Lyoha started to tell the story but it would be better if he kept silent!

Fedor already started to do crazy things in the regiment. With these “clicks” in his head, he left the army in some month of summer. When he returned home, he had a severe alcohol problem, drinking non-stop. However, his parents were taught enough to pull him out of this miserable existence. He enrolled to a university, got married, a child was born. However, when his army friend visited him, Fedor lapsed again with his drinking problem. Seeing this, his wife grabbed the child and left to the village she came from, forgetting to withdraw from a university where she was studying and even applying for a divorce.

The kid started to drink seriously in a dangerous way. He dropped his university and parents could not change the situation for the better. Lyoha said, that during that time, he visited Fedor quite often and was stunned to see with what kind of people, Fedor was socializing. They were the complete rubbish of the human race, total losers, outsiders of any social ends, “dead meats”. Lyoha told me that Fedor even sold his bravery medal “Red Star” for a cheap bottle of home brewed alcohol!

In the beginning of 90s, Fedor decided to make a visit to his son. Before the trip he got blatantly drunk, which he added to during the trip. Delusional by consumed alcohol, he got off at a wrong station and went the wrong direction, got lost and froze to death somewhere in the middle of vast fields, not even close to the village where his son lived. His body was found only in the spring fall when show melted and farmers started unearthing soil in the fields. His burial was simple. This was the end of Fedor’s life.

I could not believe what I heard but Lyoha assured me

— His grave is located in the St. Nicholas cemetery. His father erected a huge monument for him….

— Let’s go there!

— Not now, Glebych… Relax…

How can I be relaxed after what I have heard? Have you, Lyoha-asshole, forgot our army code? I will remind you then! In five minutes, squashed up, we were sitting in an old taxi that was taking us to Fedor.

St. Nicholas cemetery was huge and we walked a bit until we reached the grave…

I saw his grave monument at once. In black marble Fedor looked strange. He was wearing his parade uniform with his beret on. During our army service, we wore this uniform no more than twice. It is obvious, that enthusiastic young Fedor sent to his parents a photo from his army training and this photo became a prototype for his grave monument designed by a famous architect. I knew another Fedor who was wearing a different uniform and had a higher rank.

Thank God that Lyoha left me alone: he decided to visit some relatives’ graves while he was here. He pointed out to the monument and moved into a different direction looking for other graves.

I recalled the last time I saw Fedor. That is right, I had not seen him since Dick’s burial and in my memory Fedor stayed as an unhappy crying kid on the hill conquered by tanks.

You can say, he had proud parents… mother and father… Forgive us, fools, Lyoha and myself, for questioning the glorified memory of your son. You are very wise. You knew your son’s heart. You looked to the very bottom of his tormented soul… and you had the wisdom to understand all of it and forgive him.

A twisted spasm crashed on my face, my eyes became cramped and watery…

I felt that my heart is melting, that I am softening and my skin of thick army roughness is peeling. My animal brutality of war is gradually disappearing and I am becoming a different person, not a quite boy with Kalashnikov, neither an insane army machine with a dancing machine gun.

Washed in the cruelty of war, drenched in my own tears, my eyes became clear, they received a crystal vision of the life in front of me, and all of these overwhelmed me…Thank you, my Lord! It was your blissful touch I felt! It was you who brought me here.

I looked again at the marble Fedor. At the bottom of the stellar, Dick was laid down stretching out in his full length. He was carved with remarkable accuracy: the smallest details, even individual hairs have been recreated. It was a masterpiece of drawing and of marble carving.

Without any doubt, it was Dick, or Dusya, as we gently called this half-bred Caucasian Sheppard, the beautiful, strong, and healthy creature. He placed his powerful head on outstretched paws, his ears attentively pricked with eyes looking directly at the bottom of your soul.

I am not Temur, I do not know Tatar, and I cannot sing…. And you don’t need any song now, brother… Above you is standing your master. He is handsome, strong and confident as if he never cried in his life. You waited for him too long but at last you two have met…

Now you are together for ever. Nobody — Trubilin or Stepan neither the Hindu Kush or Pamirs or vodka-animal — could separate you, pull apart you, place you on different banks of the same river. You are together now… Side by side…