LITMIR.BIZ

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red with lack of sleep, but he spoke calmly and confidently. I will not attempt to reproduce the exact sense of his speech as I do not recall what was said by him or by the other speaker – a middle-aged officer with two large stars on his shoulders. He was the same lieutenant-colonel who had sent us home. That evening, father brought him and two other officers to our place. During dinner, from their brief remarks, I gathered that the inhabitants would be evacuated to the town of Ayaguz and those who so wished to Semipalatinsk, the regional centre. The old men had been given permission to go to the Genghiz Hills with the livestock. That is why had large military vehicles arrived at our village!

      In the morning, the lieutenant-colonel said that we should only take with us what was absolutely necessary, to protect the windows with bales of straw and reassured the inhabitants that in a month’s time they would all safely return home.

      „And now, each of you is entitled to an allowance of five hundred roubles for the family from the District Committee Accounts Office,“ he said finally.

      Five hundred roubles even in old money was for many a large sum. People signed with dignity the register which the accountant, Talgat, had prepared. Averting their eyes they quickly made their way home.

      Only the lonely bachelor, Duisekhan, who had a reputation, in the village for being not all there, flatly refused to accept the unexpected offer of money.

      „Duisekhan does not accept hand-outs,“ he shouted in incomprehensible anger, before leaving the meeting.

      On the one hand, this stand of his amused the villagers, on the other, they were astonished by it. After all, Duisekhan was as poor as a church mouse and survived on what He earned from digging and cleaning wells and helping with the haymaking.

      No one would hire Him permanently. He returned from the war late, about 1947, half out of his wits. Otegen, the NKVD officer, took Duisekhan’s young, shapely wife to be his second wife. Although no one in the village knew on which front Duisekhan had fought, the rumour had it that he had been held prisoner for a long time either by the Germans or by our authorities.

      With the coming of spring Duisekhan got excited. At night he would roam about the dark streets of the village, muttering words only comprehensible to himself, laughing for no reason and frightening the passers-by. If money came his way, he would buy cheap, small sugarplums and give away handfuls to the children. The children treated this huge, lonely man with respect and never teased him; each one of us was always ready to help him.

      „Huh! What arrogance! If that down-and-out doesn’t want the money, let me have it,“ suggested the retired policeman, Otegen.

      „You have no conscience! You’re always ready to grab what does not belong to you! Allah is not with you. At least you should be ashamed before God!“ Grandmother Bokey attacked him.

      „Your God doesn’t hand out money!“ Otegen snapped back but nevertheless fell silent. He knew that there was no love lost between himself and the villagers as in his day he had over-zealously waved a revolver around.

      At night when everything had quietened down, I went up to my father.

      „Father, I will not go to Ayaguz.“

      „Do you want to go to Auapa in Semipalatinsk?“ my father asked me.

      „No, I’ll go with my grandfather,“ I forced out of myself.

      With a strange expression on his face, my father silently looked at me.

      „I want to be with my grandfather,“ I repeated.

      My father shifted his confused gaze to my mother and I understood that it was easier for him to organize the whole district than to deal with me.

      „The Evacuation Organizing Committee will remain behind in the village. There are seven of us and we will stay here… You’ll have to go with the little ones to Ayaguz.“ He fell silent and nodded in my direction. „And what are we going to do with him?“

      „If you want him to be expos to radiation, send him with his grandfather,“ mother angrily replied.

      „I won’t be exposed to radiation, why should I be?“ I objected.

      „Don’t repeat words you don’t understand,“ mother said in a tired voice and muttered, „The bomb won’t ask your permission.“ And then added very quietly, „Ruin has befallen us…“

      Father, pretending not to have heard her last words, stared at me intently and said, „Alright. You’ll go with grandfather and grandmother. They need help anyway and you already are an adult dzhigit.“

      „Hurray!“ I shouted. „Hurray!“

      Mother mournfully rocked her head from side to side.

      „We have been told that it is not dangerous,“ father added.

      The villagers loaded up at dawn and hastily bid their farewells. Once again there was that terrifying sound of confusion and commotion – the weeping of women, of children, the roar of vehicles, the bleeting of sheep and the barking of soldiers’ commands.

      My grandfather and I also set off. Behind the village gathered other old men and women, who were going to the mountains with the animals.

      I saw that apart from me, there were no children. Just then I noticed the little girl Kenje sitting on the bullock cart together with her grandmother. I was overjoyed. She smiled at me and I waved back.

      „When we went to war, there was no such feeling of terror,“ noted one of the old men.

      „That was war, and this is the end of the world.“

      „Then it means that young stranger was right? The one the police took away? And the leaflets he read out to us spoke the truth?“

      That young man, dirty, ragged and thin, told us such terrifying stories that we, the village boys, shook in terror. He maintained that the end of the world was nigh, after which would come the day of the Last Judgement when each person would answer for their sins. Then he handed out the leaflets where (I remember to this day) in bold letter’s it stated:

      „THE END OF THE WORLD. 17th AUGUST, 1953. 12 MINS PAST 6. EVERYTHING WILL BEGIN IN KAZAKHSTAN.“

      And so it appeared that, indeed, the end of the world was due as the tramp had predicted. What becomes of the human soul after death? It was as if an electric current had run through me from top to toe – I so wanted to live. I, a seven-year-old boy, contemplated death for the first time, something which had never occupied any place in my consciousness; for the first time I felt the approach of Death, the Grim Reaper… In a day or two my soul would be before the Judge of all men… The black cloud of death hung over me, over everyone and everything around us.

      The loading up was delayed The lieutenant-colonel was becoming annoyed. Mother was kissing father and saying something very quickly. And then we set off. The cars to the unknown city of Ayaguz and to Semipalatinsk, the old men and women to Genghiztau.

      I held the reins of the bullock cart. Death had not gone away with those to Ayaguz and Semipalatinsk – it was waiting for us in the depths of the Genghiztau. I was afraid, but I so wanted to be a golden eagle – so that I could boldly look straight into my grand-father-the-lion’s eyes! So that my mother, brother and little sister would be proud of me! And Kenje too.

      Our bullock cart was in the lead. When I glanced around I saw a file of wagons and the old men driving the herd. Suddenly a car stopped next to our cart and my father and the lieutenant-colonel stepped out.

      „The sodiers will choose a place to stop-over for you,“ said the lieutenant-colonel.

      „What?! Are you saying they know the hills better than we do?“ said grandfather angrily.

      „Well, they know“ best…» said the lieutenant-colonel, obviously displeased with grandfather’s words.

      «Yes, of course, you’re clever and we’re stupid. You’re the ones sending us to the death and yet you know best,» said grandfather, spitting.

      Grandmother gently touched his shoulder.

      «Have you gone completely mad in

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