The Torn Souls 17 страница

As soon as Dusya saw his comrades, he began whining with his tail thrashing the canvas. He tried to get up but even with all our effort to hold him, he could not and kept falling back. Our guests patted him, stroked, kissed... guys in vain, but when they arrived they looked so harsh! We had a chat about Dusya...

Actually the dog’s nickname was Dick. Dusya was a soft affectionate name given by his owner Fedor who brought the dog to military service in May from a civil life somewhere near Boronezh where both of them lived. His owner, Fedor, was also wounded and yesterday was transported to a hospital. Guys said, he was lucky because he can count all his bones.

Whilst we were talking, I spotted that a military helicopter called “The Eight” started to land. Interesting, whom this beau will pick up? Who is a big dude here? It turned out that de-miners have arranged the famously established service for transportation of Dusya. Wow, this style I understand!

Towards the end of our chit–chat, I asked about some strange behavior of my patient-why he does not like patting? They all laughed.

– Say thank you! You are lucky that he did not chop off half of your fingers! No one can touch his head, except Fedor. Better not even think of doing it!

Well, we all have cockroaches in our heads…

The helicopter landed. Dick was lifted on a stretcher and loaded inside. A couple of engineers jumped on board. “The Eight” in three circles elevated from the ground, joined his second mate, formed a pair and took towards the mountains. In a few minutes it was just a dot behind the rocks.

Wish you well, Dusya...

***

The rotation was conducted without any necessary entertainment. We did not stay in the position of our regiment, no.. we had rested on the banks of a river that was located not far from a de-mining platoon location where I know many guys..

After a good deal of oversleeping, uncounted visits to banya (see “Terminology and Glossary”– Editor), and stuffing our bellies, to the point if disgusting, with properly cooked food, one evening I decided to make a visit together with Baldy to the Corps of Sappers.

When we arrived, a familiar noise welcomed us: I have met many friends from an Autumn enlisting. All were happy that we arrived just in time for baked potatoes or marihuana cigarettes, if you wish… No desire for potatoes, neither for dope. I came to see Fedor.

But it turns out that he was transported to Kunduz, a less dangerous place, if you can say it. Well, let’s make a visit to Dick… and again – bummer! Now Dick has a new owner, the fellow who is famous for his skeptical and unfriendly character, so-called the Ensign Trubilin, nicknamed by guys as Truba in short....

He is a unique military and personal legend of the Sapper Regiment. He is a head of Military service dogs nursery, in common parlance – the kennel, and also, as I was told, a rare idiot. His nickname was chosen by his fate as well as his surname. However, this man has one good quality – he loves dogs to the Moon and back. For dogs he was a devoted teacher, nurse, doctor …well.. everything, but for a human being.. better not to say it.

I was told a story when after arriving to the regimen and taking the position, Truba almost killed a young soldier – Ryzhu – for serving hot food to dogs. You see, the dogs cannot eat hot food as it affects their senses. So, Truba saw that a young, newly conscripted private nicknamed Ryzhu, placed a plate of steamy food in front of a dog. Without any words, Truba grabbed a shovel and run towards poor Ryzhu. God heaven that Ryzhu spotted him in time! The whole regiment observed how for a half an hour with a roar: “Ugandoshu” (“Kill you”– Editor) Truba chased Ryzhu around the camp and enjoyed Rychu’s maneuvers and zigzag rabbit tricks! After this incident, Trubilin bluntly reported to a commander about the incident and demanded that Ryzhu must stay at least within the distance of a gun-shot from the kennel; and modestly concluded his report, pointing out that if this bastard Ryzhu will ever appear near the animals, he, Guard Ensign of the Soviet Army, in spite of serving the Constitution of the USSR, will personally rip Ryzhu apart. The incident was ended.

To make the story short, Ensign Trubilin did not give a shit about others but I decided to try my luck and for a moral support I came with a couple of guys who claimed to be friends with him.

Approaching the kennel.. I saw Ensign Trubilin who was sitting and reading something in the gazebo. He reminded me of a dark thundercloud, puffed and full of anguishing words, ready to explode. He was a guy in his middle age, short but heavily built, with such a spotlessly shaved fat face that the blue color of a lower part of his face was vividly contrasted to the olive skin of his body. His facial features echoed Southern origin, not obvious but traced in his face. His heavy eyes were sharply pointed towards me and he frowned but did not put down his readings

I felt like a pioneer leader in front of a superior member of the Communist Party: “Good morning, let us appeal to your decision and allow us to do so and so.. We heard about your kindness and generosity and so on.. ” In short, we were like little girls asking Mommy’s permission to take candies. Trubilin reluctantly asked something and we answered, and after so-called friends of his were sent back empty-handed, he and I entered the kennel.

As soon as Dick saw us, he went crazy, the poor guy. He cannot stand up on his back legs, but tried to pull all his body, neck, legs towards us. He tried stretching to us and to get as close as possible to us in a puppy style, without losing face, but he did it with dignity. However, apparently, in few minutes his fire ended. He ran out of strength. He got tired and even his breath became difficult with a stuck out tongue.

Meanwhile, other dogs joined Dick’s noisy entertainment. On this occasion, Truba decided to give me a tour around the kennel. We started a conversation. Indeed, he is, what we called a heavy metal soul, but this man was a magician with his dogs.

With obvious pain in his voice, Truba tells me about the Dick’s health situation.

– He cannot stand up on his leg. One leg he cannot raise. His chest is also still a mess, there are discharges continuously coming out. I think, some piece of metal is still inside...

I suggested:

– How about to call for Stepan right now? Let’s see what he can do...

Trubilin looked at me like I am a child in cuckoo land who has one leg shorter than the other and answered:

– The dog has the best treatment, every day a chief medical officer is checking on him and giving him all necessary injections, I give him injections too but.. he needs different.. he needs his Fedor...

– But how Fedor will help?

– He is missing Fedor, and this is the root of his sickness. By the way, I already asked Stepan if any more can be done.. You, pal, saved Dick. You sewed him well but now his health is affected due to a different reason.

Here we go! They said that Truba is a beast.... Hm..

Meanwhile our four-legged friend stretched out on the yellow grass and squinted his eyes enjoying a psychedelic song, mumbled in Tatar by my nuker, my military shadow Boldy.

***

January 1985 was the most depressive time. This endless and eventless time could be crowned on the top of all months of my entire military service. Before New Year nothing much happened, except for two trips to the God forgotten place called Baharak. During the first trip we sat at the “point” without even thinking to pick out our noses behind the gate. The second trip was even worse. It was such a boring trip! Hiding in dugouts, we were doing nothing, except playing fools and entraining ourselves with our own dicks, constantly masturbating to kill boredom. The only one attempt to get to the mountains, was not successful because our new battalion commander had no balls for it. He was a replacement. A sissy boy, I would say!

I remember celebrating the New Year on duty by smoking marihuana to the stage when the word “mama” cannot come out from my tongue. When our duty finished, we again stoned ourselves to the stage of complete dummies… meaningful time, nothing more to say..

Only one thought was bumping in my head: ” Where is my replacement”. I see, due to the shitty weather condition, helicopters could not pass the clouds… what was left for us? Only waiting...

At that time I visited Dick almost every day. My friendship with Truba has been cemented and the sappers were puzzled how I managed it. I do not know how it happened. We had a common interest talking about dogs, I guess, and this was enough for our friendship. In my opinion, Trubilin knew nothing except the dogs’ life and, as I understood, he had no desire to expand his horizon of knowledge towards anything else. He could talk days and nights about his four-legged friends, he knew everything about them, he loved them dearly and dogs loved him too, obeying not only a verbal command but a slight gesture.

During this time our kid was constantly medically treated. He did not die, of course, but the significant breakthrough did not happen either. Discharges kept coming out from his chest; he could not stand up on his paw, but, at least, started to move this paw and it was a progress. Continuously new problems were chasing him: if not diarrhea, then a King’s evil had happened.

This pal had only one joy in his life – a time when a letter arrived from Fedor. Fedor was writing to a whole division, but unopened letters were delivered to the kennel and placed into Truba’s hands. Once I had a chance to see this ceremony. I was moved to a core…

Trubilin ceremoniously placed a letter in front of Dick to sniff who immediately fell on the belly and froze,; then Truba opened the letter and slowly, with the pronunciation of a TV news reporter, announced the text. Our Dick has turned into a statue. The shaking ears were elongated upward. An unreal reaction! But the letter’s content was crap as usual, something like: “Hey guys, I am ok, from day to day just waiting to be back, everything is annoying.. Doctors are freaks, food is shit, nurses are bitches.. How is Dick? I shake your paw. Fedor”. The end....

After announcing the contents of the letter, Truba placed the open letter in front of the dog. Dusya stretched, reached the piece of paper and several times inhaled this treasured scent of his owner and froze again.. It seemed that he wanted to absorb literally the smell of Fedor to the last bit.... Then turning around he hobbled to a far corner of his kennel, laid, stretched his body and closed his eyes. I can swear on the Bible that I saw tears coming from his eyes...

I wanted to give him hug, but Truba stopped me without words. By this time, I, like his dogs. was also trained to have a clear understanding of his gestures. Trubilin picked up the letter, folded it and, gently pushing my back towards the exit, pointed to the way out of the kennel.

I asked:

– Comrade Trubilin! But Dick’s sadness will be deeper without a human touch.

In reply, I got the telegraphic but gravely gloom answer:

– Yes. The depression. But it keeps him alive...

The military salute. Keep in touch!

That is all. As I said – we became friends...

***

By the end of January, the weather finally turned to dry, sunny days. One morning, after the routine “Get up!, the youngest were outside for morning exercises, but I was still in bed, enjoying an unofficial military prerogative for military gurus, or “grandpas” as we said. My comrade Zubov, with firing insane eyes, jumped towards me. He threw me like a doll out of my bed to the floor and shouted:

– They are coming! Coming!

When he sat on my bed and stopped shouting, we distinctively recognized the noise of helicopters’ propellers. Forgetting about my underwear, in a second I was outside. Who cares! Other “grandpas” were the same and this entire ground was flooded with soldiers in their underwear like on a beach… Rio de Janeiro, far out! My dear Autumn conscripted brothers, finally this day has arrived! We hugged each other, we cried, we shouted something unrecognizable and non-comprehensive. It did happen! Wow! We all saw how a cavalcade of six helicopters MI-6, as we called them “cows”, heavily pregnant with newly conscripted meat, got closer to us every minute.

We got dressed and went to look at the replacements.

The newcomers were located in two tents that we usually use for a quarantine. All dembelya, (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) turned immediately into A+ disciplined pupils. It was common sense that we will go in the first round, but with any mistake a possibility to meet March here was also very vivid.

On the same day I remember that we were sitting in front of the smoking room not far from the place where Sasha Moskovchenko, a political intelligence second commander, conducted classes. I will not go in details of what kind of classes he conducted, but I can assure you, that if Regiment Commander could hear what Sasha was bullshitting, to say at least, he would have a heart attack.

Sasha could not give a shit about how he carried on these political studies, same as the entire army. He put his dick on this military service a long time ago. He gibberishes on everything to everyone. He used to pull a young fellow out of a class and started to humiliate him to the point when the chosen one could not remember his own name, neither his biography.

So, whilst we were enjoying Sasha’s performance, some bloke was coming to us. I looked at him closer.. this was Fedor! At last..

After Moskovchenko’s permission to leave the class, I went to greet him.

– Hey, bro! How are you?

– Fine....

– When you arrived?

– In the morning.

– How is your leg?

– Okay... Let’s go.

– Let’s go!

A very talkative guy....

To say the truth, I did not know him well. We even did not greet each other before the Dusya’s story, but now according the army tradition, I was his Godfather as I saved his life… I never understand this tradition. What will be different if somebody else will pull you out from the direct line of fire? Where is a heroic act? To save your brother was a daily routine of military assaults…. But, the tradition is, of course, a holy cause and according to the rules, I was his Godfather, and the savior should be awarded with a good dinner..

***

They went to the kennel, approaching a gate.... when suddenly I stood up in shock and nearly fainted: on a cape, at the gate, Dick was laid down motionlessly with the recognized contour of a dead body.... Dick was dead.... Our Dick.. I remember a sudden emptiness flooded into my chest, a spasm clicked my neck not letting the air in or out. An enormous pain froze my heart. I felt bad, really bad..

Next to Dick, Trubilin stood up lowering his head and looking lost and weak-where is his mask of a cool master and an emotionless order machine? – together with some guys from autumn’s conscription. All kept silent.

– Well, let’s do it? –the invitation to join then for burying Dick registered in my brain. They all were waited me. Composing myself, I told Fedor to bring a young solder to dig the grave. Fedor immediately echoed: “Ryzha... ”, spitted his cigarette out and went to find Ryzha. I went to Trubilin.

It did happen unexpectedly and suddenly...

In the morning together with the replacements, Fedor arrived. Immediately after reporting to his superiors, he went looking for Truba and after finding him, both of them went to the kennel. Truba said that this morning Dick was not himself, unsettled, he definitely sensed that Fedor was somewhere very close to him.

When they were approaching, Dick sensed him and began to howl loudly. He got off a leash and for a good five minutes these two were hugging and kissing each other. Right in the same place, where Dick was now.

Trubilin says that dog was not just screaming, he cried, shouted in a voice like a man. Trubilin even tried to mimick this sound being emitted by a dog: “Ah-ah Ah-ah-ah! ”

Fedor sat on the ground. Dick placed his chest to Fedor’s knees and put his head in his hands... and became quiet.

When exactly he died, nobody knew but when it was noticed, of course, there was a great deal of reviving, massaging, injecting, even CPR was applied....

But it was the end of Dick’s road. He got what he wanted – to meet his master, his pal, his best mate. He said goodbye to Fedor and left this world.

Standing in front of me the tough man, Ensign Trubilin, was crying like a baby without even wiping his eyes. The strong, stern man, a real tough cookie was vulnerable and helpless. He has done so much! So much... And this was the end... Nothing you can change or amend, only accept this and keep living as you can.

Urgaliev came closer. They picked up a cape and carried Dick to his grave dug on top of the hill, about thirty meters away from an outpost of a tank’s regiment.

The hill offers the very best view that can be found at our regiment’s location. Deep down, at the bottom of hills, the Kokcha river makes a sharp bend which forces her turbulent water to rush further down for its unsettled journey through the mountains and hills. Straight across, the river washed away the cliff and formed picturesque caves displaying its glory. On the both banks of the river, reeds, never frozen during a winter, marched as soldiers.

In the very far distance, the sparkling white hats of Hindu Kush mountains loomed sending its brilliance all the time during winter and summer. If you look a little bit right, glowing overweight glaciers of Pamir were illuminating their shiny icy pinnacles.

From the opposite side, a surging pinnacle covered half of the sky. Very soon Dick, this coming spring, your master Fedor will be flying to this desired direction that seems in front of you and so close, but in real life – an eternity of waiting to reach...

Fedor composed himself well. He got down on his knees and said, “Goodbye, Dick”. He kissed his eyes and stood aside. Large round teardrops like beads were hanging on his eyelashes, nose and rolling down to his cheeks, his lips, He did not move. He stood and looked at the dog weeping silently.

No one interrupted...

Then I came to Dick, I put my hand on the massive head the first and last time.... Goodbye Dick, goodbye friend, the best friend ever...

Trubilin pulled his small gun Stechkin (see “Terminology and Glossary”  Editor) out of his jacket’s pocket and made three shots, saluting in the air....

Temir monotonically murmured the same favorite song of Dick. He always sang this song to him...

…It is only when you feel a real pain from your torn soul compressed in your chest to the point that you cannot take a breath, that only then you start to look around and notic what others do, what they talk and sing.

***

In the early autumn of 1994, I arrived in Voronezh, a home town of a great Russian writer Ivan Ivanovich Evseenko, who invited me to stay at his house. This friendly family loves a literature, music. It was a house full of cats....

Despite my busy schedule, I had time to visit museums. The museums in Voronezh, unlike in my city Lugansk, are presented very well.

Once I was walking on the central New Moscow street and suddenly, from behind I heard “Glebych! ”. I turned around... and I saw a man with a clean shaved face, dressed in the latest fashioned brick-and-lilac jacket and trousers with a matching t-shirt in a black color, with fashioned shiny shoes and gold chains reflecting the sunshine. Wow! What gloss! What glamour! The figure of a typical underground New Russian, with a compulsory attached Beretta gun, BMW with dark-windows and an openly displayed muscled security, opened his arms and was ready to give me his greeting kiss…wow-wow.. hold on! The last thing in my life that I wanted is to be kissed by a criminal representative of the new Russian economy.. Sorry, it is too much for me …I stopped him with a polite but distant “Hello! ”

The guy was seeking my eyes, twittering around me, trying to look into my face. He could not understand why I would not recognise him, nor praise him for his success or envy his money. I do not know him! I have not seen him in my life at all and that’s it!

With visibly evaporating self-confidence, the guy kept trying to reach my heart:

– How are you, Glebych? What business brings you to us? Where you are staying? How things are going?

I could not get it... He definitely knows me. I put my brain in a high speed trying to recall in which situation I could see him.. But I failed… and our short conversation for the next two minutes reminded me of a reprise of two clowns in a circus but clearly demonstrated to the guy that I indeed did not recognize him. A resentment quickly appeared in his eyes but was immediately gone.

– Hey, bro, have you not recognised me? I am Lyoha Ruzhy! From the de-mining battalion... Remember – Ryzha!?

Ah-ah-ah! Well, of course, now I remember! We cuddled to broken bones! Forgive me, my brother, my wounded head plays with me from time to time.

Hugging, we started on a new tone of what, where, how.. I could not resist to sarcastically pull him down:

– So, my friend, you joined the trend too? – I pointed at his “New Russian” fashioned outfit.

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....

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