My father fought in the Russo-Finnish War, he never understood what heâd been fighting for, but they told him to go, so he went. They never talked about that war, they called it the âFinnish campaign,â not a war. But my father would tell us about itâŚ.In hushed tones. At home. On rare occasions, he would look back on it. When he was drinkingâŚThe setting of his war was winter: the forests and meter-deep snows. The Finns fought on skis, in white camouflage uniforms; theyâd always appear out of nowhere, like angels. 'Like angels'âthose are my fatherâs wordsâŚThey could take down a detachment, an entire squadron, overnight. The deadâŚmy father recalled how the dead always lay in pools of blood; a lot of blood seeps out of people killed in their sleep. So much blood, it would eat through the meter-deep snow. After the war, my father couldnât even bear to butcher a chicken. Or a rabbit. He couldnât stand the sight of a dead animal or the warm smell of blood. He had a fear of large trees with full crowns because they were the kinds of trees that the Finnish snipers would hide inâthey called them 'cuckoosââŚ.My fatherâŚmy father only saw six months of combat before being taken prisoner. How did they capture him? They were advancing over a frozen lake while the enemyâs artillery shot at the ice. Few made it across, and those who did had just spent their last strength swimming through freezing water; all of them lost their weapons along the way. They came to the shore half-naked. The Finns would stretch out their arms to rescue them and some people would take their others, while othersâŚmany of them wouldnât accept any help from the enemy. That was how they had been trained. My father grabbed one of their hands, and he was dragged out of the water. I remember his amazement: 'They gave me schnapps to warm me up. Put me in dry clothes. They laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, âYou made it, Ivan!ââ My father had never been face to face with the enemy before. He didnât understand why they were so cheerfulâŚ
Elena Yurievna S., third secretary of the district party committee, 49 years old, speaking to Svetlana Alexievich, Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets (via hallo-catfish)
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