Yana-partisan. Joanna's Page 9
The fireworks in Moscow on the day of the Victory Parade June 24, 1945
Yana-partisan. Joanna's Page 9
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It was a yard game of war, our soldiers and krauts'. Girls, if they were accepted, then as fascists, which no one wanted to be, and set mandatory The order of the losers sometimes went "in krauts" for several days and sometimes because humiliation they were so ferocious as real fascists.
Once Yana rose to the high honor of being partisan and destroying the bridge, which is built over a ditch enemies. The bridge consisted of an old door and a few rotten boards; it was guarded by Zyuka whose real surname was Zyukin. Nobody knew his name.
Yana has adopted a stratagem. She crept up and hid behind a tree; let the river boat of pine bark, which masterfully built her familiar uncle. The boat was a pity, but the game is worth the candle. Zyuka, of course, chased bait for after the rain was strong, and Ian managed to fill up the bridge into ditch and threw her heels.
Deceived Zyuka, besides not having caught a boat, easily caught up with partisan, gave a slap and captured. But to restore the bridge, it was necessary to release the prisoner, because Zyuka had no rope. Hesitation, enraged Zyuka decided to spit on the bridge and twisting under the noses of Yana dirty fist, said he did not let go until Jan did not say where their partisan headquarters. Headquarters was nearby, in the barn at Katka, but partisan Ian, of course, ecstatic horror said, "Never!" And Zyuka under the gun of a wooden machine took her through the next entrance to the attic of their house. Along the way, they came across the familiar adults, both ceremoniously greeted them as if nothing is happening - implicate adults in the game is strictly not allowed under the threat of severe sanctions by the end of childhood.
"Give it to me straight!"
Yana shook her head violently.
Zyuka shoved her to the attic, pushed outside latch and growled through the door that if she changed her mind, let them open the window of the attic; it will be a conventional sign that she surrenders. And then let him sit here all my life.
Sinister Zyuka invented so that it is even a window had no right to open. And the call for help was not entitled. It was getting dark, something crackling, rustling, cheep; probably it was a rat,. At the bottom of voices, stomping up the stairs, returning from work, then long and anxiously called her mother. Now she will got it hot, if any here ever will. One knew for Yana, that she would never open a window, even if she would be eaten by rats.
It was quite dark. With tears of fear, Ian prayed to God grandmother Xenia, that he intervened to save:
"Do something, dear God, dear, because my mother is worried about me. You whisper to her that I'm here."
And the miracle happened. Stomp the stairs, laughing, the door swings open, flashlights flashed on the wall and broke into the attic children, for them and the adults came and opened the attic window, and Zyuka was right there, it did not look like they're not just fighting to the death. Everyone came to see fireworks; just announced on the radio, taken some town. Twenty artillery salvoes. Fireworks over Moscow was seen only here, in the attic, and Zyuka was already not an enemy, and the other guys, and even my mother, threatened:
"Tomorrow you will not go to the movies, where you gadding about?"
Mom hugged her, lifted her, the better to be seen. Movie is that, little things in life, I do not go. Maybe tomorrow mom would become kinder.
And then broke away in the forest blossomed magically colorful glow.
Hurrah! And the chorus is ticking volleys, and enthusiastic chorus knocking heart - our army took another city. She, partisan Yana, also won today, and God heard her. We were all together, and God was with us.
Stop a moment...
THE DAY OF THE VICTORY.
May 1945, fireworks after the Victory Parade. Sky and then exploded with jubilant boisterous colors, and the sea-bear crowd, shakes. If you pick up your feet, you will be able to swim. Yana's cheeks are wet with someone's tears, kisses, all indiscriminately kiss each other, their own and others, there are no strangers here all "our". She cannot wipe her cheek; her hands did not pick up, so closely.
And everybody sang and sang, confused the words, began a new song, and my mother sang, it seemed louder and louder all, but her look with the same tenacity rummaged hungry crowd. What if? At six o'clock in the evening after the war?