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Astapov Igor
Black-and-White Dreams: War

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  Black-and-White Dreams: War
  
  February 15, 1989.
  
  The phone"s ringing. I pick up the receiver, "Igor!!! The War"s over!!!"
  The phone again.
  "Are you watching TV? The War!!! It"s over!!!"
  And I dial a number with my fumbling fingers,
  "Dima!!! The war!!! It"s over!!!"
  And we dial numbers shouting incoherently, laughing and not realizing our laughter turns to bitter sobbing.
  The War is over!
  Finally, it"s all over now!!!
  
  War...
  
  We don"t know it"s not over for us yet. It rolled up inside us seizing us with its lead jaws and it remains, remains, and remains deep in there, waiting for its hour to get out.
  
  War...
  
  It is when you"re wounded one hell of a lot, having "multiple fatal missile wounds", you hold on to your life, still not understanding why.
  
  War...
  
  It is when you"re blind, deaf, mute and no one needs you; you clamber up to the light, but what for?
  
  War...
  
  It is when you drag yourself out on May 9 with your honours on, you see the old veteran"s eyes which are full of hatred; he holds his shaking hand out to remove your honours saying, "People shed their blood for them."
  
  War...
  
  It is when your beloved shouts knowing you"re deaf because of the severest shell-shock, "You"re a deaf blockhead! I"m goddamn tired of saying everything two times for you!!!" and in the dear eyes you see only irritation mixed with tiredness and despair. And her every word is like a ruthless, blunt and indented dagger that tears your soul into pieces...
  
  War...
  
  It is when you wake up from the lack of air because there isn"t any in your lungs; only FEAR. And you kill them and they kill you again...
  
  War...
  
  It is when you"re about to smash your skull in hysterics, but instead you try and smile, seizing your own temper with your teeth.
  War...
  
  It is when you wake up clutching at soaking sheets as your friends fall down, shot under enemy"s fire, and you can"t help them.
  
  War...
  
  It is when your right eyelid shivers slightly and you try to check it, hearing the cracks of gunfire and shouts of people who are dead long ago. And you hang over the chasm of insanity, having grasped at its edge with the remnants of your mind... and smile, smile.
  
  War...
  
  It is when your sons have no idea about their father"s past.
  
  War...
  
  It is when you are always trying to keep a straight face and... smile, smile, smile.
  
   War...
  
  These are your mother"s gray hair and wrinkles.
  
  War...
  
  It is when here are you and here are them.
  
  We don"t know yet that war will never be over.
  But it"ll sure die.
  
  It"ll die with us...
   War...
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