My life is the search for water now (Another conversation with a friend from Lugansk)

Again we had not spoken for a long time. I knew that Lugansk had been bombed, that electricity and water was cut off. I knew that there is no phone/internet connection with them. Are they dead or alive? I did not know ...

Finally, I got a call from my friend’s daughter with the contact information of their friends from Krasnodon.

- Mom will be there today, so get in touch.

My friend, Tanya, had been the most noticeable woman in our University. She was tall, with a beaming smile, sparkling personality with beauty and talent.

In the evenings, her dorm room was jammed with young girls and boys who stopped by to listen her sing and play guitar. Sometimes, she and I closed the door and sat quietly so no one would intrude on our privacy and we would whisper each other our secrets.

She has always been a very special friend to me. And now on Skype I saw my Tanya right in front of my eyes: a beautiful woman with long neck, gracefully curved eyebrows... and eyes full of pain ...

- You do not know what an ordeal it is to go to Krasnodon ... Only 40 miles away, but how long it took me? Only 40 miles away, but no bombing here. Although, they also bombed here before....

- They bombed us - interjected her friend, - but, of course, it was not as bad as Lugansk. We don’t have such colossal destruction.

- We had six weeks of incessant, unrelenting bombardment ... You know how terrible is it waking up in the morning? They stop bombing, and we go to sleep, and then, at about 5 – 6 am we hear the sound ... Do you know what "kravchunka" is?

- No, - I was surprised, - I had never heard of such a word.

- It is named after the first President Kravchuk. This is a food cart from supermarket. Now, in the morning we hear the sound of kravchunkas ... There are old ladies searching for water in the city.

- Now I am going back to Lugansk and at the entrance of the city I will see a long line of old ladies standing to get water ...

- Where is this water coming from - I asked - what are you drinking?

- This is the water from hatches, this is a technical water ... You know, I can’t even call it a ‘line of people’ because it stretches back many streets in the distance ....

- The war for me is an empty city and long queues of people standing for water.

- It’s impossible for anyone to truly understand what is going on from far away. Those dead bodies, which you saw on the Internet, I saw firsthand, up close when passing by on those streets ... And now, when I pass there, I try to avoid the places where they once sadly laid ...

- Once there was a thunderstorm ... rumbles of thunder, and accompanied with a flashing lightning “Grad” was flying from all sides ... And it was such a horrible feeling when you don’t understand where the man-made death is coming from, and where the raging elements are……

- Our land… Sometimes I wonder why the land deserves this? These shells fly and embed painfully into the ground ... Our land is riddled with all the injuries, our land is groaning in pain ...

- What about you, Mom? - I asked. Tanya’s Mom is over 90 and she is paralyzed.

- Mom really does not understand what’s going on. My husband and I are forever moving her bed during bombing to one safer place or the next - she bitterly chuckles - as if it would help, and she shouts to us: "Cowards! Leave my bed alone! " Or asks:" Who is knocking at the window all the time?" How would I begin to explain to her what is going on? I silently answer: "It’s a war, Mom, it is a war that knocks on our windows ..."

- Do you remember - she continues - I said that this war is some inexplicable surrealism? Now, listen to me. They bombed us, and we, as usual, hid under the table for cover, and suddenly we heard someone singing. We listened carefully: indeed singing could be heard under the rumble of shells. Forgetting the danger we were in, I slid out from under the table and went to the window. There were neighbors from next door in our building sitting on the bench in our yard and singing. Rockets flew from one side and they sang Russian songs. When the rockets flew from the other side the people sang Ukrainian songs.

We laughed.

- Then they brought the cauldron with food, and ate and drank under the landing of the shells.

- And you start feeling a little better when you saw it – I stated, clearly bringing to mind this picture.

- It was so weird, crazy, absurd and even funny, then, yes, we smiled at this .. I do not even know what it was ... courage? Recklessness?

I understood all about these people. They could no longer sit under the table ... These people were being strafed by “Grad” artillery as if they were mortal enemies! The ordinary, peaceful people were attacked by heavy artillery! There was no way to be afraid anymore, there was no way to live under fire from ‘our’ people, because until recently were all were ‘ours’. So, they went out of their flats into the yard, and sang Russian and Ukrainian songs, because we were one people, and we knew and liked each other's songs, and it was no mad “ukri”* that dug the Black Sea, but nice, a little slyly, but very related Ukrainians.

What happened? Why is this country ruled by a bloody confectioner Valtsman**? Why does criminal Kolomoysky decide who will live and who should be mercilessly burned in Odessa? Why does Tatarin Akhmetov bleed people in mortal combat? Where are Ukrainians on that land? Why do Russians, who do not want to live in this bacchanalia, get killed?

And I realized one more thing. I'll never forgive those of my friends and people close to me, with whose acceptance and tolerance this horrible massacre happened. I used to think they were temporarily blurred in their understanding. They are my childhood friends, classmates ... Well, we have disagreements, but used to be friends for so many years! Now I know that I can’t keep my friendship with them as before. They stay on the other side. They called people from Novorossia who are deeply precious in my heart - the terrorists. They complain about the poor quality armor and are completely comfortable with the fact that their husbands and sons go to KILL, and when the new “president” offers good pay, they are willing to go and kill ... They are not Ukrainians for me anymore. Ukrainians in Novorossia fight with ‘ukri’.

People driven by pain and despair went into the yard under fire, and sat down, downed Russian vodka or Ukrainian gorilka*** and began to sing Russian and Ukrainian songs, reminding to everyone around that brother kills brother.

How many more ordinary civilians and brave rebels in Novorossia should die and how many more children would stop talking and remain crippled until the star-striped evil monster will be quenched from soaking in worldwide blood?

* ukri - ancient ukri is a false theory, developed by American scientists, and sticks in the minds of Ukrainians for many years with the aim of developing a strong opinion in their mind that they are the chosen nation (for instance, according to this theory they dug the Black Sea, and committed other ‘feats’) and separated the brotherly Slavic people. The purpose is clear.

** Valtsman – real name of Poroshenko

*** gorilka – Ukrainian vodka

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