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From the notes of Mr. N
From the notes of Mr. N
Gleb Karpinsky
© Gleb Karpinsky, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0068-0525-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
HOW I FOUGHT
A moment… It may or may not be happy. So many things happened, and the memories of the war are still in my dreams. I can’t forget it, I wish I could, but I can’t. Chechnya-oplot Russia in the Caucasus, the glory of the Cossack strength and invincibility of the Russian spirit, our land, which we defended in December ' 94, fulfilling our civic duty, abandoned and deceived, but unbroken and greedily wanting to live. I remember how the city was smoking, corpses of residents, soldiers, animals were lying around, abandoned armored vehicles were burning, and it was already difficult to understand where our own people were, where others ' were. Our platoon was making its way to its own. At the market, we came across «Chekhov». Forty well-armed militants met us with heavy fire and drove us into the basement. We have taken up a circular defense. The radio was jammed. During the breaks, we heard Chechen and Arabic speech, but most often Russian mat was heard. When the first of us was killed, it was a shock. I ate out of the same pot with this unfortunate man, and he called me by my first name…and now he was lying in an unnatural position with his head broken and his eyes wide open with surprise. Death caught him suddenly. The officer ordered each of us to step over the dead comrade. So he wanted us to overcome our fear and continue the fight. And the battle continued. The enemy advanced and retreated, exhausting us. And with each such attack, we suffered losses. Two kids were trapped at the entrance. And they were still alive and moaned in the darkness for a long time. I heard one of them asking for a drink and calling my mother…
«Take up position, soldier! The officer ordered as I tried to dig them out.
And then I realized that war is a terrible thing, the most terrible thing that a person can go through. I sat at the window and fired at the enemy because they were firing at me. I spared no bullets and heard someone else howling in pain, and then everything was quiet. As dawn broke, the attacks became desperate. The enemy made every attempt to smoke us out. He was constantly shouting into a megaphone with a Caucasian accent:
– Russian Ivan, go home! We only need an officer…»
Among us was Akhmed, a Chechen. His parents were from Grozny, and his father, a deputy of the Chechen Republic, was thrown out of the window of the Dudayevtsy CityCouncilthree years ago.
– You are not Muslims, «You are devils who sold your souls for the money of the Arabs and corrupt officials of the Kremlin.
Ahmed is dead. A grenade fragment ripped open his stomach. I never thought this was possible. It’s so easy to cut a person like butter with a knife. Along with your clothes and ammunition. Steam billowed from his insides. Ahmed, my poor friend. I cry now, remembering your beautiful face, your eyes, in which I saw myself, a frightened eighteen-year-old boy who suddenly stood up as an adult.
The second day was drawing to a close. There are four of us left. We were all wounded. The officer was killed by a sniper when he tried to bandage the soldier. Our spirit was broken. We drew lots for who should stay. The lot fell to me. I covered, and others went to the breakthrough. Deep down, I envied them, but they didn’t run even a few meters… They were caught and their heads were cut off.
I didn’t like one Arab. He was as red as a fox and as brave as hell. Several times I tried to get it, but Allah kept it safe for me. I remember clutching my rifle and praying, because I didn’t have more than twenty rounds left. For every submachine gun burst of enemies, I shot single ones. Until he was completely silent.
«What, Vanya, are you out of bullets?» – the «Czechs» were laughing outside.
They were creeping up. I felt that they were ready to tear me apart, torture me before I died, humiliate me, rape me, castrate me, trample on me. They shouted all their threats out of the window, peering out into the darkness… and this red-bearded man shouted the most. I was promised, by Allah, that I would cut off all my limbs and eat my own organs in turn. They were not men, but beasts. In my worst dream, I never imagined that I would end up here. I shouted to them, bursting into tears. I was soaking wet with fear…
«Creatures, let me die a man!» I still have my bayonet…
It was funny. Who did not serve, he does not know that the bayonet from the machine gun bends when opening even a tin can.
«Come out, Russian! the bearded man shouted. – You’ll die like a dog.»
I got out, pale and exhausted… There were six of them. All that’s left of the gang. They stood with their weapons lowered, grinning at me in anticipation of what was coming. The bearded man took out his dagger and smiled.
– Now we will cut the intestines! – No, «he said.
And that’s how I wanted to live! And he broke his word… I did not go to the bayonet, gave a burst of remaining cartridges, putting all this evil spirits on the soot-dirty snow.
AFTER THE SHOT
A shot rang out, and the Estonian girl put down her rifle and frowned amusingly when she couldn’t find enough space for a new notch on the butt of her M-16. It was like a child’s game. For each notch, she was paid a thousand dollars, regardless of the rank of the deceased. Girls like that killed everything that moved. Often their own. The main thing is that there should be chaos, so that no one relaxes. The bullet hit me in the leg, and I crawled on, writhing in pain, while the sniper was already looking for a new victim. This time it was an old Chechen who was driving milk cans on a cart that caught her eye. The war caught a peaceful city unexpectedly. Markets and movie theaters were often open during the fighting. She pulled the trigger because she didn’t like the old man. She didn’t like old men.
I was overtaken by bandits. They tore off my cross and trampled it in the dirt, as if it was something disgusting to them. They stole my boots. My head was impaled on a stake and given to Chechen boys, who ran around the yard with it for several days, scaring the girls. My soul was restless. I wandered through the ruins of the city, mourning my torn body, leaving bare footprints in the wet snow. I don’t remember how I ended up in the broken mosque. A few tank shells had made huge, terrible holes in it, but it stood in the middle of a similarly ruined city, like a proud and defiant mountaineer in the last moments of his life. Then I heard the sounds of dhikr. It was rhythmic music pouring directly from the sky, through the shattered and sagging dome. Chechens were dancing somewhere. I saw a circle of them, as if in some kind of sacred, almost savage redemption, they were running around in this circle, holding each other’s shoulders. Sometimes they would stop and move their arms and legs in unnatural movements. Their bodies were airy, and their feet barely touched the ground. This dance exuded incredible energy. It was as if I was being sucked into this vortex, and I would have stood in this circle and run with them too, but I was uncomfortable. I was like an uninvited guest at someone else’s party. In addition, a very scary red-haired Arab was standing with his back to me, cursing at everyone as if they were small children. He was brandishing a very sharp dagger, and his speech was incomprehensible to me, I could only hear two or three Russian words. This is «cutting» and «killing». I think he was encouraging them to do some blasphemous wrong thing. And I was very glad that the Chechens did not pay any attention to him and were passionate about dancing.
Suddenly the Arab turned, and his angry grin startled me. I wanted to run, to hide behind rocks and exposed rebar, but he was already calling out to me, shaking his beard.
«Ah, Vanya, you tricked us so well,» he growled, and invited us to a table that stood against one of the walls of the mosque. On the tabletop lay the carcass of a bull, its belly slashed open and its throat slashed. Its entrails were steaming, and the poor animal was still kicking its legs in agony.
There were already several Chechens who did not want to dance dhikr. All of them had been slashed by bullets, and blood still dripped from their pale bodies, but they didn’t feel any pain or hatred for me. I recognized them and sat down next to them, waiting for something. Strangely, I didn’t hate them either.
«Allahu Akbar…» the militants I had killed suddenly threw themselves on their knees, and I followed their example.
In the bright light that flared up, I suddenly saw God. There was no doubt that it was a God, and I can’t describe it, not because of the bright light, but because of the emotions that filled my soul, after which you don’t understand anything. All I remember is that he had a white beard, soft as silk, that hung down to the ground, and we touched it with trembling fingers and kissed it with trembling lips. Animal fear permeated our unhappy souls. And there was no hiding from it. I knew that my fate depended on the severity of that gaze. A fiery sword flashed in the God’s hands. He swung it and sliced the animal into several pieces. He took the head for himself, gave the heart to the Arab, the liver to me, and the legs to the others. We felt a terrible, almost animal hunger and greedily began to eat, desperately tearing raw meat with our teeth. Blood trickled down our lips like wine at someone’s wild wedding, but I couldn’t taste it.
– You are lucky, brother, you became a shahid! the Arab whispered to me. «Here you go!»
And he gave me his terrible dagger, with which he had wanted to stab me while he was still alive. I thanked him dryly.
«The Almighty is very angry with me,» he said sadly, swallowing the bull’s heart.
– For what?» I was genuinely surprised. – You fought bravely and killed many of my comrades. And if it wasn’t for my desire for life, he would have killed me, too.
The Arab’s name was Valli. He still has a home, a wife, and a horse named McBoot in the United States. And Allah was angry that Walli hid a bank account in one of the Swiss banks from his relatives. And as the Holy Book says: it is a grave sin to be a usurer or to deal with him, because all the banks of the world belong to the God Yahweh.
The meal was coming to an end. We sated our dead stomachs, praising Allah for His bounty.
– You’re just a kid, «He smiled, patting me on the shoulder,» and you don’t even know how to chew meat with your teeth.» You’ve never even kissed a girl.
I was ashamed that everyone knew my secret. The bearded men laughed, rattling their gnawed bones on the table, but the old man’s stern gaze dampened their ardor.
– Why did you kill the Russians? The God was angry, his eyes flashing menacingly. – Didn’t I tell you that you can’t kill a man, because I give his life, and only I can take it?»
They looked down, and I began to cry.
«Go, child, in peace!» You deserve better company, «He told me, and I obeyed.
Valli came up to me and hugged me like a brother. I reciprocated. We were silent for a while.
«Good-bye,» I finally told him.
His red beard, stained with bull’s blood, tickled my face painfully.
– I’ll see you again, «he smiled,» when you know what it means to love a woman…»
«I wish I could find her,» I sighed.
«You’ll find it! Just promise me something… " and he stole a glance at the Chechens dancing dhikr.
– Stop Amina, – the Arab suddenly stammered – - She is my Chechen wife and will soon become a shahid, stupid girl…
Some heavenly force caught me and carried me away. My spirit hovered over the ice-bound swamps and the slumbering forest. When I was little, I used to wander there with my father, picking mushrooms and berries. It was winter now, but I recognized the places of my childhood. I remembered how my father had become rich, and instead of going out, I began to buy off expensive gifts, since there was no time left for me. My mother left us when I was six. My father was worried, and he blamed all his personal failures on me. Money and power have replaced love and created a chasm in our relationship. Now I flew into my parents ' house like an invisible shadow and saw my father. He was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, surrounded by luxury, silently leaning over the fire, trying to warm himself. He was holding my funeral card. His hands were shaking. I’d never seen tears in his eyes before, he’d never cried in front of me, and now I couldn’t bear to be around him. He didn’t know that his only son was looking at him, wanting to hug him, to tell him that he loved him. He had a bad heart and I was afraid to scare him, so I left him. But he still felt something, and he rushed to the window and shouted my name. Long and shrill. To the point of hoarseness. And I wept with him.
I used to walk along Tverskoy Boulevard before I was conscripted. It was always fun here, lovers were kissing on the benches, and I decided to take a walk here to recover a little. Suddenly someone called out to me, and I froze in disbelief.
«Who are you?» – there was a hollow voice from the monument to Sergei Yesenin.
– I am a Russian soldier who was killed in the Caucasus by a sniper’s bullet. I said.
«Have the English really not calmed down yet?» the voice sighed. – Have you seen Allah yet?»
I nodded and moved closer, careful not to trample on the red carnations at the foot of the monument.
– He let me go in peace because I’m still a child.
«Did he say ’child’?»
I nodded again. I wanted to look inside the monument.
«Children are the most amazing flowers in the universe,» the voice said sadly. «They’re like stars. There is no evil or vice in them. I would like to remain an eternal child, but I have already, unfortunately, known a woman.
– Why are you here?» I asked the stranger.
«Because I don’t want Heaven!» Give me my homeland!
And the stranger told me that he was quite happy here, but his beloved was waiting for him somewhere on the bank of some river. He suggested that I watch the monument while he went on a date with her. I agreed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, because he was afraid that in his absence, the monument would occupy the souls of the bureaucrats who constantly hang around McDonald’s. It is strange that I believed this patriot, even though I never saw his face and only heard his muffled voice.
«You, my Rasea… Ras… seya! Asian side!
And above me, a whirl of carnations shot up to the blue, blue sky.
A TRUE FRIEND
A true friend is known in joy. Sincerely enjoying the success of a friend is a great happiness.
ABOUT YOUR NATIVE PLACES
Where are these native places? Where will I find them after a long separation? But I am happy because I know the way in my heart. I run home barefoot through warm puddles. I run, and there is no such force to stop this restless run. For the sky, in its beautiful azure, also runs with me. God, I feel so good. How blissful on the way home!
It is far, far away, where the wind blows along the mountain slopes, where a clear stream flows and where the birches, like girls, whisper to the traveler sad songs about some distant, forgotten, impossible dream… Aplace where you can hear the laughter of our childhood, and where we remember the voice of our mother, and the smell of mown grass in the morning, where our heart is squeezed by the memory that everything passes irrevocably, and only love never dies, because it is the reason for our true life and it is the reason for our resurrection.
SHE LOVED IRISES
She loved irises, and never cheated on them, and I loved her and only her. Every time I watched another fan hand her these delicate flowers, I winced, feeling a nagging pain in my chest. Sometimes I was glad to see her throw roses or chrysanthemums at the next fan in anger. Oh, how she loved irises! Oh, how I loved her! One Christmas day, she stood beside me for a long time, looking at her watch and fiddling with her snow boots. Obviously, no one came to meet her. Her lovely mouth was steaming warmly. It swirled above me like a pure soul, rising to the sky. Her lips were trembling slightly, and I saw a tear roll down her cheeks.
«I love you,» I said to her then, breaking the silence.
I was afraid I wouldn’t see her again. The woman turned in my direction and looked surprised. Her sad eyes looked at me questioningly.
«I love you,» I said again.
She seemed to like my understatement and smiled. «Did she really hear me?» – I thought then. My stone heart felt very hot. I could feel her eyes on me. I was drawn like a magnet to her sweet lips. As I mentally touched my cheek to hers, my head spun with the desire to possess this beautiful woman.
– Why did God make me stone?»
I SOMETIMES WANT TO
I sometimes want to heal the poor and the sick with just the touch of my hand… Here, for example, I go to the subway. And a wretched man stumbles towards me, a cripple, almost crawling on all fours. And I hug him, gently stroke his head, and he becomes normal, his legs and arms grow back, the ulcers all disappear, and his face is beautiful and clear, like an angel’s. He looks at me, smiles, wants to remember me, thank me, but I disappear into the crowd. Sometimes I think I even have that gift.
A QUESTION FOR A BLIND GIRL
One day I was sitting on a bench on the boulevard eating ice cream. It was sunny and spring-like. Birds twittered on branches, and children launched paper boats in fountains. I was smiling. «It’s good when everything is good…", I thought. Suddenly I saw a golden retrieverleading a woman. I dropped my ice cream in surprise, and the four-legged guide looked at me with intelligent eyes. It stuck out its tongue and wagged its tail. I got a chance to see the blind woman. She was poorly dressed, in a gray raincoat, glasses, and plain shoes. In her hands was a walking stick, which she used to probe the space in front of her. I could hear the brass tip of this cane tapping gently on my bench until it bumped into my knee.
«I’m sorry…» the woman smiled with a good-natured smile. «I think my dog ate your ice cream.»
I didn’t say anything. I just watched the blind woman, the way the wind played with her hair. I was lost in the mirror of her dark glasses, and I was ashamed that I couldn’t say a word.
The blind woman tugged on the leash, and the guide dog barked happily at me and obediently walked on. My heart ached. God, how I longed to heal this woman with my magic kiss, to give her sight, to give her back what was taken from her for some reason hidden from me. I wanted to see her surprised face. As she hugs her dog, as her cane falls from her hands that are weak from great happiness, as tears glisten in her eyes, and she still feels my sweet taste from ice cream on her lips, searches for me, but does not find me… And I began to cry.
I cried so bitterly and sincerely that people who passed me stopped and shook their heads. They didn’t understand the reason for my tears. They didn’t understand anything, naively assuming that I was some kind of freak and crying because of accidentally dropped ice cream.
Wiping my eyes, I kept asking myself the same question that haunted me: «Can blind people see the beauty of their loved one?» Birds twittered happily on the branches. The children were still throwing paper boats into the fountain.
ABOUT POOR ARTHUR
For ten years I fought off the restless souls of bureaucrats. It’s like I’ve grown together with a monument. I glanced sullenly at the Tverskoy Boulevard in the faint hope that sooner or later my friend will return. But he forgot me. Nor did the girl who liked irises show up. Couples still gathered around me in love, and even in the cold, there were always flowers at the foot. Grateful Russia loves dead poets. The loneliness poisoned me. I was overgrown, and my hair hung down from my shoulders to my feet.
One night I heard the crunch of snow. A lone shadow walked up to the monument and paused in thought. I looked into the eyes of an unfamiliar shadow and didn’t see myself. It turns out that even spirits don’t notice spirits if their suffering is unbearable. Grief blinds them and never lets them go. Like a wave, it covers them with their heads and throws them into the abyss, from which there is no escape. This bitter shadow was called Arthur. I wanted to feel sorry for him, to embrace him like a friend after a long separation. He looked to be in his thirties, tall and handsome, with jet-black curls. Like all Armenians, he had a pleasant voice and Oriental charm. His hands were golden and his heart was kind. When he spoke, the girls gathered from all the villages to listen to his soft voice. But it was rumored that he had already found a bride in Samarkand, and would soon bring her to Moscow. I want to introduce you to my mother.
Arthur sighed heavily. The snow fell on his pale face and did not melt. I saw that he was thinking of the Russian girl from Samarkand, whom he had not yet had time to love in life, and who still loved him in death. She loved him as an eighteen-year-old can. And her name was Galchonk. «Why Galchonok? – he was indignant. «It’s a black bird.» In the evenings, she would sit on the windowsill of her parents ' house and wait for him, and he would come and go, saying that he would come for an hour, and disappear for months, and she would wait and wait… He was the only one who filled her mind.
– Arthur – - she sighed – - where are you, my brown-eyed one, whom your kind heart loves now?
He liked Galchonok for her modesty. He met her when perestroika was raging. He rented a house with his brother in the village. They started mass production of popcorn. It was funny to see how they created their business. It was a heat gun, into which grains were pushed on one side, and sweet air flakes flew out of the nozzle on the other.
«Business in Armenian,» he laughed.
The whole house was littered with cereal. There, in the cornflakes, under the noise of a heat gun, he first got to know this girl. Then, like a decent man, he took her to meet his mother at the hospital. Yerevan. What a funny little Galchonok was! When Arthur stopped by to say hello to his cousin for a minute, the girl climbed a tree and threw rocks at the window because she thought he was having fun with someone else. The glass was replaced, and the neighbors had to explain that the breaking of windows in Samarkand is a common place. One day Jackdaw went to his mother’s house and saw a carpet on the floor and decided to take off her shoes.
«We don’t do that,» he smiled, and she blushed.
For three days and nights, Arthur took her to visit friends. They drank wine, grilled kebabs in the mountains, and sang Armenian songs. He told her stories about Akhtamar and wiped her tears with kisses. For a long time they sat on Sevan, hugging each other like children, listening to the sound of the incoming wave. And it seemed to them that they heard the voice of the despairing one.
«Ah, Tamar, ah, Tamar,» someone with a lost soul shouted, hoping to see the light of the extinguished torch of his beloved.
But soon the fairy tale ended. It’s time to send Galchonok to Samarkand. She didn’t want to leave without him, but she did. Arthur had other things to do here. He and his best friend Mishik drove the girl to the airport.
