of whom seemed to have appeared from under the ground.
«Look, one, two, three. Each of these vehicles has ten wheels,» said Serikbol.
«This is really something… Ten, just like in a story,» we commented as we peered in trying to get into the cabin.
«If this is war, I’m going to join the partisans,» said Serikbol. We became envious, as he was the first to declare this – after all, each of ’ us felt that he was either a soldier or at the very least the «son of a regiment».
«Come on, go home, lads!» shouted a lieutenant-colonel.
«Uncle, tell us – who are we fighting?» I asked him timidly.
«There is no war. Enough of your prattling. Off with you! Home! Your parents are waiting for you. You’re going to be evacuated!» said the lieutenant-colonel angrily.
At that time we did not know what «evacuation» meant, but we immediately had a premonition of foreboding. This misty and mysterious word emanated fear and uncertainty.
Grandfather was oiling the wheels of the bullock cart in the yard.
«Give me a hand, grandson,» he beckoned to me.
I found out what was happening from him.
«We are being evicted,» he replied morosely.
«But, where to, why?» I said in amazement, secretly rejoicing at the unexpected turn of event – I, a seven-year-old, was tired of spending the summer holidays in the village, tending the hateful sheep. I had by that time read Mark Twain and yearned for new experiences with my whole being. I longed to travel and was ready to seek adventure even at the ends of the earth.
«To the town,» answered grandfather, reluctantly.
«Then, why are you preparing the bullock cart, if we are moving to town?» I said in surprise, and this suddenly utterly irritated grandfather.
«The town, the town,» he mimicked someone. «They’ve all pricked up their ears, repeating like parrots, ‘the town, the town’. But what are we supposed to do with the livestock? We can’t take them to the town, can we? Personally, I’m going to the hills. And you, what have you decided to do – are you coming with me or are you going with your mother?» Grandfather grilled me with his eyes and I looked away, without answering. I wanted so much to go to town! Auapa, my grandmother on my mother’s side, lived there. Strict and imperious, she loved me and talked to me as if I was an adult. Thirty-five years have passed but I still can distinctly recall how, in the evenings, we used to sit on a city bench and engage in simple conversations. She spoke about everyone with wisdom – about her daughter, my mother, and her son-in-law, my father. Strangely enough, it seemed to me that she loved her son-in-law more than her daughter. She loved my father and she loved me.
And I did not raise my head, not knowing what to say to grandfather.
«So, it means that you’re going to town, eh?»
It was difficult to judge by grandfather’s voice whether he was really asking or jeering at me.
I blushed and tried to evade his question.
«Let’s wait and see what dad says…»
«What’s there to see? It’s plain enough. You’re no golden eagle, no, no golden eagle,» grandfather cut me short. «Very well, off you go, I’ll get by without you.»
I shuffled about awkwardly near him and then returned home. Mother and grandmother were tying up bundles; there was a real pogrom taking place in the house. My younger brother, hanging on to grandmother’s skirt hem, was hovering under foot, whimpering. My one-year-old little sister was asleep.
«Take him outside and play with him,» said mother, pointing to my brother.
I took him in my arms and stepped into the yard. Grandfather silently looked at us both and then took up where he had left off.
«Not a golden eagle, not a golden eagle! As if he himself is a lion!» I mentally scolded grandfather.
Then we heard loud voices, a woman’s weeping and several people entered our yard.
«What are we to do? We are lost! We are all lost!» wailed our neighbour, Grandmother Bokey.
«They say, this bomb possesses a barbaric strength, it is able to wipe all of Genghiztau off the face of the earth,» old Kabish echoed her.
«This bomb is worse than the American one which annihilated two Japanese cities. That one was atomic, and this one is hydrogen,» said the physics teacher.
«Oh, Moldabergen, what should we do?» walled Grandmother Bokey.
«Prepare for the journey,» snapped grandfather sternly.
«But where’s your son?» Bokey suddenly inquired.
«Where should he be? He’s at work. They’re folding a meeting with army officers at the District Committee,» explained Kabish.
«The authorities will decide what we are to do. A boss’s command is law unto his subordinates,» said the physics teacher.
He had a reputation for being an honest and sober person. And he was «ever a coward – he had left for the front a private and returned from the war a lieutenant…
„What are we going to do with the livestock?“ said Kabish in confusion.
„Why, don’t you know?“ said grandfather, looking at him sneeringly. „We’ll take them to the hills. Or perhaps you want to take your Sheep into town? In that case, the townsfolk will call you a mutton-head.“
„Yes, of course, we can’t take them into town,“ agreed Kabish promptly.
„And anyway, what are you hanging about for? We’re leaving today or tomorrow, you know, and you’re all standing about chattering idly.“ Grandfather suddenly became irritated again.
„Yes, you’re right on all accounts,“ said the old lady, Bokey, blushing and hastily leaving the yard.
Just then the loudspeaker, which was suspended from a pole in the middle of the village, suddenly came to life – a metallic woman’s voice announced:
„Comrades, please assemble in the square in thirty minutes for a meeting with the evacuation organizing committee.“
Soon the whole square was filled with the villagers. Amongst the anxious crowd were my grandfather and I.
On the platform among the military and the leaders of the district, I saw my father. He looked exhausted, his eyes were red with lack of sleep, but he spoke calmly and confidently. I will not attempt to reproduce the exact sense of his speech as I do not recall what was said by him or by the other speaker – a middle-aged officer with two large stars on his shoulders. He was the same lieutenant-colonel who had sent us home. That evening, father brought him and two other officers to our place. During dinner, from their brief remarks, I gathered that the inhabitants would be evacuated to the town of Ayaguz and those who so wished to Semipalatinsk, the regional centre. The old men had been given permission to go to the Genghiz Hills with the livestock. That is why had large military vehicles arrived at our village!
In the morning, the lieutenant-colonel said that we should only take with us what was absolutely necessary, to protect the windows with bales of straw and reassured the inhabitants that in a month’s time they would all safely return home.
„And now, each of you is entitled to an allowance of five hundred roubles for the family from the District Committee Accounts Office,“ he said finally.
Five hundred roubles even in old money was for many a large sum. People signed with dignity the register which the accountant, Talgat, had prepared. Averting their eyes they quickly made their way home.
Only the lonely bachelor, Duisekhan, who had a reputation, in the village for being not all there, flatly refused to accept the unexpected offer of money.
„Duisekhan does not accept hand-outs,“ he shouted in incomprehensible anger, before leaving the meeting.
On the one hand, this stand of his amused the villagers, on the other, they were astonished by it. After all, Duisekhan was as poor as a church mouse and survived on what He earned from digging and cleaning wells and helping with the haymaking.
No one would hire Him permanently. He returned from the war late, about 1947, half out of his wits. Otegen, the NKVD officer, took Duisekhan’s young, shapely wife to be his second wife. Although no one in the village knew on which front Duisekhan had fought, the rumour had it that he had been held prisoner for a long time either by the Germans or by our authorities.
With the coming of spring Duisekhan got excited. At night he would roam about the dark streets of the village, muttering words only comprehensible to himself, laughing for no reason and frightening the passers-by. If money came his way, he would buy cheap, small sugarplums and give away handfuls to the children. The children treated this huge, lonely man with respect and never teased him; each one of us was always ready to help him.
„Huh! What arrogance! If that down-and-out doesn’t want the money, let me have it,“ suggested the retired policeman, Otegen.
„You have no conscience! You’re always ready to grab what does not belong to you! Allah is not with you. At least you should be ashamed before God!“ Grandmother Bokey attacked him.
„Your God doesn’t hand out money!“ Otegen snapped back but nevertheless fell silent. He knew that there was no love lost between himself and the villagers as in his day he had over-zealously waved a revolver around.
At night when everything had quietened down, I went up to my father.
„Father, I will not go to Ayaguz.“
„Do you want to go to Auapa in Semipalatinsk?“ my father asked me.
„No, I’ll go with my grandfather,“ I forced out of myself.
With a strange expression on his face, my father silently looked at me.
„I want to be with my grandfather,“ I repeated.
My father shifted his confused gaze to my mother and I understood that it was easier for him to organize the whole district than to deal with me.
„The Evacuation Organizing Committee will remain behind in the village. There are seven of us and we will stay here… You’ll have to go with the little ones to Ayaguz.“ He fell silent and nodded in my direction. „And what are we going to do with him?“