Chapter 1
A settlement near Grozny, Chechnya, June 1, 1996
Kazbek wiped the sleeve of his enormous faded sweater across the cloudy, damaged mirror above the old washbasin, but it did not help much. Then he tried to position himself so that his face would be reflected in the small area of the mirror where it was possible to see at least something.
Kazbek touched his cheeks with his hands and thought: “And at that last school bell ceremony, I was the most handsome one in the class. And, in general — the best.” A year ago, Kazbek had had something like his first graduation ceremony — the end of primary school. It could only be called a graduation in a very conditional sense, considering the circumstances: after the ceremonial assembly dedicated to the last school bell, the “graduates” and their parents gathered in their 3-B classroom, ate pies and cookies brought from home, washed it all down with compote, and went back to their houses. Organizing celebrations was dangerous, and besides, there was no money.
Everyone had long forgotten about the rule of all formal events — “white top, black bottom” — because most children simply did not have suitable clothes. Everyone wore whatever could be found in their families, and usually these were grayish, stretched-out clothes, washed to the point of fading, worn by more than one generation of children. Kazbek had also attended the event in a shapeless sweater and trousers with stretched-out knees that he had inherited from his two older brothers. But this did not prevent him from discovering something interesting: it turned out that he was more handsome than all his classmates — both the boys and even the girls. Previously, he had not noticed it, or perhaps his beauty had only become apparent by that time.
After making this discovery, Kazbek felt his own importance. He was not merely the youngest child in the family, someone who was of no use in important matters. He was not merely a “servant of God” who had to obey the will of those above him. He was not merely a fruit picker and shepherd for the small family flock of sheep. He was not merely a child who constantly needed school supplies, books, and music notebooks for that “useless music school”... But he was also the most beautiful child in the class! And the one with the best grades in biology and geography. And, moreover — the one with the most beautiful voice in the entire settlement! Local elders called him a nightingale, and his solfeggio teacher called him “a crystal descant.” True, his father believed that a beautiful voice was useless, just like music in general.
Remembering last year’s discovery, Kazbek looked into the cloudy mirror and smiled. A few days earlier had been the last school bell, and the school year in fifth grade had ended. Naturally, he had sung at that ceremony. How could he not? If he had to perform in front of an audience, he would definitely do it, even though his father believed that one should not stand out and should be like everyone else. And he had looked at himself in the mirror in the school lobby for quite a while. He was still perfect. Or rather, he had become even better, if that was possible.
How did he understand that he was handsome? Kazbek did not know. Maybe it was because of his nose? His was thin and straight, not hooked or fleshy like those of others. Or maybe it was the shape of his face? His face, he thought, was called a proper oval. Kazbek realized that trying to puzzle over this question was completely useless — he would not find the answers anyway.
His father saw that Kazbek was once again spinning in front of the mirror and shouted at him disapprovingly. His father was certain that thinking about one’s appearance, and especially admiring oneself, was a sin and idleness, something particularly unacceptable for a man. In his opinion, his son should stop “wasting his time on this nonsense” and finally get involved in family matters. Truly involved, like his older brothers, and not the way he was now — reluctantly, only when ordered by his elders. Serious matters meant, of course, helping their republic become stronger.
Kazbek knew how to keep his mouth shut and not say unnecessary things — for example, that politics did not interest him much, or that he was not sure that Allah existed. But his father could still sense that Kazbek did not care about the fate of their land or their traditions; he was only concerned with himself. It was not for nothing that one of the local elders had said: “Kazbek is arrogant and considers himself above others. That is why he does not befriend anyone except the granddaughter of a shameless woman. He believes that no one is worthy of his company.”
Kazbek reluctantly moved away from the mirror and dragged himself outside: it was time to bring the sheep home from the pasture. Reaching his small flock, he sat down in the grass and looked into the distance — at the plain beyond which the mountain range began. He thought that these places were beautiful: wonderful nature, clean air, an abundance of fruit, but... Everything was being destroyed. Over there, far away, the sky looked as if it were slightly grayish — but those were not clouds, it was smoke, and the barely audible rumbling sounds were not an approaching storm. This was not the kind of hail that pleasantly cooled the skin on a hot day; this was the “Grad,” the multiple rocket launcher system...
His grandfather and grandmother’s apartment in Grozny had miraculously survived the fighting, but they were currently living without water and other benefits of civilization. The music school might not reopen in the new academic year. The last time he had been there, his beloved teacher, Aliya Saidovna, had pressed a bundle of softcover books into his hands and whispered that they were from the library — she did not know what would happen to the music school next, but he would find these books useful.
At his grandfather’s house, Kazbek unpacked the bundle and found the books “Music Literature of Foreign Countries,” “Harmonic Solfeggio,” “Scales and Arpeggios,” piano textbooks for the fourth and fifth grades of music school, two collections of Chopin’s works, and a collection of vocal exercises for coloratura soprano. Instead of feeling joy at possessing these books, Kazbek felt anger and bitterness because he might have to say goodbye to his musical education. And perhaps to education altogether — after all, no one knew whether schools would be able to open their doors in September.
And now, sitting in the grass surrounded by sheep, Kazbek thought about how the place that had once seemed like a cozy fairy-tale home had long ceased to be one, and the situation was only getting worse. Today he was supposed to “make a trip” — that was what his father called going on errands to the partisans in the forest belts and neighboring settlements. He had to deliver some documents and a container filled with metal parts. Kazbek did not want to know what kind of metal it was, so he never asked questions. But unfortunately, he understood anyway what it was.
His father believed that Kazbek was not devoted enough to their family and their homeland, and that, unlike his older brothers, he lacked physical strength. However, he was agile, light-footed, and fast, which meant he could run long distances carrying assignments. So his father regularly sent Kazbek with small packages to his comrades-in-arms.
His grandfather periodically got into arguments with his father, insisting that running under shelling across mined fields was dangerous — or rather, simply insane. But his father was adamant: the interests of the country were more important than personal interests, and every person had to contribute to the struggle in whatever way they could, even if that person was a child who did not yet understand the meaning of the struggle. His grandfather tried several times to take Kazbek to live with him permanently in Grozny, but his father always brought him back, reminding him that he was the parent and only he had the right to decide how to raise his son, and threatening his own father with problems with the community.
The upcoming trip upset Kazbek especially badly because that afternoon his grandfather was supposed to bring Zhanna. Kazbek really wanted to meet her, but he understood that because of his father’s assignment, he would only be able to see her late in the evening. He asked his father to postpone or cancel the task, but his father replied:
“Your Zhanna isn’t going anywhere. You’ll see her when you come back.”
“If I come back,” Kazbek thought, but he did not say it aloud, knowing what kind of reaction would follow.
***
And questions for you, dear readers:
— Where do you think the line lies between instilling in a child the values that seem important and using a child in dangerous adult conflicts?
— What helps a person preserve faith in themselves and their own worth when the world around them is collapsing and devaluing their dreams?
— Have you ever felt that your talents or interests were not understood by those close to you, and how did you cope with that pressure?
