Part One

The attic was dark and a little creepy. There was not enough light coming from a small window in the far gable to see where the foot was going and what lay nearby.

- Well, how's it going? - It was heard from below. - If I had gone up, I would have found it quickly. But my legs hurt a lot. I might be able to get up, but I'm afraid I won't get down.

I reassured the owner of the house that I would find everything now, but my eyes would get used to the dark. And indeed, after a minute or two, the ribs of the rafters, several small chests, a metal bed, piles of old newspapers and magazines began to appear from the darkness of the attic. And finally I saw the object for which I came up here. He was lying on the edge of the lid of one of the chests, covered with a thick layer of dust. It was an old photo album with a thick green cover.

Grandpa Konstantin immediately took it from my hands as soon as I went down the stairs, then opened the door to the room and motioned for me to follow him.

The house was very tidy, even though the owner had left this world about ten years ago. "I can't help it,“ the old man seemed to justify himself, ”my Zosia has been accustomed to it for so many years, so I stick to it, and it's also as if her concern is here...".

Let's look at the old photos. I'm waiting patiently for the moment when I finally see that letter, the rumors about which made me come here. And so the owner of the house carefully picks up the album cover with a knife and, using the same knife, pulls out a folded yellow-Yellow sheet of paper into the light of day.

- We had a beautiful estate here ... - Grandfather began his story…

On the estate, his father worked as a carpenter. My uncle rose to the rank of head groom. The owner of these lands was in Poland most of the time, but he often visited his possessions, especially in the summer. And in his absence, the farm was run by a clerk who lived nearby with his family. Besides his sons, he had two daughters. So, this letter was written to the youngest of them.

The children got to know each other as soon as the steward's family settled into the sturdy stone house they had rented. Grandfather Kastus does not remember that his parents or anyone from the steward's family were against the fact that their children communicate with each other. So we lived side by side and spent time in various activities and games. And then one day the steward's youngest daughter, and her name was Mira, found out that Konstantin and his brothers could neither read nor write, and was very surprised. The girl immediately offered to teach them this. Konstantin's older brothers immediately refused, saying that they had no time to sit with a pencil-there were a lot of household chores, and their father needed help. And their brother, while he's young, let him study more, if he wants to. My parents didn't resist either. My mother especially approved, saying that she was still learning how to send money, how to save up.

And I began to learn the basics of reading from the world, write different letters and compose them into syllables. And their childhood friendship imperceptibly turned into pure and bright love.

Part two

Behind grammar and writing, autumn and the cold winter passed unnoticed. Before the beginning of spring, Kastus could read syllables quite well and even, albeit clumsily, put some words on paper.

Everything changed literally within a day. In the evening, strangers arrived at the estate. Rumors spread that Soviet troops had crossed the border. Family at night

the owner of the estate left with a small load in the direction of the Polish border. The steward's cart followed. We said goodbye in a hurry. Hugging Konstantin goodbye, Mira quickly babbled with tears in her eyes: "don't forget... Everything I've taught you. Write more. Take the books you want from your father's library. You write me a letter. Dad says we'll be back soon. When we get back, I'll read it, and I'll fix the mistakes, so try your best. Promise?" See you later."

In the afternoon of the next day, the village and the courtyard of the estate were filled with other people's wagons, soldiers, guns, cars…

"They didn't come back," Grandpa drawled after a while. - No one came back. But as you can see, I wrote the letter anyway, on the paper that Mira left me.

And the memories came flooding back, sad and hard. The stable uncle was taken away immediately. They took the transfer to the prison, and there they said that he had already been sent to Siberia. He didn't come back. My father was beaten, they asked for something, and he started coughing up blood. By winter, he was gone. They lived half-starved. Collective farms, dispossession, war ... and the eternal fear that someone will come for you.

"I don't remember crying," the old man recalled, "but I often looked into the eyes of these strangers. I remember that. I was afraid to ask why, but I looked into my eyes. Apparently, he childishly hoped to see the answer from them. It used to happen like this: "if you've got a zenki, remove it now!" and they hit you in the face. They searched, they sniffed out where someone's relatives were, who was connected to whom. That's when I hid this letter. Why didn't you tear it up? So he lived in the hope that peace would return, that everyone would return.…

And so the terrible news reached the village that all the fugitives from the estate had been caught on the way to the border. Everyone was there when they rushed to escape and were shot.

"That's when I cried a lot," Grandpa continued to remember. - I climbed up on the floor in the threshing floor and looked through the window down at the people on these, at the light and cried... long…

.. Before the war, Grandfather Kastus got married. He just built a house and went to the front. He returned with serious injuries. His wife, Zina, jumped to her feet, one might say, she put it back on. The former veteran heard that Mira was alive by chance at a fair. We knew each other from the town. So they told me that when my parents were shot, Mira and her older brother ran into the woods. Then hunger drove them out of the forest, and they came to the town. They lived in doorways until they were sent to a dormitory after a raid. They also wanted to send them, but the war prevented them. So Mira stayed in the city. She got married. Recently, Grandfather Kastus heard that he had also been a widow for a year. My husband died at the construction site.

.. I broke the long silence.

- Come on, Grandpa, I'll take your letter to Mirya. I'll be on my way.

And again, grandfather looked at me for a long, very long time in silence, then out the window, then at the floor with a sigh.

"You know, take me," he finally said. - Take it. If anyone asks about me, tell them. That's when she's alive... and if not ... Ask the people where she is buried. Then I'll put a pebble on the grave or even sprinkle it with sand so that the wind doesn't blow it away. But only then don't come back to me.

And I didn't come back.