„All your life?“ said Galya in surprise.
„All my life!“ I said confidently.
„What, you won’t get married, then?“
„No, I won’t,“ I assured her angrily, cutting her short.
Galya was amazed and when she hugged me she whispered, „If only my young man loved me like that. I hope that all troubles will pass you by. Grow up quickly and be happy.“
The sky was full of stars, but the moon was hidden and the mountains were dark and gloomy. In the light from the camp-fires, people silently ate oatmeal porridge. Once again I remembered Kenje and again tears appeared in my eyes. It was only yesterday that we had talked and dreamed. The dreams were childish, unpretentious and fantastic. Kenje, the little Kenje, for her six years of age, expressed herself in mysterious riddles and what was amazing, her fantasies were always in bright colours. „It will be fine, the steppe will be fragrant,“ she would say. „Those crimson flowers always smell so sweet and the blue-blue sky will softly look down on us and the golden sun will shine brightly and you will be able to gaze at that golden mirror for as long as you like. My one-and-only golden, wonderful sun!“
She loved everything and everyone but I was the only one who had loved her.
„In a few days we’ll be leaving,“ I thought, „but you’ll remain here amongst the hills forever. In the winter it’s cold, windy and stormy, but the summers are cool and calm. You’ll be lonely here, Kenje, but I will be thinking of you and each year I will come here on the anniversary of your, death. Cross my heart“ – I gave my solemn oath in our childish way. „But the problem is I’m still little and my grandfather won’t bring me so far – do you know how far we are from our village?“
„No.“ As if in a day-dream I heard Kenje’s little voice.
„The solders told us it’s about a hundred kilometers.“
„That’s very far, you won’t be able to come and see me,“ said Kenje sadly.
„When I grow up I will be my own master and then I’ll come on your birthday and on the anniversary of your death.“
„Twice a year, you are so kind-hearted.“
„Don’t cry,“ I said.
„I’m not crying. I don’t cry any more…“
„The dead don’t cry.“
„They would, but their tears have already dried up.“
„And why are you so morose?“ Talgat’s voice disrupted my day-dream.
„I was thinking about Kenje,“ I answered.
„Yes, it’s a terrible shame. Her heart could not stand such a shock,“ concluded Talgat, but was interrupted by the old lady Bibi.
