„Brother, if you have time, take me to the cemetery. I want to visit my father’s grave,“ I asked the taxi driver. We stopped in front of the park. I gave the whole bundle of papers, which had only annoyed me, to the flower-sellers. I bought a bunch of deep-red carnations, my father’s favourite flowers.
I opened the gate of the fence and stepped onto the green, grassy carpet. I fanned out the flowers on the dark granite at the foot of the tall gravestone, out of which my father’s face gazed.
„Greetings, Father.“
„Greetings, my son, ainalain, at last you have come. Make yourself comfortable.“
„I dream about you, Father.“ „Does that trouble you?“
„No, it brings me joy, Dad. Darkhan and I visited Kant’s grave and we thought of you. Why are you silent, Father?“ „You say that you thought of me?“
„Yes, do you remember you told Darkhan about Konigsberg, eleven years ago?“
„Son, let my grandson know that I loved him more than my own life.“
„He came here to pay his respects to you before he started his military service.“
„I remember it, son. We, the dead, remember all.“
And still I could not rid myself of the thought that not even a single Soviet paper had recorded this event of global importance. Twenty-five years ago, people from one hundred countries had for the first time cut short the nuclear arms race in the atmosphere, in the cosmos arid under water and we, a country which calls itself the most humane in the world, is silent about this victory. Perhaps we fear something? Nothing was clear to me and my head was spinning.
Arid then I heard my father’s voice again. „Don’t be so upset, son. This is simply absent-mindedness. Or perhaps some coordinator of world events was sacked in keeping with the cuts in the state budget! I’m joking, but of course you’re right. The whole world should have commemorated this day.“
„It’s just so deplorable that no one remembered, Father! Besides, over the last twenty-five years people have demonstrated that they can trust each other. I think we should bring everyone together again – either in Nevada or in Semipalatinsk, to sign another agreement and once and for all to prohibit nuclear explosions – but this time underground ones.“
„How long will you stay here in your homeland?“
„Not for long. I’m going to Genghiztau tomorrow. I’ll pay my respects to the graves which are not being looked after. Farewell, Father!“
„Goodbye, son!“
Next morning I reached the mountains. I had not been there for thirty-five years. The gloomy, grey rocks compelled me to strain my memory in my futile efforts to restore the images of the past which kept slipping away. We rode with my friend. We found my grandparents’ graves but no matter how we tried, we could not locate where little Kenje had been buried.
