Otegen, offended, got up, tightened his lips and disappeared into the darkness. The old men broke into smiles. And to this day I fail to understand why they were not afraid to hold such discussions. Or… or did they live in the hope that their old age would serve as an excuse?

Or did the half-witted Duisekhan suspect that incriminating him was pointless; and to those around him he was like a living corpse anyway. To this day, I do not know whether he was ashamed of this or deep down people’s defects amused him. He himself was invulnerable, free and clean before Allah, and evidently understood it. He openly said what he thought Of course, Otegen, who avoided Duisekhan as much as possible, had to endure more than anyone. Everyone knew that the death of Duisekhan’s older brother in a far-off Siberian prison was at the hands of Otegen. In the twenties, his other brother, together with a group of dare-devils, escaped to China…

I lay my head on my grandfather’s lap and fell asleep. A threatening ghost of a terrifying snow leopard appeared to me in my dreams. The ghost hung threateningly over me, coming closer and closer. «Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid of me,» suddenly whispered the ghost in a human voice. «It will be difficult for you, little one, but you will endure. Remember, remember everything, my son! Remember, remember, remember! For a time will come which will compel you to reveal the truth to the world, the bitter truth of what you saw…»

Greenish sparks poured from his eyes. The snow leopard patted me on the shoulder with his front paw. In an instant he was gone.

But when I awoke, shivering from the coolness of the morning, and began to rub my shoulders with my palms, I suddenly noticed that on my left arm there were fresh long scratches. «The snow leopard! They are his claw marks!» flashed across my mind. «But how is it possible? It wasn’t a day-dream. I was asleep and just woke up. How, how is it possible?»

With the sunrise, soldiers appeared in the hills. «Where did they come from?» said my grandfather in amazement.

«Indeed, it’s as if they have come out from under the earth,» the old man Arkham said fearfully.

The soldiers approached us and one of them, obviously the oldest, said: «Everything will begin in half an hour. During the explosion you should cover yourselves with your felt mats and don’t get up until told to do so. Put out the fires immediately.»

The soldiers were already pouring water over the flames. Their short sharp commands exploded in the mellow morning calm. People began to take out the felt mats, gather in small groups, making themselves as comfortable as possible. Kenje lay between grandmother and myself. Her gentle face grew haggard and her wide eyes once again filled with fear, her long lashes scarcely moved. My grandfather whispered a prayer. Grandmother covered me from head to foot by force. I broke free. She became cross.

The soldiers rushed about to and fro. I could hear their cracked, hoarse voices. Suddenly, their commander shouted loudly:

«Attention! Attention! Everyone down! Lie still!»

And – the earth rocked gently. It seemed like an eternal cradle, lulling us to sleep. But, all of a sudden, it shuddered and from below the ground something lashed out at us with violent tremors that struck our legs, chest, face; grandmother’s embrace slackened, the earth reared up like on horse; the earth, the hills in their final convulsions resisted extinction. As I stuck my head out from under the felt mat, I saw an enormous mushroom cloud filling the sky and fire-spitting flashes danced in an unimaginable turbulent blaze of kaleidoscopic colour. In an instant, my very being was paralysed by fear and wonder. I had not seen anything like it even in my worst nightmares. The mountains groaned, huge stones crashed down arid trees bowed and creaked, and suddenly amidst the hellish tumult of sounds, a desperate, ear-splitting cry emerged – or was it a scream? To this day I do not know how to describe that awful sound. A little girl, in a white dress, evading the hail of boulders, was running for her life. I had not realized that I had got out from under the felt mat and was standing, benumbed, following her with my eyes. As the fiery mushroom cloud struggled upwards we were blinded by bright flashes, and the little girl continued to run toward some unknown destination, along the reeling earth. I was frozen as if rooted to the ground, not knowing what I should do. Her scream was ear-splitting. Or perhaps there was no scream? Perhaps I had imagined it? Perhaps her gaping mouth was silent and she was running into the mountains arid not the steppe, and the stones were flying past her. «Shell be killed. I have to save her, I have to run after her. I have to catch up with her,» I thought and shouted, «Kenje! Kenje!» I rushed after her but suddenly it dawned on me that she had certainly gone mad! Shocked by this sudden revelation, I tripped and fell. At that very moment a large stone flew past me and I realized that Allah had saved me. Kenje had gone mad, she had gone mad… I caught up with her. Her thin shoulders were quivering, she was running and crying, and then I could clearly hear her heart-rending cry – «Aaaah!» Suddenly, once again everything was illuminated by flashes of light. I reached Kenje’s side and we both fell to the ground. I could hear the stamp of heavy boots behind us, but before I could turn around, we were covered with a heavy felt mat. I heard a gruff voice say, «Be still! Don’t get up!» Kenje lightly squeezed my hand. «Don’t be afraid,» I whispered to her, but she did not answer. The touch of her moist fingers, could one ever forget that?…

Once again the earth shook, this time stronger – it throbbed as in an epileptic fit and my heart throbbed in fits and starts, as if my spirit was fading away. I forgot about Kenje, I forgot about everything on earth. I realized that the WORLD HAD COLLAPSED and I too would be killed in its devastation. I thought only of myself. Death stood over me with her axe – swish, swish, swish. I could see the blade being lowered onto my childish neck; I lost consciousness, sensing in a fleeting moment that Kenje’s hand had grown cold. «She’s dead,» I thought as I gradually came round from my dull stupor. Under the felt mat, in total darkness, I lay trembling slightly and bathed in sweat, next to the dead Kenje. In my boyish heart, I suddenly realized that I had been in love with ‘this little, sickly girl. I stirred, trying to get nearer to Kenje’s face, to kiss her for the first and last time. «Don’t move! Lie still!» I heard the same thunderous voice say. I nevertheless, somehow managed to edge my way closer to her and kissed her on the forehead. Again he shouted at me, but the voice was muffled and I realized that its owner also spoke from under afelt mat.

And it seemed that the end of the world had come.

That ragged young man, who had been handing out leaflets, had been talking about the same thing.

After the explosion, we lived in the Genghiz Hills for another one and a half weeks. Here, on a high reach, we buried Kenje – the first innocent victim of the hydrogen bomb exploded on the proving ground near the town of Semipalatinsk.

Semipalatinsk! That dear, dusty, inconspicuous town; from that day on it became famous throughout the world!They say that Kurchatov, immediately after the explosion, exclaimed, «This is monstrous! God willing, this will never be used against people. We mustn’t allow such a thing…»

I was sitting on a warm boulder which had fallen from the hills during the explosion, intently gazing at the spot where Kenje had just been buried. It was far from the mound, but I could clearly see a light vapour rising from the little grave, like the soul, like the atomic mushroom cloud after the explosion. The soldiers had vanished just as suddenly as they had appeared. Only a medical vehicle remained, a few army doctors and a young nurse, Galya. There was little for her to do and she would frequently drop into my grandmother’s and quietly sit and have a chat about this and that. Sometimes, grandfather would participate in these conversations. Both he and grandmother knew Russian well – naturally, after all, during the years of the great famine they had found salvation in the town where they worked as unskilled labourers and in this way survived.