Suddenly, I gave a start. Near me, something white appeared for a moment and into my lap, miaowing complainingly, plopped a filthy, bedraggled cat. 1 shook her off in disgust, but not taking the slightest notice of me, she went up to my grandmother and’ began to rub herself against her leg.

„It’s our Ginger!“ it suddenly dawned on grandmother. It was true. We all instantly recognized our cat. Grandmother sat on a bench and Ginger made herself comfortable on her wide skirt. Out of its half-closed eyes, tears fell.

„She used to be ginger and now she’s white,“ I said in wonder.

„Can’t you see that she’s gone grey?“ said grandfather angrily.

„Oh, bow tough you are, man! You don’t have nerves, you’ve got steel in your veins! And what do you think you are doing? You’re destroying yourself, you’re sowing death… You have poison and not seeds in your hand. Even the animal has gone grey – it couldn’t take whatever it is you’re up to… What will we leave our children and grandchildren?“ Grandfather stroked my head and said, „Don’t forget my words! If things continue as they are, people will quietly, imperceptibly go insane. And this, anyone who still has an ounce of common sense, will confirm…“

I took the cat in my arms, pressed her to my chest and began to stroke her grey coat. I pressed her closer and closer to me and inhaled the familiar odour of smoke and the grass of the steppe. The cat also smelled of rubbish tips and mice. Our Ginger was strong and brave. More than once she had dealt with snakes who had slid into our yard. There was only one occasion when she had been unable to overcome an enormous, fat snake – she exhausted both herself and her enemy. The snake was still able to free itself and slip away, but some of the older children beat it to death with stones. Our cat disappeared at one and the same time as the snake. We searched for her for many days but were not able to find her. She had either run away or been killed.

However, ten days later, the cat unexpectedly appeared at our house again. It seemed that she had lain low for a while, somewhere. She must have been ashamed of how she had been unable to overcome the snake. „See how proud our Ginger is!“ grandfather praised her at the time.

„Are you hurt?“ I asked the cat. „Hurt is not the word, I feel terrified, little boy.“ „Forgive me for not recognizing you straight away.“ „My own mother would not recognize me now! Your grandmother, she recognized me – she’s clever and observant.“

I stroked her even more gently. And it crossed my mind that we were all part of the living world – tired-out grandfather and grandmother, my gloomy father, the cat which I held in my arms, our grey horse which had gone through that terrible experience with us and the soldiers who were rushing about the village to no particular purpose. I wanted to make sense of the thoughts, to put them into some kind of category, but whichever category I put them into, they fell apart.

„Put down the cat and wash your hands,“ my father said. I got up.

Ginger gratefully rubbed herself against my arm. „I think I’ll die soon, little boy. I have been THERE after all and everything inside me is on fire. Whoever was THERE will not survive, everyone says so.“

„Are you frightened?“

„Of course. The living are always afraid….“

‘Seventy-seven was my son’t first year at school. At that time we lived in Semipalatinsk. I remember it was Saturday. My son had gone off to school. My wife was reading a story to our little daughter and from early morning I had been busy at my desk.

It was quiet. Occasionally, a car drove past our window.

Suddenly, coming from our doorway, I could hear loud voices and the noise of hurrying feet. The doorbell rang and on the threshold stood my son, perspiring and panting!

„Mum, Mum, Dad! Markhaba! They’re going to explode a bomb. They’ve ordered everyone to leave the house. Quick!“

The neighbours from the upper floors were swiftly rushing down the stairway. We also began to get ready. I could imagine the anxiety my little boy had felt when he had heard that announcement. He knew that on Saturdays and Sundays when I worked at home, I would turn off both the radio and television and did not even read the papers, so that I could better concentrate. Saturday and Sunday, these were my days of seclusion. People had been given fifteen minutes to prepare themselves. He had taken about ten minutes to run from school. Consequently we had about five minutes left.

The tenants of our house were already in the street and in the yard. They stood together huddled in little groups and anxiously looked up at the sky… And then suddenly the earth trembled, pieces of glass rained down and the smell of gas immediately started to spread through the yard – obviously somewhere a pipe had burst. Broken glass shattered, and someone „went to call out the City Gas Emergency Service; the earth, which seemed to shake intermittently, gave out a muffled groan in obscure torment.

We decided not to return home and for a long time walked around a snow-covered vacant lot. Suddenly, my son anxiously tugged at my hand.

„Dad, and what if grandfather was left in his flat on his own? What if he doesn’t know anything?“

„No, that’s not possible,“ I assured him. „They always have the radio on, and the house is full of people. In any case, the neighbours would have warned them.“

We walked past three damaged telephone boxes but luckily the fourth was working. My son hurriedly dialled the number but all that we could hear was a long buzzing.

„They’re not at home. They’re outside,“ I said, but my son could not be appeased.

„Let’s go and see grandfather. What if something happened to him. He is old after all and he has had a shell shock“

We were lucky. We found a taxi immediately. My son kept impatiently hitting his knees with his fists. The journey from our district to the old part of the city seemed to take ages to him.

As soon as we reached the house we saw my father.

„Grandfather, grandfather!“ My son jumped headlong at him and my father turned around in surprise when he. heard his grandson’s voice. Father was in fact walking about, the yard with other tenants.

„Darkhan, my angel!“ He joyfully threw up his hands and smothered his grandson with kisses. „My little angel, my angel,“ he said and then became thoughtful. I tried to imagine myself a little boy again and my father young. I remembered that he rarely embarced or kissed me so lovingly and anxiously when I was small. But then times were different – harsh, compassionless, not favourable to TENDERNESS. And so he had preserved the unspent capacity to love a little being of his own and now that love and tenderness spilled over, wholly given over, to his ‘grandchildren. I do not know whether this is good or bad, I just do not know. There is a lot I still do not know about in this life of ours.

„Ata, we phoned you but there was no reply. We became worried and came over.“

„And I didn’t think of phoning you.“ Tears stood in my father’s eyes and he clasped Darkhan tightly.

I remember how he would often take his grandson home on-Saturdays and Sundays. They would take trips all over the place and return happy, excited and tired. They would visit the shepherds, relatives or father’s old war-time mates. He had many friends; he used to like helping his friends and people whom he had helped never forgot what he had done for them. He was a welcome guest at a Russian fisherman’s, at an Uygur musician’s, at the home of a Korean who cultivated water-melons.

We returned home late at night and my son, tired out from the day, sweetly slept in my arms, mumbling from time to time, „Grandfather… little hare… Grandfather… little hare, isn’t it?“ I gathered that this was a snatch of his unfinished conversation with his grandfather.

Eleven years later, my son and I would stand at the graveside of Kant in the centre of the town previously known as Konigsberg, on whose streets a paratrooper, my father, had been wounded. And now his grandson, my son, is serving as a frontier guard in a Baltic Military District.