Anna Oftayeva
(Written by her friend Rusalina Galeyva.)Big blue eyes, bright flowing hair… What was she like? Everyone can express it his or her own way.
We were just children, raised in military families far from our native land. She was always my role model, though I am not sure exactly why. Maybe it was because she was older, or always knew how to say something beautifully. Perhaps the reason was that she was the brightest and most successful of students in school, and the dream of every lazybones in the commons. My parents often said: "Study like Anyuta and we'll buy you a dress (or let you go out for the evening, or you too can get to go to China…)"
Yes, I am speaking about the person who is connected with many of my childhood memories. About Anyuta Oftayeva. For some reason we never referred to her in the third person as Anna, or Anya, but only as Anyuta. Why? Perhaps because she really was the favorite of our parents, friends, and teachers.
For some reason whenever I think about my girlfriend, what I remember most of all was how we celebrated the holidays in friendship and happiness. We often went into the kitchen while things were being prepared for the holiday, to see what delights we would soon be treated to. But sometimes, when I went to her apartment, Anyuta would take me into her room and say in a conspiratorial tone: "Mama's making kurnik (tarts), we'll gorge ourselves!"
One can say a lot, since childhood friends, even after a long separation, remain friends forever. Now that she is no more, I know all the same that she is still my friend! After all, despite being carried to different cities because we were military daughters, with all my heart I rejoiced when I found out that Anyuta had moved with her parents to the capital and entered the medical academy, and that she had a loving man.
I remember that moment, when I found out what had happened at 'Nord-Ost'…
Even now my heart constricts and gets excruciatingly painful…
In faraway Ufa, our family knew that we could not give any real help or support to Anyuta's family. We all got on the Internet and, trembling, looked at the monitor, at the lists of all who, on the evil day, had been condemned to this fate. We watched TV simultaneously, and its broadcasts of the latest events in the theater.
Somehow I was not myself, and could not even believe that it all was happening.
There was this feeling of unreality to what was happening. Just one thought whirled inside my head: "No, it cannot be, not her, why?" In my diary I wrote a poem about her:
Dedicated to Anyuta Oftayeva
You will always be with us...
Once again I ask myself:
Why were you there, back then?
To whom can I now bring this demand?
Since no one will ever bring you back, ever.
You were entertaining. I remember, at times,
We laughed at what you revealed to us,
We laughed that you were so skinny,
And at how silly your dreams were.
But we loved you so much, how sad,
That I cannot tell you this,
You left, carried away in the far-off distance,
Far away, far away, and no one can understand:
This fate, or destiny, this demon or God,
That took you from this sinful world,
We do not know, who could ever believe,
That such a thing could happen? But I know that you
Watch me from up in heaven, how I am living now,
I wish that you always knew,
That I never could replace you,
When calamity caught up to your family
But I will help, I will certainly visit them,
We will sit and drain a glass of wine.
Their tears will flow, and mine as well,
Remembering you, your soul, and your eyes.
What is this century?! What is this life?! What is this evil country?!
You died because of brutal fools!
I cannot believe that you are no more,
That your desires, your thoughts, and hopes, are gone.
I will remember you as you were
Back in Zabaikal six years ago.
Your framed picture is forever on my wall
In the bedroom, so that I can feel you looking at me.
Here is another poem, by Maria Mikerova:
Friends never go away alone,
They carry our souls with them.
We light the fires of trembling candles,
While they ask us to be stronger.
Our tears flow like autumn rain,
They fall upon tombstones.
We love them, we hope, we believe, and we wait,
And no one, and nothing, is ever forgotten.
We will not torture our souls -
They have already suffered too much in this world.
Let them melt in the unknown distance,
They remain forever within our hearts.
What awaits us up ahead? No one will know:
If it is happiness, or the churchyard.
How many lives it took away, how much grief it brought
That terrible day at the ill-starred 'Nord-Ost'!
We could not help, we did not save you,
Who will now give us the answer to all of it:
Why are we still alive,
But you are no more?
