Letters from the Russian Front

Noviy Vestnik, Karaganda, Kazakhstan ^ | May 11th, 2005 | Marina Gorobtsova

[struwwelpeter]

Original Title:

"I'm not afraid of death, but I'd like to live"

- wrote the soldier to his loved ones back in Karaganda, shortly before his death near Stalingrad

Running his finger along the pale lines of text, Vladimir Petrovich Bliyalkin reads aloud: "Papa, it's hard for me to write this, but I'll write it anyway. They gave me a medal for bravery. You can congratulate me and wish further success in the fight against the German occupiers." These are letters from his older brother. Nikolai Bliyalkin was taken to the front in June of 1942. That December the soldier perished near Stalingrad.

Now Vladimir Petrovich keeps five of his brother's letters. The thin, wrinkled pages are frightening to pick up: it seems as if they will simply fall apart.
"Nikolai was only 22 years old when they took him to the front. He worked as an art teacher in the school number one," recounts Vladimir, carefully placing the letters on the table. "I was five years old back then.
Judging from things, the retiree reads the letters frequently. Nikolai's simple messages provide their own commentary.
Vladimir Nikolaevich brings out the next letter. "Look here: 'Death follows us at each step. But we insist on life and happiness and we live. If I have to die, I'll die for the homeland as a hero. Don't think that I'll surrender'... 'If I find a free minute I spend it on letters to home'... 'I miss you all a lot, but I have to say that we're used to combat conditions'... 'We go into battle without fear in our eyes, I'm not afraid to die, papa, but I'd like to live'."
Sixty-three years later, the retiree cannot accept that Nikolai is no more. Nikolai loved his little brother very much, and he never forgot to send greetings to him: 'A burning front-line greetings from your son, Nikolai. And the same to my little brothers and sisters. Most of all, of course, to little Volodechka. Stay well, and wait for your brother, Kolya. I sent some verses, father, don't forget to transcribe them, and read them to him'.

When I return, if only you knew
How I'd like to be with you, my dear Vova.
But I'm in war, and the time in the front lines
Will be over once we've beaten the German.
When I come back with victory,
I'll put by duffle bag on the table,
Probably you won't recognize me at first,
I'll wash up from the road and tell everything
Or perhaps... Anything can happen,
But remember, one is never alone:
You don't have to make way for other people,
You'll never have to be ashamed of me.

'Hello, dear papa and mama! I'm alive and well for now. I'm living alright. In general, life goes on as usual. We fight and beat the German. Combat life goes by fast and unnoticed. Days follow days and months. It seems that it wasn't so long ago that I was home with you, but here it's been already seven months in combat. Papa, it would be interesting to know if you celebrated my namesake's day or not. If not, too bad. I'm going into battle, wish me luck. For now, until we meet again. Kisses'.
This was the letter that Nikolai Bliyalkin wrote before his last battle.

'Papasha and Mama, don't worry about me'
The district government archives preserve letters from soldiers who never returned from the front. The letters of the Zabara brothers lay side by side. Official documents are attached to the sheets: one brother 'in combat for our socialist homeland, true to his military oath displaying heroism and courage' was killed on September 18th, 1942. The second was missing in action a year later.
After studying the 'funerary notices', it is impossible to read the brothers' letters with indifference.
'Hello, parents. Papasha, mama, and brothers Fedya, Kolya (the same one who later was MIA - author), Shura, Vanya, and all our friends, relatives, and acquaintances.
'My parents, right now I'm in a reserve rifle regiment (the next lines are blotted out by military censors - author). Our mood and feelings are great in all regards.
'...Papasha and mama, don't worry about me, don't be sad. I don't have an exact address, since I'm not going to be here long, but we're going to protect Leningrad. When I know the place I'll write, and you can send a telegram on how things are back at home. Well, goodbye for now. With greetings, your son Pyotr.'
'Greetings from the front!' - This is from brother Nikolai's letter. 'Right now I'm on the road, we're coming up to a transit camp. As soon as we settle things with Hitler, we'll come back, since victory is already coming closer (the message was sent in 1943 - author). The weather here is unenviable. Freezing rain'...

Marina Gorobtsova, photo Valeriya Kalieva

[jb6]

Papa, it would be interesting to know if you celebrated my namesake's day or not

For those who don't understand, he's refering to his patrion saint.

[jb6]

ping

[BrooklynGOP]

Good job translating, as always.

[sergey1973]

Thanks jb6 for a ping.

Very good translation, struwwelpeter. Appreciate this. You've got to be a professional translator !

[struwwelpeter]

Patron saint? I was wondering if that was so, but wasn't sure if they could actually do that during Soviet days.

Of course, I keep finding articles that show otherwise. From an interesting article on a priest from Vladikavkaz:

In answer to the question, what awakened this faith in him - was it what he witnessed or experienced during the war? The answer is - no, not even the war. He simply grew up in a religious family. He always attended church, even during those days when it was - to put it mildly - frowned upon. And despite being scolded: 'How could you, you're a komsomolets!', attending God's services became for Lev Avdeevich - Father Levan - a conscious and strong free choice, while faith became a beacon which lit his path during his entire life.

[jb6]

You can huff, you can puff, you can slaughter but Christ's faith will always prevail.