It was a beautiful day,
June 22, 1941.
Summer holidays, few days after my birthday.
My new dress, white with flowers.
Me and my girlfriends, we went to the river,
Now going back home and a little boy on big bicycle,
He almost flew near us, screaming with excitement:
War, war, war!
We didn't understand anything.
Then we see people, few trucks.
Old woman, trying to grab her son's hand:
No, no, no, I am not letting you go!
Her clothes is dark,
She reminds me a bird.
Women are crying, children are running around.
I am running home.
Radio is turned on:
All men from from twenty five to thirty five,
Women doctors and nurses must go immediately..
War..
My three uncles left the same evening.
Study good, Irka,
Were the last words.
My aunt, people called her, northern beauty, smiling:
I will be back!
...Dark night, some one is knocking the door.
My father went to see who it was.
My uncle's wife.
Her skinny hand is shaking, paper in it, showing to us.
All she is saying is my uncle name, again and again.
My mother is sliding from the wall on the floor.
I know what it is already, and crying quality in the pillow.
My father doesn't say a word, looking in the window.
All night like this.
Every one who left at the first day never returned home...
