Date of Birth: 01/15/1917
Place of birth: Balakovo
The great actor
Author: Natela BDT
I brought my sister to Dzerzhinsky Square in Moscow, said: "This is a girl, it is necessary to arrange a children`s home, her parents are punished." I pretended that she was a stranger to me: "I found in the street!"
Prior to Lubyanka were Commissariat. Commissariat said: "Enemies are not satisfied, who needs that take care of them. Go away! "And we left. They came in women`s departments. After my explanation chairman shouted, "A priest`s geeks! For us to come? Nowhere to escape? Train, ride on our necks? Enough! "We stood and listened as over us adults bullied mother and aunt. And we had hoped! ..
We are now equal, I say the same as everyone. Now we are not responsible for the actions of our parents, we did not choose a profession - we did not yet exist. The article of the new law it is written that we are now not disfranchised ... I`m twelve years old himself to earn his bread, I`m homeless. I brought you a baby girl ... her ten years. Where it? Outside?
I remember the silence - the silence and suddenly a voice, calm, confident, steel:
- At the Lubyanka! There`s your place!
A year ago, no one knew that I had a father and mother, everyone knew that they had died a long time ago, in a hungry twenty-first year, on the Volga. I remember my shame for what secret that he buried the parents: "Who is buried? Father and mother! Where is your conscience ?! You have to visit them! "And again I began to blame. I visited them, I always visited them only in secret, so that no one knew. I was taught this.
Today`s young people, and can not imagine that all this happened to us, with their grandfathers and great-grandfathers. Opened, announced: "I`m going to my father!" And he returned - Telegram: Dad arrested. A new attitude towards me, a new label, again stigma. Eyeing, that I will do, how I will lead themselves in the new "given circumstances".
All the time I think about it. Day and night. Sleeping and waking. Lying in bed, I keep quiet and think. Before me Arkadak station. Privokzalny buffet. I and my father. I am twenty years old. Father - sixty. The first and last time I saw my father. He told me he offered, "I want you to drink. I feel like we`ll never see each other again. " I did not expect to hear that from him. And he looked at the pile and say how to spell, like a prayer: "Remember: never lose faith. Do not leave it. Whatever you do, in your must have faith. With faith and reverence commit their work, earn a crust of bread. Do not defile the temple of his temple - in you, the church - our soul. Work hard - and reward you, knock - and the door will open to you the knowledge of life, look - and you will find ... Do not hurt people, because man is God. God - is the man. "
The wounds are not necessarily only when firearms or knives, the wounds are deep, unhealed remain from the most terrible weapons. This weapon - the cruelty, the lack of mercy.
TRAM - Theatre for young workers. I came back from trade schools. There was a Komsomol member, an activist. I am twelve years old and worked as though nothing was different from their comrades who did not have living parents say about them is that they are long since dead. Me as the Provincial Committee of Komsomol sent during the collectivization in the countryside to work with young people. And I worked, believed that my work required. Himself illiterate, taught the illiterate. And how many were there at that time! They will learn to write his name - is the victory that put him in the box - literate.
In a closed church - club. I organize Komsomol cell. I, the priest`s son! Komsomol in the church! I wore yungshturmovku. Not everyone gave her, had to be earned. I, a boy, was on duty at night at the responsible phone. My order - the law.
Rights have huge Komsomol. It`s not like that now - write a paper, send it to another, higher authorities, who imposed a resolution ... Then it was easier. I came barge - pick up the phone, call the jail: "Please send fifty men to unload." I sit down together with a policeman in one seat and check the food. Dark. Autumn. Mud. The old Samara. But in the old Samara new times. And this new we did - boys and girls. Employment - adult responsible.
Suddenly, like a bolt - the priest`s son,!
"We work in the theater priest`s son." This is a tram! State of emergency! I`m standing in the rehearsal hall around me my former comrades. Now I am not a friend to them, and malicious enemy. I was pilloried. Screaming, all sorts of labels pasted. States that like me, have no place in the theater, and not only in the theater, but also in society ...
I stood and cried, I was sixteen.
"There are people dying, and you`re playing fairy tales"
WAR. Tbilisi. Theatre of young spectator. I - an actor of the theater. Once vyzvalnas director, actors, and to him and said:
- Saturday - concert. Very important. Very responsible. Called "himself"!
- And what about rehearsal?
- Canceled. All canceled!
The director was worried. His excitement was transmitted to us. "Sam" - is the head of the Transcaucasian railway. We submit to him. Our theater - "rail".
... We came to the country to "own". We are sitting forward. The sun is baking hot. It smells like something rich, something baked. Here, in this country, there is no war. It smells of the kitchen quite a different time ...
Finally, the terrace has driven carriage - such as in hospitals. In it sat a huge black guy with a broken leg.
- Look. Givi. This artists, they came to visit us, and see you.
- On behalf of the theater, on behalf of the Art Workers, on behalf of the artists present here, we welcome you, our dear Givi, and wish you a speedy recovery!
Givi sitting surrounded by three women in a white shirt with an open collar. A healthy foot is covered with a blanket, the patient sticks forward, showing us his sole. War hero!
- Thank you, - told us Givi, when the concert was over.
He was taken away. And we were put into a car and driven back to the theater.
- It is what has been at the front? Injured? Hero?
- No, - said the director of us - had an accident somewhere carousing with friends.
On behalf of the Transcaucasian railway everyone to take part in the concert was announced gratitude to be entered in a personal matter.
... One day my sister came. From the hospital after concussion at the front, in naval uniform - a little plump sailor. I put her into the auditorium, wanted to show their success on the stage. In the middle of rehearsals she suddenly stood up and shouted:
"What do you do?! to fill you all of our Look out! There, people are dying! War! And you play fairy tales! Dog depict ?! This is your thick director one day to us under the Novorossiysk! And you would be with him! .. "
Sister returned to us from the fairy world into reality. What we have with our theater, our performances? Bet on the art of their profession, about the objectives, the piece, through the actions of the methods of work ... There is a war! There is no bread, nothing to eat, the hospitals are filled with the wounded, the Germans were close, and we are in the woods Karabas-Barabas catch it for us Hitler. Fox Alice and the Cat Basilio - spies. Pinocchio, Malvina, and I, a poodle Artemon - we are at war with them. And we have nobody dies, nobody concussion ...
Then, when the rehearsal was over, my sister said to me: "We are in a hospital showed the movie, I was waiting for, looking for you. Everyone knows that my brother is the actor. Artist! Ha-ha! Dogs playing! I, of course, it will not tell anyone. Laughed ... "
I would like a wolf gnawing bureaucracy.
It mandates no respect.
For any hell with mothers scram
Any piece of paper.
But this ...
- Eugene A., - reported frightened whisper commandant theater - you is the chief of police.
- What for?
- Seals Seals much ... !!! In passport