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Continuation of the chapter II


September 1981: The reunions

I however believe I would never say enough, how much each one of those I had the opportunity to meet, was a nice person, of whom I always kept an unforgettable memory. When I found them in September, nature had of course changed, but they had remained the same ones.I would perhaps say even, more engaging, knowing them better. Galla and Allhona expected me impatiently and our meeting again were happier. Our friends had also awaited me, friends whose I didn't speak yet to you, with whom we met themselves very often however. After her divorce, Galla had spent several months at their home in waiting which it to him is allotted an apartment, and a very close bond had then been woven between them.

They had two children, she was a stay-at-home mother and him hospital agent. They were both very nice. On their apartment as in the uncle of Galla, I saw the true dimension of the Soviet family. It often happened to us to have the meal together and we shared many things. Two or three times, it arrived even to us very unconsciously, to turn up us unexpectedly at their home at the hour of the meal. With a embarrassed look they made us each time wait in the hall five to ten minutes, and bustled to modify their own food somewhat. That didn't certainly arrive to us often, but I was some extremely embarrassed myself. After these few waiting minutes, they invited us to sit down to the meal, and we shared the best. There were then a few pieces of meat or mushrooms mixed with only potatoes they had before for themselves. Decently, they had quickly opened a small bottled preserve.

These preserves were not those bought to the store, because these were still almost too expensive. Sometimes in family and between friends, on Sunday morning we went arm in arm for a picnic in the woods. Him, like each day of each year, at the city or the countryside, he had got like so many others the same black shoes with hole.

After the meal, the best entertainments was the mushroom-picking of which they made preserves. When the baskets were full, a little like happy children of living, we played to "blind man's buff " or to run us afterwards in the stubble fields newly harvested. It was for me like a return to my roots, a return to a simple life, I had delighted by that because at the following day I was also going to have another thing, but for them...?

They had only this poor motivation essential to their survival. They knew after that, there would be again the same morose life, the same black shoes with hole. They were certainly happy of these entertainments in family, but their hope horizon was so restricted that a snail would has quickly reached it.

The wheat harvest, was not either the same one as on our premises. In my childhood, I had learned at the primary school about these immense plains of Russia and Ukraine, they were the Europe attic. I was thus running in the "attic", expressly obliged to note, it was not far from being empty. Child, I ran permanently. Wherever I went, it was necessary me to run, except perhaps to go to the school, but to come back home, I was always the first... I do not tell to you how often I thus came back the bottom of the legs scratched by thatches, when, at the grandmother home in the countryside, I ran in the fields after the harvest. I somewhat lost this practice, but I very well remember how these stubbles were nearest one from the other, and how much also were numerous the wheat grains on ears; but in this "Europe attic", the problem didn't exist any more, so much thatches were distant ones from the others. As for ears, when we find some fallen on the floor, they were so short and the so small grains, they almost resembled a wild grass.

In the same way, as these fields were quite pitiful, harvestings of the gardens were identical. It seems to me around April, some big track-laying tractors put-putting had however come overnight, to plow all the field behind our building, on the other side of the street. Nobody had been able to sleep nearby, but in the early morning it was almost the festival. Each one was merry and full with motivations, with the idea of the future harvesting. The next days, three people came to define and allot parcels of land for the garden applicants. One passed with immense land-surveyor dividers, one other demarcated the ground, and a third noted on paper. I had sometimes gardened and I had horror of the digging up, then, when I had been onlooker of this organization, even if I had not much praised considering the folklore which reigned around, I had almost been attracted by it. Two things had however touched me like disconcerting interrogations, the walking distance to go there, and lack of watering system. From the attribution known of the parcels, a majority of them precipitated at the work however.

The greenery had forced everywhere when at the end of May I left Ladijin, these gardens were not very early, but I was going to discover the result in September. A lot of grass had also forced, as to vegetables, they all were or almost with the image of the wheat fields. Each one had worked really hard, but however, those having luck to live in the vicinity had acceptable harvestings. For the others, they were deep in a similar misery to that Gerard Depardieu's misery in "Manon des sources 1", their "coucourdes" had more or less ended to wither. If the thing had not been so serious for these poor wretches, we could almost laugh of it today...

The only almost correct harvestings of the private individuals, were not sited in a usual place on our premises, but around many buildings, they were flourishing. All was that way: "The

1)Dramatic movie, great classic of the French movie in which Gerard Depardieu (great French actor) plays the part of an humpback professor born from unknown father who returns to the farm after a received heritage of his mother deceased. Believing itself strong of its intellectual knowledge whose its new neighbors make fun, he will be hated of a harmful majority and in particular of a rich and influential man who covets the property for the profit of his son. Helped by this last, he will fill in the only water source which would have made possible to humpback the culture of his small patch of land lost in the mountains. Without respite, accompanied by his wife and her young daughter unhappy this poor hunchbacked will exhaust oneself until death to sprinkle his few truck farming  his "coucourdes" (pumpkins) by means of some containers filled to a source located far in the mountain.

The outcome of the felony will reveal from this good man, in accordance with the look of all population remained silent, had become criminal of his own unknown son, result of an illegitimate love of its youths whose his heart had never cured.

resourcefulness". In their miserable situation, this resourcefulness was not more one play however like some could think it, but was unfortunately part of their survival conditions. This necessity which had ended up their veiling the spirit in relation with the immense black market of those having priority, the rich persons of yesterday and even most powerful from today.

September was finishing, the sheets had already their appearance of autumn. My installations functioned correctly, and others awaited me in milder climes. The hour of separation had thus arrived. For the way of life, I was quite happy to leave, but I was however heavy-hearted towards all these charming and nice people who were not aware of moral misery in which they lived, while they thought they were American, so much the lie which surrounded them was everywhere.   

My return was going to bring to me a last proof of all this almost prison system, in which the man without God, lives free as in a prison. I was not going indeed to delay to receive mails of most loving, which I was going to hasten me to answer. Mails after mails, the tone from her letters was however going to evolve. She began to complain to receive nothing from me, owing to the fact I didn't hold my promises. She wrote to me, but didn’t receive anything in return. Five to six months passed thus, without none of all my letters reaching her.

The mail controllable with difficulty to the expedition, because mixed to the multitude, arrived to me, but for her, the letters easy to individual supervision in return at the distribution never arrived to her. Once more the proof was made that the Westerners were ungrateful people who did not hold their promises. Confronted at all brainwashing form, the man is powerless.

I thus said gradually goodbye on this fantastic love story. I was going to wait again some years to meet it, but I was vaccinated forever all my communist ideologies instituted like a religion by the man.

To want to create a better civilization without God, whose tsars had left them a so bad image, they built on human bases, the worst of than the man can make. They had regarded God as the source of all human misery and they had carefully preserved themselves from Him, while he was the only able one to lead them to the success. We will see it in the next chapters. They imitated what they knew but which they had however condemned. Because the man refusing God can only reproduce the image which he has in him, they recreated what they had rejected. The privileges had certainly changed side, but were not more just than the precedents.

Our vocation also goes in this direction if we do not open the eyes of our heart. Let's hope  we'll make that before it is not too late!

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