PREFACE

VLADIMIR PUTIN IN THE FIRST PERSON

We spoke with Vladimir Putin six times. For several hours. Both he and we were patient and tolerant. He was when we asked uncomfortable questions or simply got into our souls. We - when he was late or asked to turn off the recorder: “this is very personal.”

We came to him with essentially the same question that American journalist Trudy Rubin asked in January at the Davos forum: “Who is he, Mr. Putin?” We talked with Putin about life. Mainly about his life. They talked, as it happens in Russia, not in the kitchen, it’s true, but still at a set table. Sometimes he arrived exhausted, with tired eyes, but he never interrupted the conversation. It happened that, while thinking about the answer to some question, Putin would pause for a long time, but then still answer.

We tried to find Putin's friends, people who know him well, or those who played an important role in his fate. And finally, we stopped at the prime minister's dacha, where the female majority of the family now lives: wife Lyudmila, two daughters - Masha and Katya - and a poodle with a hint of a lapdog, Toska.

We didn’t add anything from ourselves, there is not a single line of the author’s in the book, only our questions. And if they brought Putin or his loved ones to some memories or reflections, then we tried not to interrupt. Therefore, the format of the book turned out to be somewhat unusual - it consists of interviews and monologues.

Natalia GEVORGYAN,
Natalya TIMAKOVA,
Andrey KOLESNIKOV

I know more about my father’s family than about my mother’s. Grandfather was born in St. Petersburg and worked as a cook. The simplest family was: well, a cook and a cook. But, apparently, he was a good cook, because after the First World War he was invited to work in Gorki, near Moscow, where Lenin and the entire Ulyanov family lived. When Lenin died, my grandfather was transferred to one of Stalin’s dachas, and he worked there for a long time.

— Was he not repressed?

— For some reason they didn’t repress. After all, few of those who were under Stalin all the time survived. Grandfather survived. And Stalin, by the way, also survived and at the end of his life, already in retirement, he lived and cooked in the Rest House of the Moscow City Party Committee in Ilyinsky.

Father was born in St. Petersburg in 1911. When the First World War began, life in St. Petersburg became difficult and hungry, and the whole family left for the village of Pominovo in the Tver region, the homeland of my grandmother. The house where they lived, by the way, still stands; relatives go there on vacation. There, in Pominovo, my father met my mother. They got married when they were 17 years old.

- What, is there a reason?

- Why does it have to be a reason? The main reason is love. And he was soon to join the army. Maybe they wanted some kind of guarantees from each other... I don’t know.

In 1932, my parents came to St. Petersburg. We lived in the suburbs, in Peterhof. Mom went to work at some factory, and my father was almost immediately drafted into the army, and he served in the submarine fleet. He returned, and two boys were born to them within a year of each other. One of them died a few months later.

— When the war began, your father apparently immediately went to the front? Submariner, recently served...

- Yes, he went to the front as a volunteer.

- And mom?

“Mom categorically did not want to leave, she stayed at home in Peterhof. When things got really hard there, my uncle, a naval officer, took her to St. Petersburg; he served at the naval headquarters, and the headquarters was located in Smolny. Her brother arrived and took her and her child away under shelling and bombing.

—Where were they taken from besieged Peterhof? To besieged Leningrad?

- Where else? Mom told me that in Leningrad they organized something like orphanages for children. They tried to save their lives. In such an orphanage, the second boy fell ill with diphtheria and also died.

- How did she survive?

— Her brother helped her. He fed her his rations. There was a moment when her brother was transferred somewhere for a while, and she found herself on the verge of death. This is not an exaggeration: my mother lost consciousness from hunger, they thought she had died, and they even put her with the dead. It’s good that mom woke up in time and moaned. Miraculously, in general, she remained alive. She spent the entire blockade in Leningrad. She was taken out when the danger had already passed.

-Where was your father?

— My father was fighting at that time. He was assigned to the so-called NKVD extermination battalion. These battalions were engaged in sabotage behind German lines. My father, in fact, took part in one such operation. There were 28 people in their group. They were thrown out near Kingisepp, they looked around, settled in the forest and even managed to blow up a train with ammunition. But then the food ran out. They contacted local residents, Estonians, who brought them food and then handed them over to the Germans.

There was almost no chance of survival. The Germans surrounded them from all sides, and only a few, including my father, managed to escape. The pursuit began. The remnants of the detachment went to the front line. We lost a few more people along the way and decided to disperse. The father hid headlong in the swamp and breathed through a reed tube until the dogs with which they were looking for them rushed past. That's how I was saved. Of the 28 people, four then came out to their own people.

- Did he find his wife? They met?

- No, I didn’t have time. He was immediately sent to the active army. He found himself again in a very difficult place, on the so-called Nevsky patch. This is on the left bank of the Neva, if you stand with your back to Lake Ladoga. German troops then captured everything there except this small bridgehead. And ours kept it the entire blockade in the hope that when the breakthrough began, the Nevsky patch would play its role. And the Germans tried to take it all the time. A fantastic number of bombs were dropped per square meter, even by the standards of that war. It was a monstrous meat grinder. True, the bridgehead eventually played its role.

“Don’t you think that they paid too much for this piece of land?”

“I think that in war there are always many mistakes.” It's unavoidable. But if you fight and think that everyone around you is making mistakes, you will never win. We need to be pragmatic about this. And we must think about victory. They then thought about victory.

My father was seriously wounded on this patch. He and another fighter were given the task of taking the “tongue.” They crawled to the dugout and were just getting ready to wait when a German suddenly came out. Both he and they were confused. The German came to his senses earlier. He took out a grenade, threw it at them and calmly walked on. Life, it really is such a simple thing.

The German was probably sure that he had killed them. But my father survived, although his legs were broken by shrapnel. Our guys pulled him out of there a few hours later.

- To the front line?

- Absolutely right. The nearest hospital was in the city, and to get there, one had to drag it across the entire Neva.

Everyone understood that it would be suicide, because every centimeter was shot there. No commander, of course, would have given the order to take him to the hospital. But somehow there were no volunteers. By this time, my father had already lost so much blood that it was clear that he was about to die if he was left like this.

It was then that one fighter, his former housemate, accidentally stumbled upon him. He understood everything, without further ado, he lifted his father onto himself and dragged him across the ice of the Neva to the other side. They were the perfect target and still survived. The neighbor dragged his father to the hospital, said goodbye and returned to the front line. He only said that they would not see each other again. He, apparently, did not hope to survive in this patch and thought that his father also had little chance.

- Wrong?

- Thank God, I was wrong. The father got out. He spent several months in the hospital. His mother found him there. She came to him every day. What do you mean she came? She herself was half alive. Her father saw the condition she was in and, quietly from the nurses, began to give her his food.

True, mom and dad were quickly caught doing this. Doctors noticed that he was losing consciousness from hunger. When they found out the reason, they made a suggestion to them, they even stopped letting mom see dad for a while. As a result, both survived. Only my father limped like that all his life after this injury.

- And the neighbor?

- And the neighbor survived! After the blockade, he went somewhere to another city. She and her father met by chance in Leningrad 20 years later! Can you imagine?!

“IT WAS THE LIMIT OF DREAMS”

After the war, my father was demobilized, and he went to work as a foreman at the Egorov Carriage Building Plant. In each metro car there is a sign that says that this car, number such and such, was manufactured at the Egorov Carriage Building Plant.

Immediately from the factory, he was given a room in a communal apartment, in an ordinary St. Petersburg house, on Baskov Lane, in the center. Courtyard-well, fifth floor without elevator.

Before the war, my parents had half a house in Peterhof. They were very proud of the standard of living they had then achieved. But what a level it was! But it seemed to them that this was almost the ultimate dream.

teacher: “They had a terrible front door.” The apartment is communal. Without any amenities. No hot water, no bath. The toilet was terrible, somehow crashed right into the landing. Cold, creepy. Staircase with metal railings. It was dangerous to walk on it, it was full of cracks.