Talka is looking for a brother

Too much time passed, people who were involved in the hospital died, veterans who fought with his brother died and could know about his last fight and a place of burial. But Talka is alive, and her faith is alive: I will not die, he says until I find Brother Vanya. Essay on Oksana Mamlina.

In the frosty January 1942, two of the meter thicker of ice were two: a young woman and a girl of 14 years old. The wind with a flurry noticed, knocking down. The girl was called Natasha or Talka-that’s the name of her brother, who was taken to the Red Army in 1939. And in the 42nd from Primorye, they took him to the front, in the commodity, which went through Novosibirsk.

It was to these traders, closing from the wind, that Talka and mother from Kolyvan to Novosibirsk made his way, and then ran along them, protruding his throat in the cold to shout to her brother: “Norkin is here? Norkin! " They did not meet a brother that day, and at night, already in the apartment of Novosibirsk friends, Talc saw a dream: his brother knocks on the door. I woke up, and he really knocks. He asked from the train, ran to them at night, for a moment. Fortunately, I guessed where they settled down, and the address knew. So Natalya Petrovna remembered him, funny, young, leaning at her at night: “Talca, as you grew up!” It was their last meeting - on that frosty night.

In October, a cold, like ice, came to the family of Natalia Petrovna Norkina. Father lay in bed for a week, clutching a state -owned sheet with an ink inscription "Died from wounds on 10/19/1942 at the Sochi hospital." He whispered: “Son, son ...” After a week, there was no father - the heart. Death gave rise to another death, blind and merciless. Talca remained and mom alone in the house. A week before the news of the death of his brother, Father Dream saw that Ivan was coming to him, his hands pulling, but there was no head. In the funeral, they read that he died from a wound to the head. Predperson?

Father was the most funny person in the family, but, having drunk, he could beat his mother. He beat them with the arm, and the little talc was between them a wall, protection, covered her mother as she could. Her father did not touch her, small. “He did not like his mother,” Natalya Petrovna sits, leaning against the white wall, and her eyes are not here - in the past, where the Kolivansky war years, the house. And the brother that died, gives the ruble and sends to the pharmacy to buy a cream from freckles, lemon. He was heated, but he did not like it. Talca stretched with a ruble clamped in a fist to the counter and asked that cream, and they answered her: girl, why do you need? Answered: Brother hemp! Eyes glow, fun, he says, was with him. And the fingers are sorting out a stack of papers with answers from Moscow and Sochi - not found, not found, not found. And so 50 years.

Requests went to the Ministry of Defense to Moscow, and from there to the Sochi administration. The answers sometimes varying, sometimes Sochi did not answer at all, or letters with the already known content came: “He died from a wound to the head in October 1942, buried in the city of Sochi, the name was immortalized on the Monument of Glory.” Further no specifics: neither the burial place, nor address. Too much time passed, people who were involved in the hospital died, veterans who fought in the Dilosukhin division (32nd rifle) and could know about his last battle and place of burial. People died, but Talka is alive, and her faith is alive: I will not die, he says until I find my brother Vanya!

We met her on May 9 in Kolyvan. The sun was pounding at full power, but the frosty wind spoiled the perfect picture of the holiday of Victory. As usual, they put up chairs near the monument, veterans in a row, are listening to a speech that the chapter will not skimp on. Again, traditionally - a package with sausage and sweets. The wind with the smell of salami. The granny is one, small, thin, with light strands that are knocked out from under the scarf, it wrapped in a coat, and it, in turn, seems to be more like gauze, a sieve. I wrapped it in my handkerchief, and I ran to take off in order to warm up faster. Children from the cold, like chickens, have lost in a heap, bask in white bows, it's time to dance, the head of the word ended. Or maybe just frozen? Granny sits, a scarf pulls on her head, trembles. Wreaths carried to eternal light, imprinting the soles in the slabs.

Children, persecuted by the wind, clearly and quickly dancing, tapped poetry with their teeth, got into jackets and dissolved. Veterans sausage and candy wind raised home, and the grandmother fell to the dead stone of the obelisk and strokes him, kisses: "My brother, brother." And she was on her lap until a taxi came behind her, only on the run I managed to say: I have been looking for 50 years, but here I just knocked out the name - Norkin. I will not die until I find it. And smiles. The eyes are clean, like water in the river. Norkina is my surname, and on her husband Tchaiko. They parted on that, but this frame did not go from my head for a long time, as it was on the knees of the monument.

I found my grandmother two months later in Novosibirsk, here it was joyful exclamations on the phone!

We sit at a large round table, on a worn surface - photos, papers, documents. Joyful, shaggy faces in Budenovki interspersed with unsubscribes from Sochi. The dust through which I try to restore her past life. Putrenic with the smell of a plush sofa, the perfume "Mountain Lavender" from the 70s. A lot of colors, living, they fill the whole space, weaving in the intricate ikebans, which Natalya Petrovna gives only her understandable meaning.

He pokes a finger on a card on which a cheerful dog: my ducus, I died already, I go to her in a cemetery, I clean the grave, but we say.

You, tells me, do not look in my hands, in chemistry they have worked for many years at the Khimkontentta factory. Laughs: “They say, a woman-Yagu found some photographer! Oh, where is the vanines of the cards? " Hands in Chemistry trembled. Found, rustles with a plastic bag: here he is, my beloved brother! He holds a yellow card, old, like a baby, sits on the bed, on a colorful blanket, sewn her girlfriend, and all shines. This light flows from her eyes. Strength, how many more in a fragile bent body? “You call me, do not be afraid, I don’t sleep until three in the morning, I look at the window. What a girl runs along the road, and I pray so that no one is offended, I say: run, girl, home soon! I pray for everyone. "

The tits were chosen, hosted, beamed, begged, they ask for seeds. And she doesn’t feel sorry: “They brought her feathers for happiness, see how much happiness? Full balcony! "

Life in it - for three with excess is enough, faith - for the whole world! She does not close the doors, friends and neighbors come to her at 92, for everyone a joke, tea and words of encouragement are ready.

A person lives while there is a goal. This is his beacon, he lies with him and gets up, goes to work with him, cooks his porridge with him, packs suitcases. Conquers cities and countries. The goal, which, rather, is not thanks, but contrary to. Contrary to everything and thanks to the personality. Gerda had the goal of finding Kai, and she went barefoot to the habits of the Snow Queen. And Talka walked with her mother on the ice to look for her brother. According to the frozen river of his life and his fate. So it goes. The wind hits her, the ice is cracking, and everything does not care. Laughs in his thin coat. And looking for her twenty -year -old Konopataya Vanka, a village girl Talca, born fourteen years before the war. She will meet many kind people, and together they will find her brother! I believe.

Oksana Mamlina, especially for Taiga.info