My beloved Ivan Bauer

I have never seen Ivan Bauer. Not in the photo. Not live. I read about him later in the seventh volume of the Leningrad Martyrologist. But fate herself chose him. Ivan fell to me on the day of the “Return of Names” campaign. I just wanted to be near those who remember every shot and read the name on the Adriatic coast, where I was that day. I pressed a button of random names on the Medusa website - and it opened to me.

Bauer Ivan Romanovich, born in 1898, a native and resident of the Khverno -Zvezamoshsky Village Council of the Novgorod region of the Leningrad region, Latvian, non -partisan, member of the Komintern collective farm.

Arrested on December 4, 1937.
The Commission of the NKVD and the Prosecutor's Office of the USSR on December 30, 1937 was sentenced as a member of the "Latvian nationalist rebel group" to the highest degree of punishment.

Shot in Novgorod January 14, 1938.

This is all.

Dry facts. Biographical certificate. The everyday story of a ruined life.

I tried to come up with and live for Ivan Bauer his happy life. He himself could not do this

But this Ivan seemed to me a sign of fate. He fell to me. I turned on empathy and drew my life Ivan with me from the same 1937 when he was arrested. And if everything went differently. Everything went along the happy rut. And near me.

Here is Ivan a young and strong collective farmer. He laughs a lot when he stops his tractor at my house, wash his hands in the aluminum basin right in the yard. The soap from his hands becomes black after the first soap. I take a towel into the courtyard, and it also blackes up from the first hands. And my Vanya with strong hands grabs me by the waist and asks with her perky tenor: "What was welded today, the hostess? I'm hungry as hell." And I lead Ivan into the house, where everything is smoking and sniffing, praises the benefits and calories. I pour borsch on plates and enjoy with my beloved for both cheeks. While he was working on the Komintern collective farm, I did not doze here either. Ivan draws food so quickly and easily, like it is air.

Ivan is hardworking - and there is no need to ask him twice. He gets up early and plows the ground in three fields per shift. If there are any complaints about my dear, then only because he can say a strong word under the chairman. But this is who of the men will not say. Such a normal working word. It flew out - and disappeared into the field.

I went to the front with Ivan and fought nearby. And she tried to snatch more food, he has a brutal metabolism. That Bogatyrsky was walking on the tractor, that hunger accumulated in the tank. She by God, I was always ashamed of him so much. He always ate houses before you go to visit, so that the guests do not eat everything that the owners have prepared on the table.

He returned from the war the hero. And I am with him, the proud wife of the hero.

And we gave birth to our children almost under the whistle of bullets. Therefore, the children, our little Baueret, turned out to be so rapid and restless, with the same appetite as Bati’s. Thank God they do not get fat. Where everything goes. From Batya in the country, they are driving, the nails are served, they insure him on the roof so that he does not fall. My Vanya clogs the nails so beautifully, so tightly clings with her lips those that are made, and with a powerful hand he puts the nail in the board on the very hat, my heart freezes - before that my Ivan the Lada, hand -handed and hidden.

When Ivan in 1948 hit 50, he was just as beautiful, green -eyed and laughing, like ten years ago, when I saw him for the first time and disappeared for life. And after 50, he drove the tractor like a light bicycle. His whole technique obeyed, he is even a man and simple, but of those collective farmers who are closer closer in the working intelligentsia. After the shift, having eaten his three buckets of food, he loved to plunge into some smart magazine, a technical textbook or a book on the novelties of agricultural machinery. He fell asleep, however, five minutes later, so plowed after the field and lunch. I took off my pants and gently translated the laying position from the lying position so as not to spill the dream of a labor person.

For a long time, Ivan could not have kicked out a pension, he was always strong and stubborn, try to tell him, sit, grandfather, suddenly you are tired. What a grandfather, he was 60 strong and beautiful, all the girls built eyes on the collective farm. But they knew that my hand is heavy, and I would cut off any patches.

Vanya and I survived so much together, got married late, he was already forty, I was 35. Everyone laughed that the young was not young and that we were young old. In the 38th and got married, right on the collective farm. He rolled me on a tractor in a white dress. In the yard January 14, frost is 25, and I am in a light dress, happy, my mouth was not closed with laughter. Photos are still stored in the Comintern in the Red Corner.

And our late children, and our grandchildren are late. And all your favorite, green -eyed. Strong. The boys are strong and with the same appetite as the senior Bauer. And the girls are all in me - brown -eyed and unhurried.
Now, under old age, we sit together and remember what good life we lived with Ivan. Honest, worthy. It’s not ashamed to look in the eyes of grandchildren. And the collective farmers with whom they worked say that they did not meet Ivan more honestly in our area.

Yes, Vanya, we had a good year 1937, the year of our acquaintance. Frosts stood strong, on December 4 there was a record crackling cold. And you were in a light unbuttoned jacket, all so hot, even the steam from you walked hot. It’s good that you then drove up on a tractor to my house and asked for water. You are my fate. And when you asked to go out for you just three weeks after meeting, no one was surprised. We immediately realized that on December 30, 1937, our fateful day. The day I told you yes. And your Latvian matchmakers showed such a rich scarf that I already sat down from the happiness and expectation of a long and happy life that had overcome me.

My beloved Ivan Bauer, thanks for this long and happy life.

Ivan Bauer was arrested in December 1937. Shot at 40 years old. I tried to come up with and live for Ivan Bauer his happy life. He himself could not do this.

Natalia Sevetz-Urmolina-journalist

The "Opinion" expressed in the heading of the point of view may not coincide with the position of the editorial office