The Immortal

This little story happened exactly a year ago, on May 9, in the city of Tula, at a city parade.
Music was played, bouquets were flashing, dressed villas were not in a hurry to advance.
On Lenin’s prospectus floated an endless order of black and white immortal heroes of that war. All young, strong, beautiful, almost alive. And each of them, with a wooden hand, led his grandson or grandson.
Suddenly, one girl suddenly gave her grandfather to her mother and quickly disappeared in the crowd.
The girl was named Natasha, and for a moment it seemed to her that somewhere in the crowd, over her heads, her grandfather whispered. The same smile, the same cheeks, and the same medals.
Natasha struggled to get through the dense column and finally found what she was looking for: some cheeky boy, ten years old, actually carried a photo of her native grandfather. The girl immediately recognized her, because the photo was the only one, the grandfather sent her from the front and soon died.
Natasha was stunned by the righteous rage. What an abomination! Even the name has not changed!
She rushed to the cheeky man and began to tear out a poster with his heroic grandfather.
But the boy, not bothered at all, did not escape, he kicked Natasha off and began to fight desperately for his transparency.
Natasha’s mother came to help.

Let go of it, Gaddafi! Where did you get that, unconscious? It is ours! People come here with photos of their grandparents, not strangers! Give it here, the man!

The boy, left without a poster, helplessly cried and began to shout, “Mom! by Mamma! They took it!”
The crowd broke up and out of it came the angry mother of the boy:

What is it about?! Are you crazy, lady? Give it here! What a fuck for the child!? to
What? what? You must be ashamed! What are you teaching your son? Printed someone else’s portrait, attached to a rod and forward to the parade?! Where did you get our photo?
Are you an unusual? Yes, this is my grandfather – Sorokin Peter Polykarpovich!
How is? How is yours? But he’s mine... too.
Meaning of yours...? So, what are you, daughter of Nicholas?
and I? Yes... A?
You and I are cousins. I wanted to find one of yours a hundred years ago, but one, another...
- Meet you, children, you are brother and sister, three-born, but nothing, anyway for our grandfather we are all one big family...

A year has passed since then, but the two families have managed to become very close together and become one. They now don’t even imagine how they lived before, hardly knowing about each other’s existence.
And today, Peter Polykarpovich Sorokin will lead to the parade of his grandchildren, but only without quarrels and grievances, because his wooden hand will be enough for everyone.
He is a true immortal hero.
Seventy years later, he died and still keeps his entire family in his fist.

P.S

Holidays to all of you! Remember and cry.