I will say immediately, I am a man "under fifty", all of my conscious life towed boots in the geological exploration, I saw everything and endured a lot, it is difficult to surprise me or stumble. I have grown children and grandchildren on my way. From the age of 18, I consider myself a Siberian, from the moment I came here for a term, although I was born and raised in the suburbs of Leningrad. In general, a solid serious uncle who is not accustomed to sentiment.

and here...

My brother invited me to a small homeland. After his mother’s death, he moved from Peter to live in his parent’s home. Reasons for the meeting were the uima, the upcoming replenishment in the family, the coincided holidays, the move, a new car and most importantly, the next stars. A large family, a large feast, women hang out in the kitchen and near the table, men (sons and daughters) lead the barbecues and the grill. And now everything is covered and the cold in the bottle is waiting patiently, everyone is almost dissipated, as my brother quietly takes me under his elbow and silently takes me into the house.

“I need to show you something,” with these words, he took me to the loft and there, sitting on the corks near the old brown suitcase, got some swing.

“Destroy it.”

Here it is worth to say again, my younger man is straight and serious and he is not inclined to mystery. And his behavior was alarming, just before I pulled the red wooden elephant out of the cloth.

A simple toy on a stand with a sloppy pattern and a scroll carefully painted with a pencil. Suddenly my throat was locked up, my nose was shaken, my legs betrayingly dropped me down on that dusty suitcase.

Once a long time ago, 40 years ago, in this very house, our father brought us this figure from some distant country, he walked as a starter on a dry cargo. We rarely saw him, read his letters more often, or looked at his postcards. But every time he returned home, he gave us something unique, unprecedented, rare, which no one had. And this time it was a figure of a wooden elephant, bright red with a golden pattern, from which country he brought it so and remained a mystery.

I was 9 years old, the youngest 7. Specifically or not, but it turned out that my father came to my birthday and I considered the elephant my gift, hid it under the pillow for the night, thrown it on the closet when I went for a walk, in general, greedy and not sharing. On all the admonitions from the parents, he asked his father to bring another figure to his brother, and the father seemed to have agreed.

Once again, my father left in the night (as my mother told me - called urgently) and we could not even say goodbye, just woke up, and he was no longer. Habituated to long separations, we did not be upset for a long time and life went on with its turn. A month, two or three. First we began to notice the excitement of our mother, then it passed on to us. For the third month there were no letters, postcards and telegrams, but very, very rarely. Five months later, my mother was called. They said that the connection with the ship has long since disappeared and the ship and crew are considered missing, and the father too. This was not on the radio, it was not in the newspapers. Later, the brother, already having official connections and opportunities, tried to find out the details, but the information was classified and he was subtly hinted at the futility of the attempts. My father’s grave has never been there.

Now I don’t remember how my mom told us about it, I remember only that I cried in the evenings under the blanket and asked my dad to come back, that we don’t have to take another toy, that we’re going to play with this elephant... And we played, slept with him under the pillow in turn, and then he was still on our shelf for a long time...

Look at us who from the side – it would seem that two adult men, a colonel of justice and an old Siberian, rejoice, hugging over the lost tree. I’m not a master of words to describe my condition at the time, but that evening two boys, nine and seven, were crying on the dusty loft. I cried almost embarrassedly, not embarrassing anyone.