The story of the Baking Vitu from May 8 was revealed.
A small continuation about the grandfather, a Romanian guy, a machine gunman.
After the war and a year and a half of treatment in Tbilisi, he was sent home. He returned, well, as he returned - they dropped from the truck a bag and his, weighing 60 kg, with a broken unhealing face, without teeth, with unworking fingers and 3 pieces in the head, back and leg. My wife and daughter are at home and I don’t know what to do next. Before the war, he was a young peasant, a middle man, a pair of horses, 12 tenths of fields. The Romanians took horses, withdrew, and the Soviets took the land after the war to the collective farm. Invalid, there was no help at first - many of them, disabled in the war, without hands, feet, housing and food sat and asked for charity near the stations and other places. True, in the famine of 46-47 years in the USSR quickly disappeared (all from the words of the grandfather, there were even facts about which he told about the famine, about them I just silence, it is too shocking).
At first, a year after his arrival he drank (it is now psychologists), at night he held the defense next to his frightened wife and daughter. But to live it has to, came a little into himself, began to look for a way out. Cologne is not an option - is there a disability? Be careful, but he wasn’t the only one who came. I went from no way out to risk - in the Stalinic, I will remind you of the times, I began to drive salad to other regions, to boat the bish. Initially, the authorities looked at it through their fingers - the situation was like this, so it was easy to believe about the bacon Vitu. He carried the salad with suitcases to Central Russia, to Volgodon, went to the builders, sold them, brought back fabrics, soap and other necessary things in the farm. For several years he lived like this, but as it was on the ring - "and it will pass." One day came a local from the "Stats" and said that, say, all Ivan, tie and tell yours (at the end of them several relatives went). Well, the grandfather decided that the law was not written for him, he continued to drive. And here, they return on the train back, and while the train brakes, they see that on the perron stands a police force, a few people in the state, among them a local. Clearly who they are behind. The grandfather quickly squeezes the conductor 25 rubles (big money at the time) and asks to open the doors from the perron first. The conductor opens, they jump and suitcases run while the conductor runs with the door to the perron. After all, those who run into the wagon of the state and dress are late. But realizing that this is far from the end, the grandfather throws the goods from a familiar Jew, and bullets into his native village. There he goes into the tea room (the villa was big), takes a bottle, drinks 3 cups almost while snacking, and beats the face of a companion standing next to him. The fight, the local district also falls under distribution, they scattered half the tea. Well, they turned, they ordered to design. Here, the staff and clothes come in, run to the grandfather, say, he is you, a speculator and so on, standing, thinking, you will escape from the train - and that's all? The grandfather looked at them, “What kind of train? Have you fooled?” The district confirms - yes, he drunk here a tea breeze, raised his hand on me, painted a couple more (well, it wasn't very good at the time, but the staff on the car was driving longer than he got). The expression of the faces of the states we can only imagine, history has not captured them))
And for the fight the grandfather had nothing - a disabled, an injury, a yellow card. Well, at most, they could be sent to the psychiatrist for treatment, but decided to shut up.
True, no longer speculated, the lesson was learned.
This is a small, not entirely ornamental, tour at the time.