Post by grigori on Oct 30, 2009 20:59:07 GMT -5
[all speech is in Russian]
“This is the place, dad.” Grigori said, guiding Vladimir to through the graveyard to Sandra’s grave plot. The mountain air was cold, clean. Much cleaner than the air in the city.
Vladimir was an old man. A shadow of his former self... scrawny, frail, balding, hunched over, and eternally confused. Vladimir followed Grigori, their arms hooked together. Vladimir leaned heavily on his son, “Why are we here, young man?” he asked.
“We’re visiting Sandra, dad.” Grigori explained with a calm voice, “It’s the anniversary of her death.”
“Oh...” Vladimir replied, furrowing his brow, not sure of what was going on. His alzheimers was worst than ever.
Grigori stopped on front of the grave, placing the bouque of flowers he was carrying down on the grave. Vladimir looked around with confusion, having already forgotten why they were there. Grigori stood, looking at his father, “Oh dad... come on, it’s getting late.”
Grigori guided his father back to the car. It was so depressing to see his father in this state. It had been years since he had been diagnosed, but it didn’t get any easier. The years after Sandra’s death hadn’t made it easier. Grigori wished he could be there for Vladimir, but his work was too important, and he knew no one could do it better than himself.
The drive back to the nursing home was a quiet one. Vladimir would look out the window, staring blankly at the landscape as it changed from beautiful countryside Russia to dense metropolis. Grigori knew Vladimir didn’t remember who he was.
“Are we going back to the home?” Vladimir asked, looking at Grigori with confused eyes.
“Yes dad...”
Vladimir looked down, “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Grigori felt as though his heart had just been crushed by a vice. He swallowed his pain, offering a hurt smile to Vladimir, “Because I’m your son.”
“I... have a son?...” Vladimir sat back on his chair, staring blankly forward, “I don’t remember a son.”
Grigori had to hold back tears. He stopped on front of the nursing home, “Here we are, dad.”
“Oh...” Vladimir replied, opening the door of the car, struggling to get out of the car.
Grigori got out of the car and helped Vladimir out, guiding him inside. He gave Vladimir a kiss on the forehead, “Take care, dad.”
“Yeah... yeah...” Vladimir said in his usual confused state, walking away from his son to the nurse waiting by the entrance.
Grigori stood there for a few seconds, watching his father go. How had it come to this? He made his way back to the car and drove away. Grigori held on for as long as he could, but as he approached the military base he pulled to the side of the road and put his blinkers on. He laid his head against the steering wheel and broke down into tears. It killed him every time he visited. His father, his hero, in this state. A mere shell of a human being. Sometimes Grigori wished his father had died in the war... it would have been so much better than becoming this ghost. He remembered his mother’s last words to him, ‘he might be ill, but he is still Vladimir... somewhere deep down, he is still your father... my husband...’
She loved him so. And when she died he didn’t even remember her anymore.
Grigori’s sobs stopped as he heard a knock on the window. He dried his tears and looked up, seeing a young MP looking a bit bewildered, “Sir, is everyth- oh! Mr. Krokov! My apologies. Are you alright? Do you need a ride to the base?”
The MP was a private, as Grigori could tell by the markings on his uniform. A Private Loftro, by what he could read on his fatigue. The kid couldn’t be a few months past his 18th birthday, with a soft face untouched by any real fighting. His eyes showed a purity a hardened warrior like Grigori didn’t have anymore. That purity is lost the moment you kill your first foe.
Grigori shook his head, offering a faint smile, “No... the car is fine.” he turned the car back on, shifting to first gear, “Carry on, private.” he said a bit coldly, driving away.
Grigori was usually not that cold, specially to fellow country men... specially to privates and those in the military. Once he had arrived at the air port he felt bad about his cold attitude towards the young MP. He parked the car next to the waiting plane, walking out of the car, putting his coat back on. A lieutenant was waiting for him next to the plane. The lieutenant saluted Grigori “Sir! I was beginning to get worried. Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine.” Grigori said with his usual charming smile, “Would you do me a favor though? Seek out Private Loftro,” Grigori rummaged through his coat, taking out a card and handing it to the lieutenant, “and would you give him this? Please let me know it’s from me.”
The lieutenant gave Grigori a puzzled look, “...alright.” he said with a firm nod, saluting once more.
Grigori gave a relaxed salute in return, climbing onto the small plane. The lieutenant walked away as the screaming of the jet engines became deafening. He looked at the card, curious as to what it was. The card was the size of a regular playing card, with a blue rose neatly printed on it. On the back it read ‘Keep doing a good job. Keep your honor, and retain your pride in serving your country.
Pride, war, and honor.
Yours trully;
Grigori Krokov.’
The lieutenant smiled, looking at the jet as it took off. Grigori didn’t remember, but he had given one of these trademark cards to the lieutenant years ago. It’s what had kept the lieutenant going even after all the hardships he faced during the years.
[end]
“This is the place, dad.” Grigori said, guiding Vladimir to through the graveyard to Sandra’s grave plot. The mountain air was cold, clean. Much cleaner than the air in the city.
Vladimir was an old man. A shadow of his former self... scrawny, frail, balding, hunched over, and eternally confused. Vladimir followed Grigori, their arms hooked together. Vladimir leaned heavily on his son, “Why are we here, young man?” he asked.
“We’re visiting Sandra, dad.” Grigori explained with a calm voice, “It’s the anniversary of her death.”
“Oh...” Vladimir replied, furrowing his brow, not sure of what was going on. His alzheimers was worst than ever.
Grigori stopped on front of the grave, placing the bouque of flowers he was carrying down on the grave. Vladimir looked around with confusion, having already forgotten why they were there. Grigori stood, looking at his father, “Oh dad... come on, it’s getting late.”
Grigori guided his father back to the car. It was so depressing to see his father in this state. It had been years since he had been diagnosed, but it didn’t get any easier. The years after Sandra’s death hadn’t made it easier. Grigori wished he could be there for Vladimir, but his work was too important, and he knew no one could do it better than himself.
The drive back to the nursing home was a quiet one. Vladimir would look out the window, staring blankly at the landscape as it changed from beautiful countryside Russia to dense metropolis. Grigori knew Vladimir didn’t remember who he was.
“Are we going back to the home?” Vladimir asked, looking at Grigori with confused eyes.
“Yes dad...”
Vladimir looked down, “Why do you keep calling me that?”
Grigori felt as though his heart had just been crushed by a vice. He swallowed his pain, offering a hurt smile to Vladimir, “Because I’m your son.”
“I... have a son?...” Vladimir sat back on his chair, staring blankly forward, “I don’t remember a son.”
Grigori had to hold back tears. He stopped on front of the nursing home, “Here we are, dad.”
“Oh...” Vladimir replied, opening the door of the car, struggling to get out of the car.
Grigori got out of the car and helped Vladimir out, guiding him inside. He gave Vladimir a kiss on the forehead, “Take care, dad.”
“Yeah... yeah...” Vladimir said in his usual confused state, walking away from his son to the nurse waiting by the entrance.
Grigori stood there for a few seconds, watching his father go. How had it come to this? He made his way back to the car and drove away. Grigori held on for as long as he could, but as he approached the military base he pulled to the side of the road and put his blinkers on. He laid his head against the steering wheel and broke down into tears. It killed him every time he visited. His father, his hero, in this state. A mere shell of a human being. Sometimes Grigori wished his father had died in the war... it would have been so much better than becoming this ghost. He remembered his mother’s last words to him, ‘he might be ill, but he is still Vladimir... somewhere deep down, he is still your father... my husband...’
She loved him so. And when she died he didn’t even remember her anymore.
Grigori’s sobs stopped as he heard a knock on the window. He dried his tears and looked up, seeing a young MP looking a bit bewildered, “Sir, is everyth- oh! Mr. Krokov! My apologies. Are you alright? Do you need a ride to the base?”
The MP was a private, as Grigori could tell by the markings on his uniform. A Private Loftro, by what he could read on his fatigue. The kid couldn’t be a few months past his 18th birthday, with a soft face untouched by any real fighting. His eyes showed a purity a hardened warrior like Grigori didn’t have anymore. That purity is lost the moment you kill your first foe.
Grigori shook his head, offering a faint smile, “No... the car is fine.” he turned the car back on, shifting to first gear, “Carry on, private.” he said a bit coldly, driving away.
Grigori was usually not that cold, specially to fellow country men... specially to privates and those in the military. Once he had arrived at the air port he felt bad about his cold attitude towards the young MP. He parked the car next to the waiting plane, walking out of the car, putting his coat back on. A lieutenant was waiting for him next to the plane. The lieutenant saluted Grigori “Sir! I was beginning to get worried. Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine.” Grigori said with his usual charming smile, “Would you do me a favor though? Seek out Private Loftro,” Grigori rummaged through his coat, taking out a card and handing it to the lieutenant, “and would you give him this? Please let me know it’s from me.”
The lieutenant gave Grigori a puzzled look, “...alright.” he said with a firm nod, saluting once more.
Grigori gave a relaxed salute in return, climbing onto the small plane. The lieutenant walked away as the screaming of the jet engines became deafening. He looked at the card, curious as to what it was. The card was the size of a regular playing card, with a blue rose neatly printed on it. On the back it read ‘Keep doing a good job. Keep your honor, and retain your pride in serving your country.
Pride, war, and honor.
Yours trully;
Grigori Krokov.’
The lieutenant smiled, looking at the jet as it took off. Grigori didn’t remember, but he had given one of these trademark cards to the lieutenant years ago. It’s what had kept the lieutenant going even after all the hardships he faced during the years.
[end]
