So far, alive and well

In several extant letters from the front, written by my grandmother Klavdia’s elder brother Alexander, there is a frequent phrase: “So far, alive and well”.

I was struck by these words, the ingenuous “so far” in particular, which reminds us of the value of time, so vague and chaotic. Especially during the war.

You won’t find out much about Sasha or the horrors of war in the letters. Though, he definitely saw a lot: the Leningrad Front, rifle division signalman, Medals for Bravery and For Battle Merit.

Regardless, in these short messages he writes mostly about the mother he misses and three sisters growing up so quickly, enquires after a girlfriend, who already signs her letters with his surname, and asks for a favor to send him tobacco (Klava poured some between pages once in a while).

Likewise, back then midgets — tiny portraits given to one another — were signed only with words of love and treasured memories about life before the war.

“Cannot forget that moment, when we were together and gathered flowers. So good it was. Yes! Sweetheart, very good”, Lusya adds to her photo for Marusya, Sasha’s younger sister, on November 16th, 1941.

On January 1945 Sasha went home on furlough.

“There was a superstitious belief that you should break dishes, which were used at table, so that a person would be all right. So, we smashed all the plates, dropped everything to the floor, all the guests smashed. And after that, you know, walked, stamped, trampled those plates. And then everything really was all right…”, grandma tells.

On May 9th Sasha sent home a greeting card.

On May 12th Sasha died.

On May 13th Sasha would turn 27.

“We couldn’t believe that he is dead. We were waiting in vain. My Dearest son and Beloved brother Sasha is buried in your laborious, hospitable, warm mother earth. He is with you now. Sleeping his last sweet sleep, as in heaven. Sleep, my Darling…”, in 1980 writes Alexandra Dmitrievna Belousova to Kuldiga, a Latvian town, where Sasha is buried in the memorial mass grave.

Zinaida, the eldest of three sisters, brought there some flowers from her kitchen garden. They took roots.

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