By Nazarnazar
Unfortunately, you get used to blood and the suffering of others, so even though his face was covered with bandages, the burned man did not horrify me. Only the breathing holes for his mouth and eyes distinguished him from a mummy, revealing inflamed eyelids, without eyelashes, and covered with mucus. We occasionally made eye contact while loading, but I did my best not to reveal his condition through my gaze. Before we left, I had a few minutes to look at the summer sky, one of the few things that hadn’t changed in my life after the 24th and connected me to a past life.
They delivered a soldier who asked us for a cigarette. He was in a wheelchair with his legs and an arm bandaged, typically dirty, with traces of dried blood, tired eyes, and a distinctive beard.
“An offensive?” — someone asked. The man in the wheelchair was reluctant to answer, but we heard: — “Sort of”. Someone asked about progress. Then, with more emotion, the wounded man began to explain; there should have been many more, but one of the tanks broke down, the BMP got stuck and was hit by a missile, and he had to pull out a mech driver who was burning alive.
“I dragged him a couple of meters away and then the second missile came, and it hit me….”
No one had any more questions.
But the most important thing we heard was from the burned mummy man. With obvious difficulty he raised his head to speak, he really wanted to see the man in the wheelchair.
“Beard? — Is that you?”
The bearded soldier in the wheelchair looked closely at the bandaged head, and then instead of answering, he broke into a sincere, happy smile and exclaimed — “Zheka… you survived!”
“What happened to me” — it was clear that the mech driver did not remember anything.
“You got fucked up by an ATGM!”
Zheka, the mech driver, was obviously trying to find the last moments in his memory to have a complete picture of the battle, but then he switched and asked: “Was it you who pulled me out?”
The man in the wheelchair began to put out his cigarette and, trying not to make his answer sound melodramatic, dryly replied, “Yes.”
I was looking at the burned man. He nodded slightly as if confirming once again what he had never doubted, and his head fell heavily on the stretcher. The silence settled, and everyone was afraid to break it. You could almost hear the pulse of those present.
If I had heard “Thank you” or some other words, perhaps, over time, I would have forgotten this dialogue… but this silence….. still sounds in my head.
This silence allowed me to hear true Gratitude.
Sloviansk, 2023
英雄
作者：Nazarnazar
很不幸，人們會逐漸習慣鮮血和他人的痛苦，所以即使那個人的臉被繃帶完全包裹，那個人燒傷的樣子也沒有讓我感到恐懼。隻有他的嘴那個呼吸的孔和眼睛把他和木乃伊區分開來，露出發炎的、沒有睫毛的、覆蓋著黏液的眼瞼。我們在搬運他的時偶爾會進行眼神交流，但我盡力不讓我的目光透露出他的狀況。離開前，我有幾分鍾時間看看夏天的天空，這是自2月24日以來我生活中為數不多的沒有改變的事物之一，它將我與過去的生活聯係起來。
他們送來了一名士兵，他向我們要了一根煙。他坐在輪椅上，雙腿和一隻手臂都纏著繃帶，身上一如既往地髒兮兮的，帶著幹涸的血跡，眼神疲憊，還有著醒目的胡須。
“反攻？”有人問。輪椅上的那個人不太願意回答，但我們聽到他說：“算是吧。”有人問起進展。然後，受傷的士兵開始更加激動地解釋；本來應該有更多的，但一輛坦克壞了，一輛步兵戰車陷住了並被導彈擊中，他不得不把一個身上著火的機械師拉出戰車。
“我把他拖了幾米遠，然後第二枚導彈來了，擊中了我……”
沒有人再問任何問題。
但我們聽到的最重要的話來自那個燒傷的、像木乃伊一樣的人。他費力地抬起頭說話，他真的很想看看輪椅上的那個人。
“胡子？是你嗎？”
輪椅上留著胡子的士兵仔細地看著纏著繃帶的頭，然後沒有回答，而是露出了真誠、快樂的笑容，並驚呼道——“哲卡……你還活著！”
“我發生了什麽事”——很明顯，機械師什麽都不記得了。
“你被反坦克導彈炸了！”
哲卡，那個機械師，顯然是在努力尋找他記憶中最後的時刻，以便找回對這場戰鬥的完整印象，但隨後他轉過身來問道：“是你把我拉出來的嗎？”
輪椅上的那個人開始掐滅他的香煙，並盡量不讓他的回答聽起來過於傷感，隻是幹巴巴地回答說：“是的。”
我看著那個燒傷的人。他微微點了點頭，似乎再次確認了他從未懷疑過的事情，他的頭重重地落在擔架上。沉默降臨了，每個人都害怕打破它。你幾乎可以聽到在場每個人的脈搏。
如果我聽到“謝謝”或其他什麽話，也許，隨著時間的推移，我會忘記這段對話……但這種沉默……仍然在我的腦海中回響。
這種沉默讓我聽到了真正的感激。
斯洛維揚斯克，2023年
