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，人们会逐渐习惯鲜血和他人的痛苦，所以即使那个人的脸被绷带完全包裹，那个人烧伤的样子也没有让我感到恐惧。只有他的嘴那个呼吸的孔和眼睛把他和木乃伊区分开来，露出发炎的、没有睫毛的、覆盖着黏液的眼睑。我们在搬运他的时偶尔会进行眼神交流，但我尽力不让我的目光透露出他的状况。离开前，我有几分钟时间看看夏天的天空，这是自2月24日以来我生活中为数不多的没有改变的事物之一，它将我与过去的生活联系起来。
他们送来了一名士兵，他向我们要了一根烟。他坐在轮椅上，双腿和一只手臂都缠着绷带，身上一如既往地脏兮兮的，带着干涸的血迹，眼神疲惫，还有着醒目的胡须。
“反攻？”有人问。轮椅上的那个人不太愿意回答，但我们听到他说：“算是吧。”有人问起进展。然后，受伤的士兵开始更加激动地解释；本来应该有更多的，但一辆坦克坏了，一辆步兵战车陷住了并被导弹击中，他不得不把一个身上着火的机械师拉出战车。
“我把他拖了几米远，然后第二枚导弹来了，击中了我……”
没有人再问任何问题。
但我们听到的最重要的话来自那个烧伤的、像木乃伊一样的人。他费力地抬起头说话，他真的很想看看轮椅上的那个人。
“胡子？是你吗？”
轮椅上留着胡子的士兵仔细地看着缠着绷带的头，然后没有回答，而是露出了真诚、快乐的笑容，并惊呼道——“哲卡……你还活着！”
“我发生了什么事”——很明显，机械师什么都不记得了。
“你被反坦克导弹炸了！”
哲卡，那个机械师，显然是在努力寻找他记忆中最后的时刻，以便找回对这场战斗的完整印象，但随后他转过身来问道：“是你把我拉出来的吗？”
轮椅上的那个人开始掐灭他的香烟，并尽量不让他的回答听起来过于伤感，只是干巴巴地回答说：“是的。”
我看着那个烧伤的人。他微微点了点头，似乎再次确认了他从未怀疑过的事情，他的头重重地落在担架上。沉默降临了，每个人都害怕打破它。你几乎可以听到在场每个人的脉搏。
如果我听到“谢谢”或其他什么话，也许，随着时间的推移，我会忘记这段对话……但这种沉默……仍然在我的脑海中回响。
这种沉默让我听到了真正的感激。
斯洛维扬斯克，2023年
