Amber by Stephan Collishaw Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t know what I will do if anything happens to him.’ I sat on my bunk and felt dark, lonely arms enfold me. There was nobody, I thought, who would miss me if I returned home in a zinc coffin. Nevertheless, I took a pen and wrote, ‘My dear Liuba, I miss you and your laughter. Kolya is with me still and we have been posted together to Afghanistan. Do not worry about us, we are strong. I will look after Kolya and bring him home to you.’
    The political instruction we received increased as the day of our departure drew nearer. Grigov, our Political Officer, harangued us in hour-long sermons about our ‘International Duty’, about the need to secure the Union’s southern border, the need to defend the peace in the territory of our friends, to defend the citizens of Afghanistan against the bandits and counter­ revolutionaries funded and armed by America, to build houses and hospitals, schools and roads, to build mosques and sink wells to provide clean water supplies for our friends across the border. To continue, in other words, the brave and noble work of the soldiers who had gone before us, who had begun the struggle to bring peace and revolution to Afghanistan.
    â€˜In the kishlaks , the villages, they had no clean water. We have dug them wells,’ Grigov told us. His uniform was the neatest I had ever seen; everything about Grigov seemed well cut, neatly tailored, smart. A little thrill passed down my spine as I listened to him. The idea of giving myself wholly to some greater enterprise was exhilarating. ‘Before, the girls in Afghanistan were allowed no education,’ Grigov continued, extolling the benefits of our international aid, ‘but in the spirit of the revolution they are now allowed to go to school. The women in the villages are given medical care by our army doctors. It is your patriotic duty to build the way forward for our comrades in Afghanistan.’
    For the first time in my life, I felt I belonged. I was needed. I had my part to play in rebuilding Afghanistan. It did not matter that I was an orphan, or that I had not succeeded at school. In my bunk at night I lay in the darkness and thought of Grigov’s words. I imag­ined sinking wells in remote villages, building schools, bringing food and medical aid to those in need. The images of the propaganda films we had been shown flickered through my head: Afghani farmers waving from the fields as the Soviet army passed; children running, grinning joyfully, to gather the sweets thrown by a soldier; young girls in smart blue uniforms bent studiously over their books in recently built classrooms. My International Duty. I whispered the words to myself, thrilled by their sound. My International Duty.

Chapter 7
    Wandering out from the apartment blocks on to Freedom Boulevard, I flagged down a taxi. The driver was an elderly Russian, smoking a cigarette that smelt so bad I was compelled to wind down the window a little. He seemed almost asleep as he steered the old Mercedes out into the fast-moving traffic heading towards the Old Town.
    A thin light illuminated the crack beneath Tanya’s door. Pressing the buzzer, I glanced guiltily at my watch. It was just after midnight. I heard the soft fall of bare feet on the parquet. I pressed my face close to the door.
    â€˜It’s Antanas,’ I called quietly.
    The lock turned and I heard the bolts being drawn back. When Tanya opened the door I could see she had been in bed; she was wearing a nightdress and her hair was rumpled. Her expression betrayed both concern and delight.
    â€˜Is everything OK?’ she asked.
    She stood back, allowing me to enter, and took my jacket.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘to disturb you so late.’
    We walked through to the sitting room, which was illuminated by the small lamp that had been on the last time I had visited Vassily at home. A cushion and sheet lay crumpled on the sofa.
    â€˜I couldn’t sleep in