The Red Army soldier did not know when he loaded the last tape into the machine gun that I was coming right here. He did not know when he reached for his last grenade that I would stand there and look where he was looking. He did not know me, but he hoped... what I would do. Who was he? Stingy stories about my grandmother, even rarer black and white photos - they are with the whole family, they are with friends for the New Year 1939. His last photo was taken in 1940. Young Lance Sergeant of the 212th Flying Brigade of the 3rd Air Corps. And I look into those eyes in the photo. As in the sight of his machine gun - who are you, my offspring? Are you there? Are you alive? Because I did everything I could to keep you alive. I wanted you to live. I believed I had someone to die for. Zhulyany. The village. And the garden. The apple garden. "In the orchard among the apples, a pear tree grows. We were under it. Lenka and I. And then the Germans came. When everyone had already left, we were covered by an explosion. I do not remember how they pulled us out..." That's the whole feat. Not enough to say, but too much to do. To take the last step, the last shot, the last heroic act. "He was taken away in an ambulance train... I know nothing more about his fate." The train that took you nowhere. Missing in action. For long, hard thirty-eight years - questions, pleas, letters, answers. And finally from the Ministry of Defense of USSR comes an answer from the archive of military medical documents: "Soldier", /position and part not specified, year of birth not specified / Cadet Leonid Nikolaevich received /date not specified/ multiple shrapnel wound in the chest, penetrating the left thigh, lower leg, feet and left forearm. On August 13, 1941, a body from a military ambulance train was handed over for autopsy to EG -1754. The place of burial is not indicated. EG -1754 was at the indicated time in Barvenkovo, Kharkiv region". March 20, 1979. He came back from this war. He returned with the medal "for the defense of Kiev". I stand in the middle of the garden by this very old pear tree, damaged by the explosion and time, but still bearing fruit, and look out into the field. And then I remember the words of an old veteran: "And then the Germans left". And the sky throws a fiery inferno on me, roaring with engines. But that is just my imagination. Am I alive? I am dying. And every year. On May 9th I come and die on this very spot. To keep you alive.