Only the lonely bachelor, Duisekhan, who had a reputation, in the village for being not all there, flatly refused to accept the unexpected offer of money.

„Duisekhan does not accept hand-outs,“ he shouted in incomprehensible anger, before leaving the meeting.

On the one hand, this stand of his amused the villagers, on the other, they were astonished by it. After all, Duisekhan was as poor as a church mouse and survived on what He earned from digging and cleaning wells and helping with the haymaking.

No one would hire Him permanently. He returned from the war late, about 1947, half out of his wits. Otegen, the NKVD officer, took Duisekhan’s young, shapely wife to be his second wife. Although no one in the village knew on which front Duisekhan had fought, the rumour had it that he had been held prisoner for a long time either by the Germans or by our authorities.

With the coming of spring Duisekhan got excited. At night he would roam about the dark streets of the village, muttering words only comprehensible to himself, laughing for no reason and frightening the passers-by. If money came his way, he would buy cheap, small sugarplums and give away handfuls to the children. The children treated this huge, lonely man with respect and never teased him; each one of us was always ready to help him.

„Huh! What arrogance! If that down-and-out doesn’t want the money, let me have it,“ suggested the retired policeman, Otegen.

„You have no conscience! You’re always ready to grab what does not belong to you! Allah is not with you. At least you should be ashamed before God!“ Grandmother Bokey attacked him.

„Your God doesn’t hand out money!“ Otegen snapped back but nevertheless fell silent. He knew that there was no love lost between himself and the villagers as in his day he had over-zealously waved a revolver around.

At night when everything had quietened down, I went up to my father.

„Father, I will not go to Ayaguz.“

„Do you want to go to Auapa in Semipalatinsk?“ my father asked me.

„No, I’ll go with my grandfather,“ I forced out of myself.

With a strange expression on his face, my father silently looked at me.

„I want to be with my grandfather,“ I repeated.

My father shifted his confused gaze to my mother and I understood that it was easier for him to organize the whole district than to deal with me.

„The Evacuation Organizing Committee will remain behind in the village. There are seven of us and we will stay here… You’ll have to go with the little ones to Ayaguz.“ He fell silent and nodded in my direction. „And what are we going to do with him?“

„If you want him to be expos to radiation, send him with his grandfather,“ mother angrily replied.

„I won’t be exposed to radiation, why should I be?“ I objected.

„Don’t repeat words you don’t understand,“ mother said in a tired voice and muttered, „The bomb won’t ask your permission.“ And then added very quietly, „Ruin has befallen us…“

Father, pretending not to have heard her last words, stared at me intently and said, „Alright. You’ll go with grandfather and grandmother. They need help anyway and you already are an adult dzhigit.“

„Hurray!“ I shouted. „Hurray!“

Mother mournfully rocked her head from side to side.

„We have been told that it is not dangerous,“ father added.

The villagers loaded up at dawn and hastily bid their farewells. Once again there was that terrifying sound of confusion and commotion – the weeping of women, of children, the roar of vehicles, the bleeting of sheep and the barking of soldiers’ commands.

My grandfather and I also set off. Behind the village gathered other old men and women, who were going to the mountains with the animals.