Uncle Gotya...

Uncle Gotya...
Fedorov Sergey Fedorovich

Uncle Gotya was a tankman
Even before the war...
He used to visit us, always cheerful...
But then the war began...
Two or three letters — and then nothing.
Not a trace, nothing at all —
From him...

In '54 —
My mother and I were in Rovno, Ukraine...
There was a home for war invalids there.
All those years, Mom had been searching for her brother...
— Yes...
— There is someone by that name.
— Georgy Ivanovich Ivanov.
— Drafted from the Volodarsky district of Leningrad.
— A tankman...
— Perhaps you shouldn't go see him?
— Why?
— I have warned you...

We entered the ward...
A man was lying on the bed...
Or rather, what was left of him.
He had no legs and only one arm...
His face was burned and covered in scars...
He saw Mom.
He stirred and began to moan...
The doctor said:
— He has no tongue...
Mom sobbed and burst into tears.
She took his hand and pressed herself against him...
He was moaning and sobbing...
Mom began to speak:
— Gotya! Gotya!
She started telling him —
What had happened to their family during the war,
During the Siege...
Who was still alive and who was gone...

About an hour later, the doctor came in
And led us out into the hallway...
— You see what they did to him?
— We cannot allow you to take him home with you...
— Go and say your goodbyes...

An hour later, Mom came out, her eyes red from crying...
A week later, we left Rovno.
In the autumn, a letter arrived...
Georgy Ivanovich Ivanov had passed away...
The hero who saved us from fascism was gone...
We were never able to return
To Ukraine again...

Every year on March 3rd, his birthday,
Mom would remember him and tell us:
"Today is the birthday of our Uncle Gotya."