We are waiting

Today is the second birthday of my husband Andrei Sannikov, which is celebrated by us when we are apart.

And we have never parted on our birthdays before. It’s true, I have always dreamt to send the evening of March 8 on a sofa watching slush melodramas, which are abundant at all TV channels on this day, and have no cooking and washing-up, but I never succeeded at that…

Andrei Sannikov’s birthday without guests – is a utopia. None of our friends could ever imagine this day without a visit to us, without tasting some extremely delicious dishes, either exotic dishes with hardly pronounceable names, and with ingredients which could hardly be found in our country (it happened when Andrei was doing magic near the cooker) or potatoes with herring (which is the ceiling of my abilities). But everybody knew that the Sannikov’s house is always cosy, full of fun, and with tasty food.

I am doing my best to preserve the home we had before December 19, so that Andrei could return to the home-fire, not to some changed and strange place. I am watering flowers exactly according to the instruction he had sent me in one of the letters, but they are withering all the same. I have learnt to cook cream soups, which I could not do before December 19, but I do not have the person to whom I could brag about that. Friends are visiting me certainly, and they approve of my success, but my husband cannot do that, and it’s a pity. I have learnt how to distinguish flat pliers from nipper pliers, and drills from crescent wrenches, but this has not helped our house much. That’s because our house is created by Andrei. It’s his love, his spirit, his character. Me and Danka have become orphans without him, though friends, acquaintances and even people I do not know give us warmth, care and attention. But a huge emptiness emerged in our life without Andrei, and it is swallowing up everything. I am told: “You must be proud, you husband is a hero.” And I recall Brecht’s words: “Unhappy is the land that needs heroes.”

Andrei has always been sparing of words. Before December 19 he said “I love you” two times to me: in 2003 after his 15 days arrest, and in 2007 on the phone, 10 minutes after Danik was born. And now he is writing this word in each letter. And during his meetings with lawyers he asks to pas his words, that he loves me. And during our short meetings we had this year, he had been repeating that many times. And me, on the contrary, made declarations of love every time, under any circumstances. And today I would like to repeat again: “I love you, Andrei! You have made me the happiest woman in the world. You are beyond compare. And I do not regret at all that I was imprisoned with you. Maybe it means “to be true in good times and in bad”? Your last birthday I celebrated at home, not in prison, but under the guard of two KGB bearish fellows. I had no right to talk to your mother. And today we are going to be with her. And as usual, Danka will demand to place candles on the cake, to snuff off and make a wish. And he is going to say again: “I want Dad to return as soon as possible. I understand that he is fighting, and planes to not fly to the place where the war is. All the same, I want him to return.”

Yesterday Andrei sent me a short letter, short as usual. He had never told that March 8 should be crossed out, though he was a little ironic about it, and he always prepared a holiday for us: for his wife, mother, mother-in-law, wives of his friends. And in yesterday’s letter he asked to congratulate Belarusian women on March 8. He wrote that once again he had become convinced that Belarusian women are the most intelligent, kind, beautiful and noble. He also asked to congratulate Belarusian men, as they are lucky to have met such women. But March 8 is always a birthday of Andrei. And today I am repeating again: “Happy birthday, my darling! I love you. And I am waiting for you.” I remember that a year ago, after Danka’s birthday, when our friends brought a balloon with the words: “Dad, get back!” and my son launched it into the sky, Andrei learnt about that during a meeting in the remand prison in Valadarski Street, and said: “I felt myself as a man paying alimony.” So now I do not say pretentiously “Get back as soon as possible!” I am just waiting.

Iryna Khalip for charter97.org