So I celebrated the Easter of 1942 in the bosom of agronomist Syrbulenko... It was not a joyful break of fast with a soup out of two frozen potatoes and a handful of fine rye.
[I couldn't recognise the hospitable cheerful hostess who used to always sing merry songs. Looking at quietened and scared boys timidly snuggling up to the father I couldn't recognise the two "doctors Faustus" who used to always talk in unison and set the most incredible pyrotechnic and chemical experiments.
But the most painful was to see Grisha Syrbulenko. Is it he, that jovial and witty companion brimming with funny stories and jokes?
"I know I will die pretty soon. When I fall asleep I always dream of the same. I fall in a hole or a cellar. Then the boards drop down and the earth run upon me.]