Alexievich - Secondhand Time
The Soviets returned to power…and that suitor of mine found me again. He showed up on horseback: “They’re interested in you.” “Who?” “What do you mean, who? The authorities.” “I don’t care where I die. Let them send me to Siberia.” “What kind of mother are you? You have a child.” “You know whose it is…” “I’ll marry you anyway.” And so I married him. The man who murdered my husband. I had his child, my daughter…[She cries.] He loved both of our children the same, my son and his daughter. I won’t speak ill of him on that account. As for me…I…was always covered in bruises, I went around with bloody contusions. At night, he’d beat me, and in the morning, he’d get on his knees and beg my forgiveness. He was burned up by some violent passion…jealous of my dead husband. In the morning, while everyone else was still asleep, I would already be up. I needed to be up as early as possible, before he could wake up, so that he wouldn’t embrace me. At night, every single window would be dark, but I’d still be up working in the kitchen. All of my pots sparkled. I waited for him to fall asleep. We lived together like that for fifteen years, and then he got very ill. He died in the course of a single autumn. [She weeps.] It’s not my fault…I never wished for him to die. The moment came…the final moment…He’d been lying with his face to the wall, and then he turned to me, “Did you ever love me?” I didn’t say anything.