The Diary of Polina Zherebtsova The Diary of Polina Zherebtsova
( part of the text)The diaries begin in 1999 in an autumn of war, when their author was fourteen.
The names of some of the people mentionedhave been chang
From a field notebook:
“All of us, shot through by the war, have become part of a blind spot – just as a bullet hole in a skull becomes part of the skull, indeed its third eye, gazing wide-eyed into non-being.”
Stanislav BozhkoThe Season Is War24 September 1999
10.05
There was a bit of bombing today. The neighbours didn’t go to work because they are scared but I will go and help Mama at the market. There is a rumour at school that it is going to be closed. Everybody says a war is coming.
14.05
You can hear the roar of aircraft. Bombs are being dropped but for now they are far away. In central Grozny at the market I only feel the ground shaking. Nothing worse. I’m staying.
Anyway, where could I go? I will look after myself.
Polina
25 September 1999
Fought for bread in the queue today. The Azerbaijanis who brought their goods to our city have left. What are we going to sell?
Also decided to write a recipe for cheese pyshki. They taste so good!
I will make them from fresh ingredients when peace comes back.
26 September 1999. Sunday
We did not go to the market because the drains are blocked. One of our neighbours has blocked them but won’t admit it. We sent for a plumber. He was Russian, drunk, and became ill. We had to run to get the nurse and she gave him injections. He nearly died of a heart attack.
The drains are still blocked.
27 September 1999. Monday
They are bombing Beryozka in our Staropromyslovsky District. That is really quite near. They have been bombing it since early morning.
[The entries in the diary after this have got wet and and are illegible]
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I will read Shakespeare. We have 12 volumes of him in our library. They are antiques, published in the early 20th century. My grandad was a news cameraman and he bought them. He was killed in 1994 at the start of the first war when the hospital on First of May Street was shelled.
I had dreadful nightmares last night.
Polya
Continued:
Evening.
Mama and I traded at the market.
29 September Wednesday 1999
Bombing.
I saw the Knight of the Water. He bought me an ice cream. My favourite neighbour Aunt Mariam has moved to Ingushetia.
No other news.
30 September 1999. Thursday.
The bridges have been bombed.
It said on radio that Federal Russian tanks are planning to enter Grozny around 10 October.
I decided that if there is going to be another war I need to buy some black underwear so it doesn’t need washing so often.
Got bread after a fight. People seem to have gone crazy.
1 October 1999
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Bombing yesterday and the day before. Rumours in the market that they have hit No. 7 Hospital. Local radio said 420 people were killed and about 1,000 injured.
The city is filling with rumours. Often the ‘information’ contradicts itself.
Professor Nunayev, a heart specialist we know, warned us in August there was going to be another war but we did not believe him. We stocked up with new goods.
On 6 August we heard that the widow of assassinated President Djohar Dudayev had left Grozny.
So much information! You can only believe what you have seen with your own eyes. No way should you believe your ears!
On 30 September the drains flooded again. We phoned for plumbers but nobody came. We had to do it ourselves. Our dear neighbours carry on pouring everything down them. We cart their sewage out in buckets.
In the market people were swapping addresses with friends they have made, in case the bombing gets heavy or we get bombed out and need somewhere to go and live. Nazar gave us his address. He and his wife sell food. Microdistrict, 8 Kosior Street, Apartment 66, bus No. 29. A Russian woman gave us her address too. Her name is Lyolya. She said, “What if you’re in the city centre and there is an air raid? Run along Victory Avenue to No. 5A (which is close to the market). We have a big cellar in the courtyard.”
I don’t suppose being killed instantly is all that bad. What is horrible is being buried under rubble and dying in agony. I remember Russian old people dying like that in 1994 in the centre of Grozny. There was no machinery to shift the concrete slabs.
Their apartment block was bombed from a plane and they were on the upper floors and found themselves on the inside of all the rubble. People of different nationalities came. They cried by that mountain of slabs, hearing the people’s groans.
It went on for several days and then everything went quiet.
That is a really horrible way to die.
I have been thinking about different religions too. They’re all good in their way, only people aren’t good at obeying God’s laws.
The son of our neighbour Fatima, who lives on the central staircase of our apartment block, has died. He was just a little boy.
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