"Konstantin Ivanovich Krutov, or just Kostya," the man said, extending his hand. "And this is my wife, Lyubov Sergeyevna, and my son, Yegor. I'd like to speak with you alone. Come to my house."
I shook the outstretched hand and followed Konstantin toward the large two-story house. Near the gate in the yard, I spotted two fresh graves. Konstantin stopped near the mounds strewn with cut flowers and explained:
"My eldest daughter, Larisa, and my youngest son, Vasya... my Vasilek. They died that very first damned morning. They were playing in the yard, and they died together. And Yegorka fell off the swing, and his wife treated his cuts in the house with green paint. That's the only reason they survived. I was at work in Sergiev Posad, and it was only by nightfall that I managed to walk back
