Rise after a Fall

In Their Frame of Reference One Must Pay for Everything

In Their Frame of Reference One Must Pay for Everything

The detention. A long time later I was placed between these two terrorists who started asking me questions. Yes. It was in the automobile that my initial interrogation commenced. Terrifying. They say: “Answer! Who planted a mine in Belbek? Who exploded a tank in Sevastopol? We know that it was you! Who are your accomplices? Who is Oleg? Who is Chyrniy?” I had no clue what they were asking about. They actually beat me for that. They ask a question, you try to reply something, and at this moment you get a hit in the stomach. This is painful. Makes you gasp. A burning sensation inside. A bag on the head, and you cannot see when you are going to be hit and you cannot group. “Oh-oh, the guys, you’ve made a mistake! I am a photographer, I was going to a photo session!” — “We are not mistaken, lad. We never make mistakes... If the Security Service takes on a task, it completes it. No mistakes. Never. Do you know what will happen to you? You’re in trouble. See? You’ll have to pay for all!” Did I understand what would come next? What the threat was? What could I expect? I did not realize and did not want to realize, could not believe.

The first task was to scare. To scare to death, ruin, make me go to pieces. They kept saying that my life was over. That they never made mistakes, and if they had detained, then the game was over. In the Crimea people would disappear, in particular, pro-Ukrainian resistance ones. “Therefore, — I thought, — if it is self-defense, I will be taken to a cellar to be tortured or to a wood line to be killed, and if that was FSB, I would be convicted and killed somewhere in penitentiary colony”. And they said: “Do you know where we are going? Guess! We are going to a forest. You will dig a grave for yourself, you, piece of s**t. Nobody will find you. Do you think somebody needs you? Does Ukraine need you? Nobody needs you”.

That was frightening. Because you can’t believe you will indeed dig a grave to yourself. That you will actually be killed and buried. And continuously beaten — on the head or stomach. Questions, questions... everything seems so meaningless... What’s next? A grave? Death?

They saw an Orthodox cross on my neck. Tore it off and threw into the window saying: “You are a fascist! Fascists, bastards, don’t believe in God!” And I thought it was them who were fascists...

During those first hours the impression was as if you were deeply knocked out, as if you were hit on your head with a hammer, as if the situation was helpless and you could only observe what was going on around...

That was the first scene of the absurdist theater, which has been the main stage in Russia. That was the first scene, but not last. Intimidating, but not the most. Cruel, but not the most cruel one...

The car stopped. The engine was turned off. “We offer you two option. Either you will open your apartment by yourself and we will just go in. Or we will break it so that all the neighbors gather to see what is going on, and make conclusions: who you are and who your family is. Imagine, how your Mum will live on here, being so deeply disgraced. How will she look into people’s eyes?” Looking around, I realized that I was in the yard of my own house. Naturally, I rejected the first option. My home is my fortress. I had always thought so. Of course, there was nothing to look for in my apartment. I was absolutely clean. I had nothing to hide. But to say that I agreed to let somebody in for a theatrical search was out of question. Certainly, nobody present liked my answer, but nobody was upset either. They showed me the keys to my apartment. “Now you will go to the entrance unmasked not to attract attention of the locals, your neighbors. Behave yourself, or it will serve you right. Did you get that?” I was pleased to walk unmasked. So that no acquaintance understood or learnt of what was happening. Not a shame... But my mum had to live there during the occupation, when people around were brainwashed by Russian propaganda. I was led unmasked, but handcuffed, just covered them with a sweater...

As soon as I entered the house, the bag appeared on my head again. Darkness. Cuffed, my hands were up so that I was bent down to the floor again.

It took a few minutes to decide which of them would go upstairs on foot to the eighth floor and who would use an elevator. They boasted comparing their ranks and joking at each other. I was waiting. Finally someone took into the elevator. I just wanted it all to be over and quickly as by arm joints were twisted and the body seemed to be agonizing. Eventually, the elevator stopped and I was near my apartment. They threw me down onto the kitchen floor. The illegal search started at once. Steps were everywhere, many voices. A disgusting feeling that somebody dirty and corrupt was ransacking your items. Only yours and for you only. But it was out of control or resistance. Your family couldn’t oppose it either, because they were out, and nobody knew of what was going on. Only our Yorkshire terrier was happy to see me. The small dog jumped on me, tried to take the bag off my head, licked my hands.

Meanwhile the occupants were turning our apartment upside down. They took away everything valuable. Stole. They were not interested in any evidence. Naturally, that could be a pleasant bonus, but nobody even expected to find anything. I was lying and heard woman’s laughing, arrangements to meet their girlfriends, who, as I understood, were witnesses to the search in this absurdist theatre. The performance for themselves. No sense, no honor. Some time later a person came into the kitchen and lifted me up to my feet in one move. I was led to the sitting room and placed on a chair. The bag was taken off. Everything around me reminded of earthquake effects. In front of me, in the family rocking chair, there was an insolent, stout and bald middle-aged medium height man. He was sitting and rocking. His face expressed hatred.

“All of you are such heroes. Keep silent. Say nothing. But that’s OK, you are all the same. Sooner or later you start speaking”.

In his hands he was holding a bag with several respirators.

“What is it?”

“Respirators”.

“What do you need them for?”

“This is a way to survive in case of emergency”.

“Are you playing for a sucker? Mocking at us?” He rushed to me. One of the search participants looked into the sitting room and said:

“Witnesses are in the apartment. Later. Wait. You’ll have plenty of time”.

He stepped back, sat down silent looking at me with hatred. After that the occupants brought into the room knee pads and elbow pads for rollerblading.

“What are these?”

“These are protective devices for rollerblading”.

“Smart you are? Really? Where are your rollerblades?”

“On the balcony”.

“There is nothing on the balcony. Are you lying to us? Alright, we will speak to you. These are the items for a Maidan person. Are you, son of a b***h, kidding us?”

Frankly speaking, I still do not know whether there were rollerblades or not. Perhaps, Mum had taken them to our garage or put them away in the apartment, I told them the truth...

The following item was a pack of medications.

“What is that?” they asked with a growing fury.

“Medications”.

“What for?”

“For treatment, when being sick”, I answered and could not hold a smile.

I shouldn’t have done it... it was silly to provoke them. In their reference system you had to pay for everything...