Father said that during the Second World War the front line passed near his village. In the garden of their house stood an artillery gun and the soldier, calculated by the name of Rybakov, often shared his thin solder with hungry children, and once even took the sceps to the cinema, which was turned into pieces, to the feature film "Chapaev." This was the first movie in the life of my father and he was frightened by a whisper when the Chapaev cavalry suddenly attacked him with sabers at the ready. Unfortunately, the noble soldier Rybakov was soon killed during the offensive, his memory bright.
And in the neighboring village the German mother's family lived, and the German soldier housed in their hay-barn also constantly treated the starving children with chocolate and biscuits. Nevertheless, when he was left to cover the withdrawal of his troops, he furiously fired all day, setting up a machine-gun point behind the shed. By the end of the day, when a brief lull was formed, my aunt, who at that time just stopped walking on foot under the table, took the German pie and at the time he reached out to take it, he was killed by a stray bullet, or maybe a Soviet sniper. In the morning after the battle, three children dug a pit in the garden and buried a strange German. Graves and his name does not remain, only the taste of the first time tried in the life of sweets. When we trade on the stock exchange, we often fear imaginary things, things that should not be feared, and rarely miss something that was almost in our hands.
And what does the rain have to do with it? It's just that today we started to rain, which drew from my memory these old, almost forgotten, stories.
