Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets

by Svetlana Alexievich

Everything was simpler in our old life: one pair of boots for all seasons, one coat, one pair of pants. We were raised like young warriors in ancient Sparta: If the Motherland called, we’d sit on a hedgehog for Her. …It was some military holiday…They walked our preschool class to the monument to the heroic Young Pioneer Marat Kazei. “Look, children,” our teacher said. “This young hero blew himself up with a hand grenade and took a whole lot of fascists down with him. When you grow up, you have to be just like him.” You mean we have to blow ourselves up with grenades? I don’t actually remember this, but my mother told me the story…That night, I wept bitterly: I would have to die and lie somewhere all alone, without my mom and dad. The fact that I was crying already meant that I was no hero…I ended up getting sick.