Absolute Zero

by Artem Chekh

“Why am I drunk? Sweetie, why wouldn’t I get drunk here? At night I dragged Styopa, who had a head wound, through an enemy outpost.” Sweetie bursts into tears, sits down, her hair turning gray. The spicy scent of Corvalol, a heart medication, in a benign plume, reaches all the way to the staircase. The neighbors try to comfort her. They don’t say anything to the children. Just so that he comes back alive. Even without hands, even without legs, but alive. Our Kolinka. Our defender. The defender runs to the closest village for additional supplies. Styopa waits at the checkpoint. After two days of deprivation, everything is falling apart. Will you lend me fifty kopecks until the fifteenth? I’ll give it back, I promise. Another has been burning wagons and civilian wheelbarrows for two months near Izum. He got lucky – he lives in the café, at the outpost there is an oven. Cigarettes, drinks, constant amounts of money flow into his pockets. Yes, it isn’t as safe as the National Guard, but you can live. It’s just sad somehow. Sadness poisons the soul. At home, in dear Starkon, Natasha waits. He calls her, crying: “Yesterday they demolished part of the platoon, showered it with bullets. A sniper. Am I wounded? Yes, but no. I have a contusion. Two contusions. I love you, pray for us. Oh, and send me some sausages. Kisses.” My friend the beekeeper Sanya B. only told his sisters where he is. His mother believes that he is still studying on a training base in Mykolaiv. Why should I wo...