she adds a bit more] We'll wait in Chernobyl. This is our
home now. Chernobyl is
our home, our motherland.
[She
smiles suddenly.] The birds here are the same as everywhere.
And there's still a Lenin statue. [
When we're already at the
gate, saying goodbye, she says some more.] Early one morning
O
'
J O O
J '
J
J
J
O
the neighbors are
hammering away on the house, taking
the boards off the windows. I see a woman. I say, "Where
are you from?" "From Chechnya." She doesn't say anything
more, just starts crying . . .
People ask me, they're
surprised, they don't understand.
"Why are you killing your children?" Oh, God, where do you
find the strength to meet the things that the next day is going to
bring? I'm
not killing them, I'm saving them. Here I am, forty
years old and completely gray. And they're surprised. They don't
understand. They say: "Would you bring your kids to a place
where there was cholera or the plague?" But that's the plague
and that's cholera. This fear that they have
here in Chernobyl,
I don't know about it. It's not part of my memory.