Translated by Ollie Richardson & Angelina Siard
Odessa was in my dream. That’s why Sunday morning passes under the sign of coffee, cigarettes, and thoughts of when I, at last, will be able to quietly buy a ticket for a direct flight and without any fears to set foot in my native land.
I want so much to spit on common sense, and, having acquired fearlessness and the desperate desire to embrace my relatives and to inhale the salty air, at least for a week to buzz about the best city of the earth.
But I will be obliged to wait.
To wait for the moment when, from one side, the front line will move deeper into Ukraine, and from the other side, the authorities in Kiev will pass to the prompt phase of devouring each other. To wait for news about disorder in places organized by activists from the veterans of the anti-terrorist operation and then to listen for moaning not about beast-beating, but about cynical executions arranged by subordinates of Avakov.
To wait for the dispersal of blockaders, the cleansing of amber diggers, and the shooting of smugglers. To wait for retaliatory actions in the form of pogroms and gradual immersion of the country into police lawlessness and gangster clashes.
To wait for horrifying stories about cleansing, seizures, diversions, and robberies. To wait for data from flightradar showing the sudden density and frequency of departures of private planes from Borispol. To wait for images of the storming of the Polish border by those fleeing the country en masse.
To wait for an exchange of the sovereignty of western regions for Polish products and citizenship. To wait for the raising of “separatists” in Transcarpathia and mass evacuation of diplomatic missions from Kiev.
To wait for photos and video footage of fair punishment of those who came to Russian Odessa, Kharkov, Zaporozhye, and Kherson three years ago, and who all this time mistreated the local population, imposing their rules and laws.
I am waiting for a raising in Slavyansk and Mariupol [Donbass territories under Kiev’s control – ed]. I am waiting for public and State trials of those who organized the bloody massacre on May 2nd. I am waiting for mass and spontaneous demolitions of monuments to Banderists and fascists. I am waiting for the moment when plaques with new, decommunised names of streets will be torn off, and to chase away with piss-soaked rags all those who methodically turned the cities into Galicia’s khutors, and forced people to assume alien culture and traditions as a basis.
I am waiting for the beginning of mass evacuations of all dissenters from the Ukrainian Orthodox Church led by the nazi Filaret.
I am waiting for the victorious harmonic ringing in the Lavra, announcing that the city of Kiev is now free. I am waiting for festivities with Russian songs on the Khreshchatyk [Kiev – ed], Deribasovskaya [Odessa – ed], and Svoboda Square [Kharkov – ed]. I am waiting for loud suicides and the mass self-liquidation of pro-Ukrainian accounts on social networks.
I am waiting for streams from the airports of London, Brussels, and New York in order to see the gray faces of those who were in time to flee, and to listen to their hysterics. I am waiting for incoherent and vague comments from the European Union. I am waiting for Putin’s congratulations in connection with the end of the war and Victory. I am waiting for when the first beams of a rising sun will sweep away the three-year darkness that covered the city seized by those who abandoned their Russian roots, and, having lit the domes of orthodox churches and the Baptist of Russia, will announce the termination of turmoil.
I am waiting … very much, trying in every way to approach the final phase of the struggle for the right to be Russian and free.
And we will surely succeed.
Because the truth that adds and multiplies forces is on our side.
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