Another Side of August
16.08.2012 00:00For many years, August has been my blessed month - summer serenity of a resort illuminated as a carnival, night bathing under twinkling Milky Way in the black sky, the fullness of communication and inclusions of new faces in a friendly whirlwind, hiking, crack of cicadas, reminiscent of immortality, and sultry afternoons, replacing each other with the ardor of a young lover.
August 14, 1992 the Georgian troops entered the country, and the sun went dark, something sinister appeared in it, the coast was covered with sticky web of violence. Even a victory could not save from it, obtained in endless thirteen and a half months, because even the expulsion of enemies does not turn death and destruction into oblivion.
It took seven or eight years for time and rains washed away and cleared in my mind the grass and trees, a blazing sky, a lilac twilight, descending from the oleander inflorescence, again it was easy to breathe, and the crackle of cicadas did not crack like guns, and holiday fireworks did not wake an alarming thought - what if the war starts again?
On August 15, 2000 shot at the back of his head, was killed Zurab Achba, a man - mountain, who was able to laugh at himself and enjoy life in all of its manifestations. Before the murder, I was sitting in his office in front of the Botanical Garden, listening to Russian romances just brought from Moscow and enjoyed first-class chocolates. From time to time Zurab read out excerpts from his new article, the text, as always, was witty, but it had no political revelations, and it was impossible to suppose that the man laughing hearty the other night would be killed by a cowardly bastard, sneaked up behind him in the darkness.
Twelve years passed, but the murder of Zurab has not been opened yet. The third president came to power, but a famous lawyer’s death remains an ominous mystery - sore on the government’s conscience passing the baton of inactivity.
August is still hiding in a black depth of its nights a bitter memory of the war - sometimes when you look at the starry sky you begin to think of the names of killed friends, it seem suddenly they twinkle overhead and already know about the eternity that is not available for us yet.
Almost this way flickered candles, lit by Zurab’s friends on the place of his death on 15 ugust - the first time it has been dark this year at the place of his murder on that damned place. Friends stayed at home - the first time we have not heard the gun fire again...