"To Razgulyai," Dad answered.

The soldier brought us firewood almost to the house and did not take anything from us, although my father wanted to thank him. Then our mother met us.

"Remember, Lord, Thy servant," she said, "if it were not for this officer, my father's heart would not have endured.

My father's scientific work did not stop during the war. Soon the Institute of Engineering and Economics, where my father taught chemical technology, returned from evacuation. The government took care of the professors, and a canteen was set aside for them in the center, where they received a delicious hearty lunch every day. But the professors, remembering their families, ate only soup in the dining room, and managed to pour bread, snacks, a second course and even a glass of wine and compote into jars and take them with them. Then, for those who wished, the canteen was replaced by a card called "dry rations". For shopping, special stores were allocated, well supplied with products from America: bacon, egg powder, smoked fish, etc. In this "closed" (for other people) store, it was allowed to buy cards and family members of professors. Then we breathed a sigh of relief, because since then we have been eating quite well (since the beginning of 1943).

Father's gardens served as a great help in the household, the land for which was given by the institutions where the parents worked. In total, we had about five gardens located on different railways. In the fields, we planted potatoes and cabbage. And on the plots leased to us by our friends, from whom we used to rent dachas, we grew tomatoes, cucumbers, and all sorts of other vegetables.

Dad was very fond of vegetable gardens, fertilized them with chemicals and always got surprisingly large harvests. We all helped my father, he guided us, taught us to sow, weed, thin out, etc. From early spring until snow, dad simply disappeared in the gardens, fertilizing the land with manure, coniferous humus from the forest, arranging greenhouses. Father taught us to work carefully and with love. He himself was well versed in what substances to apply to tomatoes and lettuce, which to root crops, where potassium and phosphate salts are needed. After all, the caking and hygroscopicity of fertilizers was the topic of one of his scientific works. He took us to sheds where mountains of some salts were stored, he himself poured certain substances into our backpacks, he himself locked and unlocked warehouses, the keys to which were given to him on the spot. We worked hard, and by autumn our basement under the kitchen was full of potatoes, barrels and boxes of vegetables.

Harvesting vegetables was helped by our "grandmother", with whom my father always had a very friendly relationship. She was a nun, for twenty-seven years she lived in a closet in our kitchen, cooked, guarded the house, dressed in rags like a beggar, ate the remains of the table, went to church on holidays. Dad always made sure that the old woman had granulated sugar, medicines and everything she needed.

Dad treated her with great respect, which she deserved. By spring, when our supplies were depleted, my grandmother cooked cabbage soup from quinoa and nettle, baked bran cakes, mixing them with potato peels, which she dried all winter. However, we all endured hunger and labor cheerfully, we did not hang our heads.

Trudfront

At the end of March 1942, when the students of external studies were already beginning to prepare for the upcoming exams, we were suddenly announced that classes were temporarily suspended. For three weeks, all teachers and students should go to the construction of defensive structures around Moscow. In the first days of April, the day and hour were appointed when we were to be at the Riga station. The care of exams was postponed indefinitely. The guys received this news enthusiastically. Either I was very tired of sitting at the desk, or I wanted to help my parents in some way, or I was drawn out of the city to nature, as the spring was coming red. At the station, no one counted us, did not check us against the list, but simply told us to go to Pavshino. Many of us landed there, but there were no teachers. One old man with a stick, a drawing teacher, shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment, surprised, like us, at the lack of organization of this enterprise. However, we stretched along the Volokolamskoye highway in a long line. We walked for a long time - two hours. The sun was hot, we were all with backpacks and bags on our backs, as we were ordered to take a bowl, a mug and food for one day with us. On the sides of the highway there were abandoned villages, ruined charred houses, no inhabitants or cattle anywhere, everything was empty, as after the front. Finally, two-storey barrack-type houses appeared to the right. The windows are broken, there are no doors, the plaster bears traces of shelling, in some places it has crumbled. Here they began to be accommodated. No toilet, no water, and everyone is thirsty. Nearby there is a liquid forest, in which there are deep holes full of melted spring water. They washed and drank with it. And there is no one to ask: what are we going to do here? Why did we come here? There was no authority, we were left to ourselves, but someone managed to warn us that the forest had not yet been cleared of mines and it was dangerous to go deep into it. In the evening, it became cold, the wind blew, and snowfall began. The boys who had been playing ball during the day returned to the houses, where the wind blew in the empty rooms, and among the broken glass on the floor there were heaps of everywhere. There was no furniture, so we went to sleep on the floor, putting our bags under our heads. The mood also dropped due to the fact that many of the bags lost food supplies. It's good that I listened to my mother and came in an old fur coat, which saved me from the cold at night. And my friends were all trembling in the morning, because, having believed in the sun, they dressed lightly. Morning came, then afternoon, and again no one needed us. And here were children up to fourteen or fifteen years old, they were already crying quietly and were about to run home. But they were not allowed to enter Moscow without passes. There were patrols at the outposts, document checks at the train stations, and many did not even have passports yet. And I didn't have a bread card, without which you can't get a ration. How will I live here without bread? I have to get home somehow for the card. But how?

At noon, a car arrived with a huge cauldron of millet porridge. The guys rushed to the car with a fight, pushed, made noise and stepped back, having received a large ladle of porridge in their bowl. I also squeezed to the car for my portion and ate porridge with great appetite, because it was the first meal in two days spent here.

Another day passed. Finally, on the third day, we were lined up and taken to the "highway". It was a wide clearing cut through a dense forest. Here we had to build pillboxes, bunkers, put obstacles, that is, anti-tank poles, etc. We had no idea about all this, and there was no one to ask. There were no teachers, and we were led by one "foreman", as we called him. We dragged out work with one dream: to eat and drink, because it was already the third day since we had even had hot tea. They said that they would bring bread, but I did not hope to receive it, because my card remained in Moscow. I began to ask the foreman where our bosses were. He said that it was necessary to go further, further, where the command staff would be. And so I separated from my peers and went forward alone. And I felt very bad. My stomach hurt, and I could barely move my legs. Finally, in a forest clearing, I saw benches and a makeshift table, at which people in military uniform were sitting. I timidly approached them. When they asked me what I needed, I said that I needed to go to Moscow, since I did not have a ration card, and that I needed a pass to Moscow. Someone took pity on me, quickly wrote me a piece of paper, but said: "We also need our seal here, and it is at the headquarters, which is four kilometers from here. Go there."

All these days I prayed silently all the time, read the rules, called on the saints for help. And then it was not a prayer, but a tearful cry to the Lord: "Lord! Help me get home!" I walk with my backpack straight through the forest in order to get to the Volokolamsk highway as soon as possible. And my legs are weak, I can barely crawl, my stomach hurts. Finally, she came out of the forest, peered into the distance, where the roofs of the houses were black. "No, I can't get there. And will I find anyone in the headquarters?" I sat down on the ground by the side of the road and waited for a car to pass. And they came from the front rarely, rarely. In an hour, one or two cars will rush by. I'm sitting, waiting... New unusual feelings and thoughts seized me. I'm alone, no one knows where I am. I'll die here, and no one will find me. The words of the psalm sound in my ears: "My father and my mother have forsaken me, but my Lord will receive me." That's when I appreciated my closeness to God. "Why do I need knowledge of languages, physics, mathematics, history, etc.? All this is vanity, everything is useless. Faith in the help of the saints, knowledge of their mercy – this is what I need. This means that my father was the most right when he gave me the holy books..." And I began to ask for help from St. Seraphim, St. Sergius, St. Nicholas in turn: "Well, father, stop my car! Put me in jail! Help me get home without a pass! After all, I am exhausted, I have no strength. I am only waiting for help from above. O Queen of Heaven! Do not leave me here alone to perish." The car stopped.