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Alexey Vasiliev    Roses Of Asadabad


     I recollected this story on a Women’s Day, the day when real men presents their beloved with flowers and love. Though, real men do not limit their presents to one day per year… This story is about a bunch of roses – the bunch of roses from Asadabad. I do believe that in spite of all the flowers having been presented before or afterwards that bunch would be remembered as the best and the sweetest one. He was a commander of a unit, a special force group in Asadabad. She was a nurse in an Afgan field hospital. I see those sneering smiles: "bucksy whore" - I would choke those smiles off their faces, but there is the judge above us, let him judge them all.

     He worked along with his unit in the bush, having been on the APC for several days, and time had come to get back to the base. She had been waiting for him on and on, with hope and faith in him...

     And He came across a huge bush of roses, never saw He such roses, neither before nor afterwards.

     The roses were cut off and carefully placed into the APC's shell-receiver, otherwise is there another way to keep the flowers fresh and intact in the dry and sandy Afgan wind?

     On their way back they had a fight... The firefight was short, fast and accustomed to...

     The machine gun was spitting fire, and in a very convincing way popped the APC's heavy gun...

     At that moment who cares about the flowers?

     Luckily nothing went wrong. Three vehicles rushed up to the base in a jaunty turn.

     Nobody was harmed, thanks to God. What else do we need?!

     She had been waiting for him... She waited being aware of the firefight. And He waved to her casually from the APC's board - "Hi!". Then He ducked into the hatch and took out the remains of the flowers. A bit confused He gave Her these thorny sprigs with flabby petals - "Such bumpy road, you know..." And She... She knew exactly the way hot shells clinked inside an armoured carrier and where they were taken from... And nothing was dearer then those thorny sprigs and the very fact of his coming back... I know for sure that every time when he gives her flowers on a Women’s Day or on her birthday she recalls the Roses of Asadabad, the best and sweetest roses in her life...

(c) Alexey Vasiliev, 1998