Even old folks could not remember such a severe winter. That January remains in my memory icy-cold and dark, so changed and gloomy did everything around become when we learned of the death of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. For us he was not only a leader, a great and extraordinary man. He was a dear friend and advisor to each one of us. Everything that took place in our village or in our homes was linked with him: if anything good happened to us, Lenin was behind it. That was how we all felt.
Before, we had only two schools, now, there were more than ten — Lenin had done that. Before, the people used to live poor and hungry, now, they had become strong and had begun to live quite a new life. Whom else but Lenin had we to thank for that? We were shown films; teachers, doctors and agronomists were busy educating the peasants; the reading room and the People's House were full. The village was quickly expanding. Life had become brighter and more joyful. Those who did not know their letters learnt them; those who had mastered grammar were thinking of further studies. Where had all this come from, who had brought us this new life? To that question everyone had the same answer, one dear and glorious name: Lenin.
And suddenly — he was no more. The mind refused to believe it.
Every evening peasants would call in on Anatoly Petrovich to share the bitter sorrow which they all felt so deeply.
"To think of such a man dying! I wish Ilyich had lived to be a hundred, but he's dead…" said old Stepan Korets.
And in February 1924 a copy of Pravda arrived in Aspen Woods with Comrade Stalin's speech at the Second All-Union Congress of Soviets. Anatoly Petrovich read the paper out loud in the village reading room. It was packed with people, and every word of Stalin's speech found a deep response in their hearts.
When Anatoly Petrovich had finished, the paper was passed round: everyone wanted to see it with his own eyes, touch the paper on which the straight, courageous words of Stalin's vow to fulfil Lenin's behests were printed.
Some days later a worker, Stepan Zababurin, who had once been the village shepherd, arrived in Aspen Woods. He related how people from all over the country had come to bid Lenin the last farewell.
"The frost was freezing your breath," he said, "it was already night outside, but people kept on coming. There was no end to them. And they brought their children with them too, to see him for the last time."
"But we shan't see him, and Zoya won't see him," said Anatoly Petrovich sadly.
We did not know then that a mausoleum would be built beside the eternal Kremlin Wall, where people could come and see Ilyich.
I kept the paper with Stalin's vow. "When our girl grows up, she will read it," I thought.
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