A.

I absorbed the whole atmosphere of this house. In general, the atmosphere in it is friendly. There are notes of sadness and longing — that no one else will be here and the house now lives its own separate life from people, storing a sea of memories, both good and not so good.

I found the diary of the owner of the house, where he recorded the deaths (including many suicides) of acquaintances in the village and neighboring villages, recorded the age at which the person died, recorded burial sites (not everywhere, but in some notes), dates of weddings, the birth of his grandchildren and other important events.

I assume that the last inhabitant of this house is Dmitry Ivanovich (I won't specify his last name), born in 1934, as evidenced by the relevant birth certificate I found in the closet. This is a vet paramedic who was born and lived his whole life in this village. He has grandchildren: Anna (born in ~1985), Sergey (born in ~1983), who presumably graduated from the zooengineering faculty of the Belarusian Agricultural Academy in Gorki, Mogilev region in 2005). There is also a certain Dmitry, who studied with Anna at secondary school No. 211 in Minsk (opened in 1992, in In 2009, it was renamed Gymnasium No. 33). Anna was in the eighth grade in 1999. Dmitry Ivanovich also has two sons, Kolya and Lenya.

There was even some canned food left, like green peas. Sunflower oil, which is already about twenty years old, if not more. Mugs, artificial flowers, old children's toys in the attic, hanging ties and jackets on hangers in the closet… It seems that the owner of the house will return now and continue to live his life here as before. But no one else will come here.

This house was photographed back in 2023 in the summer. In that photo, it's all overgrown, the grass almost reaches the level of the windows. From the looks of it, you can't say that the house is any kind of non-standard — the house is like a house, nothing remarkable. But inside, everything is completely different…

Large doorways (2+ meters in height), high ceilings (3.5-4 meters high), four full-fledged rooms (two living rooms, a bedroom and another small room), a veranda, a corridor, a pantry, an attic, two huge stoves, two electric meters (one mechanical, in the next room that electronic, still working). Cupboards, lots of clothes, books, notebooks, dishes… Everything was there. There are framed photographs of ancestors in the form of collages on the walls, an accordion stands on a bench, an open book «The Three Musketeers» lies on the table, the wind from the broken window lifts and lowers its pages…

One of the main fears is that someone will be there. But no, the fear did not come true, the house was empty again, just like last time. Back then, there was just a persistent feeling that someone was there regularly. Because of the surroundings, it feels like life is still going on there. I was particularly surprised by the electronic meter screen: it was on. However, today I took a closer look — the readings are zero, there is no light and electricity, respectively. Although the switches and wiring may still be working.

I went to one of the remote Belarusian villages of Tolochinsky district. The day before, I went into the abandoned houses there, and I liked one so much that this time I went there for a longer time and with a camera. I stayed there for about three hours, it was in the evening.

Meanwhile, the ginger dog had reached the other end of the village. There I said goodbye to her and left the village.

Then the hardest part, perhaps. That's putting it mildly. The sun was already behind the black forest, lighting up the horizon with gold, I was driving through an unfamiliar area, past the village of Gwaltovnik. Then a turn, a sign that says «LAKE». Yes, there really was a lake (to my surprise). The place itself is dark, in the lowlands, there were some buildings, houses — it looks like a manor. Nearby are ruins of buildings dating back to the 70s.

Now the route led through a field in the direction of the village of Lidino. It was getting dark fast. It's so deaf everywhere, it's quiet. Secluded places. And again the field. The map showed that there would be a field and a road behind it, and that I could drive to a certain village of Shchetinka and significantly speed up the road to the highway. Without hesitation, I confidently drove straight into the field, but, alas, it was plowed over, I had to check the map every three minutes. I had just moved away from the village when a medium-sized animal ran across my path and disappeared into the grove. The body was dense, the size of a large domestic dog, the tail was short, light, rounded, and the color was reddish; the animal left with wide leaps. I assume it was a lynx.

My flashlight was barely shining, it was not clear where I was or where I was going, something was starting everywhere and someone was seeing things. There's a forest ahead, according to geolocation, I'm going the wrong way. In short, I barely got out of that field, and I tore my best headphones… I looked at the next field — I didn't see any paths, I didn't take any chances, there wasn't much time left, and that field had already taken away the last reserves of energy. I went to the village of Kamenka, at least it was visible by the glowing lanterns. Then I came to Troitsa, where there is a beautiful lake (I've never seen it in the daytime, but I think it's very beautiful), and because of that it was sooo cold there. But I found a water column, and I was really thirsty.

I was totally frozen — my fingers and toes were numb. After all, dozens of kilometers were waiting for me, the night, an discharged lantern, hunger, drowsiness, fatigue, a monotonous boring and lonely road. A test of strength. Just another realization that there were 20, then 15, 10 kilometers to go home, brought a little relief. It was painful to see the moon gradually sinking lower and lower and ceasing to shine brightly.

Total: 93.5 km and more than twenty settlements. Still, it would be better not to be so harsh.

He told me about his trips to the forest. — And goes out to the Indome. Do you know? he asks. — Where to? — Indom. A home for the disabled. — Oh, Racevo? — Racevo. It's exactly a kilometer to walk here. I came home, I call my friends, I say, «Listen, how…!» I saw him at such a distance as to the cellar, — he points with his hand to his cellar, located a couple of meters from us, — this deer. How he ran through the forest..! I scared him off, he made so much noise, but how did he not lose those horns?! I followed his trail, I think there's a trubochka* there, you can't jump through the swamp anyway, you have to get around somehow. I went around and couldn't find the horn anywhere. I ask [a friend], he says that supposedly the deer puts [horns] on itself, and I say: how does he look then?! How does he look?.. Well, you see. Everyone is guided by their industry. That's how a person navigates, but this one is like that, this one is like that. And that's how life goes, whether in animals, humans, or whatever…

*Trubochka is the local name of the forest road from the village of Ratsevo to Smolyantsy.

Later, the man touched on a painful topic for himself. The atmosphere was saturated with sadness and longing. Turning around and waving his hand, the man lit a street lamp and went to his house. — I wish you all the best! I said. — Goodbye!

I found out that it was his dog and his puppy. This dog appeared to him quite by accident, about two years ago; when hunters came here, she strayed away and never came back, came to the village, now hunting skills are still with her. The man noted that, unlike a puppy, she is given into people's hands, but a puppy is not at all. «Where the mother goes, he goes», but to approach a person — nope. I noticed that. There were five puppies, and they were all taken apart: some were taken to Kohanovo, others to Orsha. There's only one left, the unsociable one, and that's a girl. While we were talking, the two of them ran across the lawn. The puppy followed his mother, and his mother, apparently, decided to demonstrate her hunting nature.

My interlocutor, who grew up in Smolyantsy and is already 72 years old, told me different things: about his encounter with a bear on the Kohanovo-Kuvechino site, about the frequent visits of local wild boars to the village, which he connected with the local transition from one forest to another and with a marshy crossing in a field.

— They came out on the road like this, right here. I'm wondering who's walking in the garden here… The pigs are wild! Maybe fifteen of them. And then they run away into the forest. Or they cross the road here. — Aren't you afraid? I ask. no… I see there are already striped ones! — And who else have you seen here? — Oh, well, roe deer.. So that's it… Roe deer… — And bears, wolves? — A bear is only there if that's what it is… It was then that I walked through the forest in this direction for a long time to find horns, somewhere. I found deer [horns], once moose ones. But the thing is… Out, she ran, — he nodded at his ginger dog, running briskly through the meadow behind the house. — Yeah. — They [the wild boars] have a passage here somewhere. And about the bears… Well, if you've never driven before, then you might not even know it. Here it is [the road] goes to the corner there, to Kuvechino, through the village. But there's no Kuvechino anymore, not a single house left. And this road, by the way, is a good road, like this one, — he points to the road in front of us, — it goes to Zaozerye… — Oh, yes, I know, — I interrupted. — Yes, it goes to Zaozerye and to Kokhanovo. To the JBI. There's already asphalt there, starting from Bogdanovka. Well… I saw it! — And what happened? — A baby bear, but you can't catch it. — Its mother was probably nearby. — No, it's not the mother anymore… — So it wasn't a baby bear? It's an adult now? — An adult. — Ah… — It's as tall as me. When I visit Kokhanovo, the men there say, 'Hey, where's your bear?' I reply, 'I'll go get some bread for him,' the villager laughs.