Once I was reading a book in the library. An old Russian, wearing glasses, stared at me from both my left and my right.

I did not pay attention and thought that he was confusing me with someone. But he came near to me and looked again. I am usually a calm person but his stare disturbed me.

“Father are you confusing me with someone else?” I asked politely.

“I thought you resembled someone, my son. However my eyes are not good enough.”

I was looking at this old person and even though I do not forget anyone even if I have only seen them once, I could not remember having seen him before. I learnt much about this man on a train journey later.

The old man said: “If I am mistaken, my heart will break. If I am not mistaken, then my heart will also break. May God help me!” He tried to calm down and raised his right hand:

“Whoever you are , you must be the son of Atamyrat Annanyýaz.”

I felt like a bucket of hot water had been thrown over me. I felt waves run inside me on hearing my father’s name from a stranger.

Then we introduced ourselves and talked. This professor, Iwan Semyonowic, had been my father’s friend during the war and they had fought shoulder to shoulder against the enemy forces and even shared their last food when they were at the front. We talked a lot about the problems and the tragedies of that period and the wartime.

He said that he had written two letters to Aşgabat and asked for information after my father’s death. In response to the letters, he had received the reply that Atamyrat Annanyýaz’s wife and children had died during an earthquake. He was surprised and delighted to see me alive.

“Your father was tall with high cheekbones. Your appearance and movements are like Atamyrat’s. When the fighting was not heavy, we used to gather around your father when he sang. He was able to play all instruments and was a very good conversationalist, and when he danced he was the master of the dance. He astonished the Caucasians.

My Dear Saparmyrat, your father was like a bullet fired from a rifle. He was sometimes braver than necessary. When I said to him ‘Atamyrat you have children, so take care of yourself,” he used to answer, “And if I save myself, who will save my children?’ He fought like a lion.”

The old man also told the whole story about the tragic end of the troops that were captured by the enemy forces during the war.

We had to surrender. We did not decide on this but our commanders ordered us to do so. In the war this kind of situation occurred. This was not the fault of the soldiers. Even though this was so, it is still not possible to describe your father as a prisoner of war. He was immediately shot as a communist. He did not lose even the smallest part of his courage. Betrayed by his countrymen he went his death, like Christ sold to his enemies by Judas.

 Your father was a hero, a real hero. I wrote a piece about his courage. I am not a writer but I could not prevent myself from doing this. I wrote it since I wanted to tell my friend’s story to the world. Since I felt obliged to do this, I sent it to a friend of mine in the Moscow cinema for his consideration. He liked it and said at the last moment:

“We should make the hero a Georgian because if we do not do this, no one will know who this Türkmen is.”

Iwan Semyonovic took a breath. He cleaned his glasses and continued:

“I understand them... It was the Stalin era. But I refused the change of hero and withdrew my script. Dear Saparmyrat, my son, your father was a real hero, learn about his fate in war and his heroism.”  

(32-33-34.)