I Would Not Cry

There were times when I was writing my manuscript for A Rose for Sergei that a certain phrase would trigger a memory and I would wonder . . . where have I heard that before?  At that point I would stop writing and reach for my copy of Sergei’s book, The Persecutor.  I had flagged a lot of passages over the years so it was always easy to thumb through the book to find what I was looking for.  It always surprised me that our backgrounds were so different, but our resolve was often the same.

In the excerpt from The Persecutor below, Sergei writes about a time in the orphanage when he was caught reading a book at night when he was supposed to be sleeping.  He refers to the caregivers as aunt or uncle.  Sergei was only 12 years old at the time.

And he began to beat me, hitting me with the edge of that heavy belt buckle again and again, not caring where it landed.  I jumped about trying to dodge his blows, but he held me in such a grip in his left hand I couldn’t shake loose.  Everywhere that buckle landed, it felt like it broke a bone.  I wondered if he was trying to kill me.

I stumbled back to my bed and fell across it, hurting everywhere in my body.  I was sure I must have broken bones.  That beating hurt me more than any I had ever had in my life, but I wasn’t going to let [the uncle] have the satisfaction of seeing me show any pain.  So I covered my head with my blanket and writhed in agony—but I wouldn’t cry.

-Sergei Kourdakov, The Persecutor (Chapter 6, pgs. 61-62)

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In the following excerpt from A Rose for Sergei, I am telling about attending Sergei Kourdakov’s funeral in Washington DC.

January 1973

I was surprised at how many people there were at the church for the funeral service.  It was crowded, and we had to stand the entire time.  We were near the back of the church, but I could see that the casket was open again.  I could see Sergei, and my heart filled with pain.  Even though the church was packed with people, he looked so alone. My heart was breaking for him.  They didn’t love him like I did.  I would not cry though; I had cried enough the day he died.