***
‘Nikita, read this prayer at least once per day, carry it with you in your pocket.’
Nikita’s eyes are blindfolded with tape
Nikita’s hands are bound with tape
his head droops like a branch of ripe apples
Nikita is an enemy mercenary from a fictional place
this morning
he brazenly drove
a blue Zhiguli over the crossing
and was taken prisoner.
Nikita rests his chin on the crucifix on his chest
in his pocket
in a red pouch
along with his passport
issued by the fictional republic
is an icon of Our Lord
an icon of the Virgin Mary
an icon of a guardian angel
the Psalms printed on a crumpled piece of A4
please don’t kill me,
says Nikita
thou shalt not kill
relax, Nikita, that’s not our style, want a cigarette?
we reply.
‘There weren’t any 150cm shoelaces, we’re sending 75cm, you can tie them together.
Everyone sends their love and your girlfriend’s looking forward to you coming home.
Here’s some slices of pork fat, the best you can get.’
A few days ago Nikita was barbecuing with the Buryats
in the forest they captured back in March
hosting 100 frontliners
and smiling.
‘Khokhol’s run out of vapes’
‘Darina will buy you some and parcel them up and send them.’
I got mobilised, I didn’t want to fight, they told me I had to go
reels off Nikita
Nikita has a bulletproof vest
it’s a thin sheet of metal
it seems to me that an ordinary darning needle could pierce it
Nikita’s wearing Yankee MultiCam
probably stolen from one of our guys
there are photos
on Nikita’s phone
in one he’s raising a flag with the letter Z over a dugout
as in other photos from the front
he’s smiling.
‘Don’t go off with anyone, stick together, be careful.’
Tell us, Nikita, how you ended up here
Where’s here?
Nikita genuinely didn’t know
where he was
he probably didn’t even know
that he was, apparently, a human being
Are you thirsty, Nikita? Here you go.
‘My boy, I give you my blessing for a happy life, a speedy return home,
I love you. Mum.’
I give you my blessing to kill
I give you my blessing to burn
I give you my blessing to hate
I give you my blessing to destroy
I give you my blessing to raze dreams and cities to the ground
I give you my blessing to barbecue with the Buryats
I give you my blessing to rape
I give you my blessing
Nikita, Nikita, Nikita.
Nikita asks for a cigarette
we give him one
Nikita will survive
he’ll end up where prisoners of war are held
but no-one asks to exchange mercenaries from a fictional republic.
The skies grow heavy
they buckle and pour with rain
drops of lead
of gunpowder
of horror
of plans that were never realised:
that trip to the lake with the wife
picking out shoes for their daughter’s first first day of school
war happened
like being born happened
or falling in love
or pneumonia
yes, that’s what I really mean
what would we have done
if we’d known what tomorrow would bring?
Horrors grow like sunflowers
the crescent moon has caught us unaware
we hang from it like apples.
Translated by Helena Kernan from: Maksym Krvytsov, Вірші з бійниці: Поезії (Nash Format, 2024), pp. 133–35.