"This is my homeland, my strength." How her only guest lives in the resettled

April 1986 changed the habitual way of life in the once noisy Bartolomeevka, immersed in the greenery of gardens and ringing with children's laughter, which is less than 20 km from Vetka. After the accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, the village was included in the list of areas for subsequent resettlement. People have been resettled since the early 1990s. The geography where the Bartolomeevites received a new residence permit is from Gomel to Grodno and Vitebsk. In order to return to their native places at least for a couple of hours and "visit" their people at the village cemetery, many of the former villagers travel hundreds of kilometers on the eve and on the day of the Rainbow. After all, only these days you can get into the village, where the access control regime operates, without a special pass.

We find the house of Nikolai Afanasyevich without difficulty - the life in it betrays the path trodden to the gate and the daffodils carefully planted in the bus-bed.

Around the landscapes are completely different, without signs of human life. A brick house opposite - with empty eye-socket windows, in some places boarded up with wide boards.

Nearby is a hut with a brown-painted facade, yellow carved architraves and shutters on the windows, but with a fence that has already collapsed. For a few more years, Elena Muzychenko and her husband also lived in that house. When the village was resettled, the woman flatly refused to leave her native walls. So they remained here until they left for another world.

"Nikolai Afanasyevich has a special pass. He himself is registered in Vetka, but lives here," says Alexander Pershko, chief specialist of the main department for the elimination of the consequences of the disaster at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant of the Gomel regional executive committee.

"Home owner?" He looks over the green fence.

The first to look out of the gate is a white dog with a black ear. "Bim's name is. Don't be afraid," a man descending the steps of the porch tells us about his four-legged friend. And first of all, he greets the chief specialist by the hand: “And I thought, maybe Grishka stopped by. I have a lot of guests these days. There were from Pinsk, from Gomel.”

“I myself left after Chernobyl,” the owner of the house is already addressing us. “To Grodno. But in 1993 I returned. I wanted to go to my homeland. I didn’t take root there.

“I divorced my wife back in 1986. I have my own families and children. And I live here. Alone,” Nikolai Afanasyevich continues his story about himself.

We are interested in how a man manages to establish a life in a settled place. "And you can come and see," the host is hospitable. That's just Bim this turn of events, it seems, is not too happy. Raising his ears up, the dog runs onto the porch, takes a defensive position and barks loudly at strangers. “Our own, our own,” Nikolai Afanasyevich gives the command. The four-legged guard resists a little, but then dutifully gives up and allows him to go through the green door.

“I go to Vetka for bread and MILK. The highway is nearby - one and a half kilometers from home. And there is a minibus, a bus. I keep a small town, but I don’t have a farm. It’s easier to buy now. In stores - whatever you want,” the man explains.

His niece, Svetlana Shevkunova, helps Nikolai Afanasyevich around the house and garden.

“I am also Bartolomeevskaya, but now I live in Vetka,” a woman breaks away from household chores. She emphasizes that she called her uncle more than once to move to the regional center: "But he lived here for an eternity. He does not agree at all."

“So I’m going. I also have a pass. Today I’ll help him cook something and plant a chicken in the garden. Still, it’s not easy to be alone at 68,” Svetlana continues.

The owner and his niece assure that their farming is without risk: "You know, they came, they measured in the garden, even the Swedes were here, they said that it was possible to plant."

In the hut by the stove, on chairs, on the floor, cats and kittens of all kinds are dozing. “I have 10 of them. They came to me from all yards,” the owner smiles, stroking the red fluffy neck.

"How do you live without light?" - we do not find chandeliers or light bulbs familiar to the eye on the ceiling.

“Why is there no light? Here is the light I have,” the owner points to the stove and several kerosene lamps at different points in the house.

"And without radio, TV is not boring?" - we continue to study the life of Batrolomeevsky Robinson.

"Why no radio?" - Nikolai Afanasyevich turns on the battery-powered receiver, and the device on the table by the window gives out the latest news release.

"Well, how do you manage without a connection? Suddenly, something ..." - we are interested in the owner.

"Why is there no connection?" He takes out his cell phone. Without waiting for the next question, the niece takes out a Power Bank from the bag: "And there is a battery for the phone. I feed it in Vetka and bring it."

Shelves by the master's bed are lined with books in several rows. "I am a lover of reading. And about the war, and science fiction, and detective stories. They give me a lot of books. If someone I know cleans the home library, everything is for me."

“And crossword puzzles are his weakness in general,” adds the niece. “He buys from each pension.

The hospitable host recalls with pleasure how Bartolomeevka was before Chernobyl, talks about fellow countrymen, how their fates developed in foreign lands, talks about how the village would have lived if it were not for the Chernobyl accident, and many other topics. And then he quietly and sincerely admits: “Yes, it happens to me here alone it’s a bit confusing, but I’m nowhere from here.”

Photo by Sergey KHOLODILIN,

BELTA.