my grand-father died in the age of one hundred. My family and I had completely forgot about his existence several years prior. Of course, it gives us no honor, but to be fair my grand-father wasn't the man, whose company you would enjoy. That is why I was very surprised when I found out that he left me his old house, located several kilometers away from the city. I had no interest in that house and intended to sell it as soon as possible. But before that my wife convinced me to visit that place just one time. Without any interest at all I still agreed and decided to spent a weekend for that. Upon arriving, I had to pass through tons of staff that looked really ancient and hold no particular interest for anyone of our age (though many antiquarians would disagree with me on that) until suddenly my attention got caught by a notebook. Generally it didn't looked somewhat specific, but I got the feeling that it was meant to be found. Moreover it was intended to be found by me. Having quite clear memories about my grand-father (none of which I can call warm) I took the notebook with extreme caution. After turning several pages of it, I understood, that it was a diary. The first page started with words: “To anyone, who can be somehow related”. There was no hint, that I am the part of this “somehow related” circle, but since this diary, as well as everything in this house, was my property now, I decided that I can read it. After finding as comfortable place as I could, I started reading:
“This diary is a list of the brightest moments of my life. I realize, that by the time it will be read, the laws and orders might be much more different, but make no mistake: it is not a confession and I don't ask for your redemption. I am the person of my time and all my actions were determined by the era I lived. And this is simply the story of what happened long time ago”.
That sounded intriguing. I turned the page and kept reading. At first there was nothing worth that bravado at the introduction, just the child stories of the beginning of the previous century. But as I kept turning, the years mentioned, were passing and the notes of the memories were becoming more and more dark. The Eastern front of WWI, the Civil war of 1917-1923 with all included conflicts in western regions of former Russian Empire. But the most disturbing notes were related to the years of Soviet Union: the Red Terror of 1930-s, when he who wrote this informed secret service of crimes his neighbors allegedly committed and WWII, when in 1941 the author of this diary betrayed his comrades and started to execute them in service to Nazi invaders. After the defeat of the Third Reich, he managed to fake his documents and managed to acquire job in the militia. And yet again he was executing people.
Some pages were torn away. I can't be certain of what happened to them, as clearly my grand-father has no remorse for his crimes. At some point I through this diary away. I had a strong feeling that I am about to vomit out of disgust. Somehow I managed not to. When I came out from the house, I realized that I have enough gasoline for both returning back to city and erasing any material memory that this man ever existed. Few minutes later I sat the house on fire.
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