Though the moving is hard I like being here in 1991. My husband and I can talk freely and I can write. We have met people who are over a century old. I wish I could just sit down and write their stories. I will try to piece bits together for a novella…maybe. We have yet to meet Anatoliy the scientist who understands the portal. I finished writing in my journal.
“The ships turned back. There was nothing else to do.” My husband told Vlad.
“Those were strong Crimean sailors who stood up against Russian officers.” Vlad puffed out his chest.
“We must prepare for other things. By the sound of his voice Dmitre didn’t sound hopeful for Mariople.”
“We would be too small a force to fight them.”
“And it would be a challenge to get all of you there. We only have two cars.” My husband pointed out.
“We need tank.”
“Who would operate it?” I asked.
Vlad scratched his head. “We will find someone.”
We went back and forth across the portal and were safe each time. I kept looking for the dark eyed guy but he either was gone or was waiting…
When we were in 2022, it was ordered chaos. Many people had fled to the borders and we heard many reports that they were safe. We watched the television very little. It was too difficult to watch smalls towns being bombarded.
“Odessa is safe but not Kherson.” One of the hotels clerks told us. “My titka lives there. I wish she could come here.”
We spoke with our clerk friend. Her store was closed but she was able to sell us several more things. I had taken the t-shirts across the portal. Vlad thought it would be a good way to identify each of his guys with t-shirts from 2022.
Our housekeeper, Svetlana, came in one day with smudges on her face.
“What is wrong.” I put my arms around her.
“Many friends and family are coming. They have nothing. Some are badly hurt. My husband and I are helping our church give all we have.”
“We have a few bandages that we brought when we came and some warm blankets.” I pointed to the pile on our bed. “Can we come with you tonight?”
“Da, Da. Yes, please come.”
Our visit to Svetlana’s church showed us what the days ahead would be like.
Hundreds of people were sleeping in every square inch of the small church. Most were dirty; some had head wounds or major scrapes. Olga the pastor’s wife and I set up the kitchen as the first aid station. I got out my first aid kit and got to work cleaning wounds and bandaging them up. Svetlana and another woman tore up rags that they had boiled so we had enough bandages.
One little boy had gotten a long splinter of metal in his arm. It took some time but we got it out and cleaned it up. The boy was so brave as I worked.
“Did you notice the people had a calm about them even though they have nothing.”
“They have their lives.”
“These people need a full time medic.” I was making a list of things we needed from 1991.
“Supplies of food and water, too.” My husband said in a whisper.
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