And imagine that gradually, step by step, it all turns out.
That the orders for killing the guys from the “Heavenly Hundred” were given by one of your own, who stood together with you on the Maidan tribunes.
That the first blood in Donbass was shed by the “Righties” of Yarosh.
That in Mariupol the brutal and intentional killing of police took place.
And it will appear that there were much more victims in Odessa many-fold, and it will become evident that it was Odessa’s administration that was involved in it, drawing to town the real Nazis.
And that the “Boeing” was shot down by the Ukrainian military.
And that the orders for the executions of peaceful districts, where whole streets were razed to dust, were given absolutely deliberately. And that, quite meaningfully, the Ukrainian Armed Forces three times were going to detonate a nuclear burial ground in Donetsk, and that these orders will be found.
And that of the 73 Orthodox churches shot at in Donbass — half were shot quite deliberately.
And that tens of mass graves will be dug up, where are lying the killed innocent residents of the Lugansk and Donetsk regions.
And that it will become known that in the basements of the SBU, hundreds of people were tortured in the most brutal way.
When all this rises to the surface, I’d like to look, then, for example, on the faces of the poet Boris or poet and critic Yury, or those Bakhyt and Alexis that came to visit us. Or I’d like them to at least look at each other with their sad eyes. I know this Kiev’s company. I’d be curious to see them, especially them, my older brothers in the craft, in this Gogol-like poignant moment.
I ask myself a vain question – would they pronounce some words about this. Some tears be shed, at least incidentally, ephemerally…
There will be no words.
No one will ever admit it.
But the Inspector General will come anyway.
No one has yet escaped from the Inspector General.
Translated by Ollie Richardson & Angelina Siard