March 8. Day 13
In the morning we woke up from artillery shelling. As always, it’s not even 6:00 am. Several explosions sounded close enough, small pieces of plaster fall to the floor from the shaking. Someone runs out of our dead-end scared. I. and I are just sitting down. It seems that yesterday's silence was just a coincidence. Everyone hoped that the interrogations would finally end in an armistice, but you can't tell by the sounds. It was rather an operational pause to restore ammunition.
Powerful arrivals are in the area of the Zastava market for several hours. Subsequently, the battle moves in the direction of "1000 trifles". In the basement, everyone relaxes a bit. Talks began. At the front door, a man tells me that yesterday he saw five people from a neighboring house in a gray "Skoda" trying to leave the city and returned – they were shot at on the way. Apparently, he's telling me about me. But fictions about the shelling have already been added to the real events. Of course, history must be seasoned with horror. Everything that is said here is half fiction. Gradually, the conversation switches to the topic of food, and exotic. I eat breakfast in the dark with cold pasta stuck in one piece, and in my head, there are images of delicious cheeses that I once tasted in Amsterdam.
The relative calm subsides sometime after 9 o'clock. We go outside. After the complete darkness of the basement, you need to get used to daylight for a few minutes. It is as if the oncoming car is blinded by a high beam. Today is March 8. Gentlemen smashed flower stalls and carried stolen flowers to please their ladies. Yesterday I noticed that the flowers remained intact, but I predicted that they would not survive March 8. And so, it happened. We advise what we will do. I sent N.'s husband to go to Dzerkalny and buy something. This is the only surviving store in the area, and maybe in the city. It is said that the owner agreed with the military and he is protected from looters.
I'm going to see my grandfather on the AC-2. Somewhere in the distance cannonade falls. Sometimes a mine whistles or a shell rustles overhead. This situation is already considered safe. I walk the yards, avoiding open spaces and roads. I came to Zelinsky by the bushes. A two-story house and a fire truck are burning behind the boarding school's sports ground. What a miracle! I thought that all emergency services were no longer working. Moreover, there is still nothing to put out the fire with.
I walk further towards the avenue – the house, which is a "book", is located on the 9th floor. Aunt I.'s skyscraper was intact but there is an arrival to Khrushchev building nearby. It was much hotter here than our place. The further west, the worse, and I need to move even further, towards the line of contact. Myru-Zelinsky crossroads is the most dangerous place on my route: the open large area is well shot for several kilometers.
Near the store "Mop" "Grad” hit. I stop, there is no one at the crossroads. I'm waiting for someone to cross this square to see if they can be shot. Looks like not. Quickly on the other side, under the shelter of the house.
Then to the park "near the plane". The park is being cut down for firewood, bonfires are burning everywhere. Behind my grandfather's house, the lawn is full of tank caterpillars. From here they fired and there are arrivals here. The road is full of debris and burrows. Fortunately, my grandfather's house is undamaged. But he is not at home. Back in the store? I ask the neighbors - they say his daughter took him. They did it right. It’s calm there, in the Kalmius district. Maybe we should go there too? The refrigerator and cupboards are empty, the food was taken away. That is, we were not going to panic, we were planning. I take two canisters of water. We are just almost empty. I quickly went home.
I decided to turn a little from the route, in the S.K. yard, maybe I'll meet him. Luckily – he is by the fire. We are very glad to meet each other, we ask who heard what, whom we saw. A friend of S.K. has a radio, on the top floor it catches Ukrainian stations a little. He says that negotiations are underway, but there are no results, the russian army is exhausted from fighting, there will be enough reserves for a few weeks. I ran home with the news. N.'s husband has not yet returned from the store. She panics. I'm going to the "Mirror", the queue is huge. Obviously, not for one hour. I look for him – he is not there. But there is still a queue inside. It is impossible to go there to look, the crowd will not let. I think he's already there because it's been three hours since he left. Around the corner is a body covered with a blanket. I didn't dare look at his face – and I see that it's not his clothes. Not him. I'm going back, we have to wait.
In the meantime, something needs to be prepared. N. and her child stay in the basement, I. and I go to the apartment.
Sometimes something arrives, we periodically run into the corridor. During the explosions, the cat hides under the bath. He’s so smart. I would have climbed there myself, but I can't fit.
The minimum program is to cook something for lunch and boil the kettle. Full is enough to fill three thermoses and two mugs. This is the first time we've had coffee. What a thrill. Let it not be cooked in Turkish, not weighed in proportions on the scales, but simply poured in boiling water in a dirty cup. Still good.
To prepare the main course, you need to find firewood. I sent the saw and ax to the garage a long time ago. With a screwdriver and a knife, I go to the store "Everything for 5 hryvnia" and disassemble the shelves. Firewood is so-so, but it will burn. I need to cook for five, even so that it is enough for at least twice. It seems that now my constant task is to be a BBQ manager. Before the war, for several weeks in a row, we wanted to go to the seaside and fry something on the fire. But all did not work, then it was raining, then it was windy. Now our wish has come true.
N.'s husband returned from Dzerkalny, stood for six hours, bought rice, marinated chicken and lots of sweets. It's good prey. I’m finishing cooking. There was a rumble from the crossroads. I see – the "Lada" did not let the "Gazelle". In the "Gazelle'' - our military, in the "Lada" - an uncle. They are talking about something, and here is an arrival after the market. Veeery powerful.
I feel the blast wave pushing me to my chest. We are lying. The soldier shouts into the walkie-talkie: "…Tochka-U!.." I can’t understand further. All are alive. I return to my pan.
Today's chicken, boiled eggs and yesterday's pasta turned into casserole. Everything is seasoned with ash. Menu from the chef. Cooking, considering the constant running to the shelter, takes all daylight.
There is silence in our basement department. We tried to play with I. in “cities”. We quickly came to a standstill due to the lack of cities on the letter "A". After all, everyone is left with their own thoughts. Apparently, there will be no evacuation. Every day at 11 o'clock people gather near the Illichivets Sports Complex and the Drama Theater, and every day it’s canceled. For the first time, I think that if we get out, we may have to leave Mariupol forever. It feels like the ring is narrowing, our military is retreating, and no one is going to break through the ring from the outside.
The infrastructure is already significantly damaged, and it will take a long time to restore. The Stone Age will continue in Mariupol for a long time. But above all, another thing is frightening – the prospect of remaining in the occupation. It is impossible for me to exist, work in under-republics. I have no doubt that sooner or later it will come to light that I was a member of the national media with pro-Ukrainian views. Of course, I have seen enough examples of how this will all end. N. and her family need to be taken to a place where they can get to Ecuador. None of us in this city has a future. So, we need to take an opportunity to leave.
I can't understand the motivation of the occupiers – these soldiers who go here, risking their lives. Why do they go to perdition and why do they bring death to us? Historical parallels can be seen: barbarians try to destroy civilization simply because they have not been able to understand other people's values because of their backwardness. Destroy everything you don't understand – that's their motto.
March 9. Day 14
The temperature is dropping, it snowed today. Until it melts, we collect it and carry it to the bathroom, which makes the apartment even colder. When it melts, there will be a supply of water.
Now they are the Shevchenko's days. Kobzar's expensive gift edition has become part of the book barricade, which protects us from shattering glass. I am extracting from there an exclusive collection "Three Summers" - reprints of Shevchenko's manuscripts. This book was once given to me by I. They came across a flea market.
This is not the first time I have seen our military truck with an awning coming to a barren outside the market. A few minutes, and mortar shots are heard from there. The answer usually arrives 15-30 minutes later. That is, when there is no military for a long time. Is this the latest strategy, or do they really think the soldiers will wait until they are dispersed? Today everything is the same. I wait for the answer and go to take a turn for water.
From time to time a tanker truck comes to the dormitories, the locals somehow find out and start gathering before its arrival. I approach together with the tank. I'm lucky, I think, and I'll have enough water. While standing, we hear the close whistle of a mine three times. Each time the queue runs in all directions, and then gathers back. I understand that the place is very bad: if there is an arrival here, many people will die. There is no place to hide here.
The water runs out a few people to me. Unfortunately, I stood in vain for over an hour. I come back with nothing.
Many people from other places appeared in my entrance, the neighborhood of Vostochny, Sartana, AS-2, whose homes have already been destroyed. None of them goes to the vault. They say: there is no sense, if it arrives, it will not save, because it is only a basement, not a bomb shelter. Among the "aborigines", there are only me and the neighbor upstairs. After getting together and getting to know each other, we decide to divide the responsibilities and organize the process a bit. I watch the fire and change the kettles, A. saws firewood for firewood bars, O. and S. cut down trees. So, it turns out more efficiently and faster.
Communicating with new acquaintances gives comfort. I’m already bored from the basement-corridor life. I go up to the apartment to get some food and go down to the basement only for the night. Constantly outside because cooking takes up almost all the time.
From the west I am protected by my house, from above - the balcony floors, the entrance is next door. It’s relatively safe. The geography of battles is becoming clearer from the street. The shooting is heard not only from the western suburbs, but also from the center of the city. You can hear shots and hits from both sides. Sometimes the fighting is actually a few hundred meters away from us.
Today, for the first time, aviation is hitting a city not far from us. The characteristic sound of a dive plane and an explosion that shakes everything around. We have time to hide in the porch. The echo of the blast wave is reflected by a strange vibration in the structures of the house.
Smoke rises from the side of the National Guard military unit. It’s expected. How come they didn't shoot there before?
Mines are flying again. Everyone runs in the doorway. We have some random passers-by. They say that the plane dropped a bomb on the maternity hospital of the Third Hospital and there are mountains of corpses. We listen in silence. Is this really possible? Is it a lie again? In the evening in the basement, I go to the room near the exit, to listen to what is being said. The same rumors, but the number of bloody details is much greater. I think it was an explosion that we took to be a blow to a military unit. The direction coincides. It seems true.
Then the people discuss rumors of negotiations. I notice for myself very paradoxical changes in the mass consciousness. Attitudes toward the president have undergone reversible changes. Those 75% who voted for Zelenskyy now curse him for militancy. And those who supported Porokh and ridiculed Zelenskyy now began to respect the guarantor. I am among them.
March 10. Day 15
It snowed again at night; we collected it in the bath. Winter does not let go, it’s seven degrees above zero. A typical daily schedule has already been formed.
You wake up somewhere between five and six in the morning from loud shelling. They last until eight or nine o'clock. At this time, SRG measures, close battles, and ambushes are possible. Then the intensity of the fire decreases sharply but does not subside.
Sometime between ten and eleven, the bombing begins and lasts until the evening with a mandatory lunch break. Also, in the daytime, mortar shelling is mandatory.
In the evening it is time for artillery duels. It flies in all directions.
At night it’s a mix time – can be all at once, in turn or in combination. Sometimes there is relative silence in which someone is shot by snipers.
The timeline is pretty accurate, and it's even ridiculous.
Swings in the wasteland area of the market continue. There is a truck of the Armed Forces of Ukraine with an awning – a barrage of mortar volleys. The truck goes in the opposite direction. Half an hour later there goes the answer. And so, in a circle several times a day. I already recognize some guys in the body, one has a bandaged head, the other has a Kalashnikov with an unusual body kit.
Today, aerial bombardment has become even more frequent and even closer. There are at least 8 strokes while the kettle boiled.
Two women ran to the basement, saying that they lived in a house opposite Mariupol State University. The house was broken into and one of the entrances collapsed. Our military was rumored to be based at the university, but the plane hit a five-story apartment building. This is even though the MSU is a separate building standing in the middle of an empty space. Even here they missed. It seems that monkeys are fighting there, who were allowed to watch a training video on YouTube.
In general, it is obvious that the russian occupiers have changed tactics. MLRS shelling has significantly decreased. There are mortar skirmishes, more and more air and missile strikes. Our area is under heavy fire, it is getting hotter. After considering all this, I. suggested that we move to the Kalmius district to visit his father and grandmother. According to rumors, it's quiet there. N. can be reattached somewhere in storage or look for an empty apartment next to us. Here we can lose the car at any moment because it is standing under the window. Then the evacuation can be forgotten. N. with a child, her husband is a foreigner, they have some chance to leave without their own transport. We do not. I care about my family. There is my father and grandmother in one apartment. There is my mother and grandfather in the other. I can't help my family somehow because I'm chained here. We quarreled because of this.
In the basement, as always, it's evening storytelling. It is said that battles are being fought for Mangush. I do not believe it. It's nonsense. It is also said that the bomb hit the underpass and completely destroyed it: there is a funnel at the crossroad. I don't know anymore, maybe.
To be continued.