It has been more than a year since that our family has been living without Christina, although I would hardly call this living; it has been a year of unending misfortune and pain. My father keeps trying to find out the truth, and is constantly writing letters. Letters to the district attorney's office, or to the Attorney General, or the lawyer, or anyone he can. My mother? My mother...

She just cries.

I did not just lose my sister at 'Nord-Ost'. I lost much, much more. I lost a part of my heart, my best friend. Everything that was dear and clean and bright and beautiful died along with her.

When we were growing up and had our little quarrels, Mom used tell us: "You girls should be best friends, because Dad and I aren't going to be here forever, but you'll live hand in hand, helping each other."

And now?

What is it all about now?

Christina always had a lot of friends. She was almost everybody's favorite. Everyone who knew her liked her, and a smile never left her pretty face. She had an amazing ability to live in peace and harmony with everyone around her, and with herself. It was not just her classmates and friends who got along easily with her, but even my friends, who were much older than her, they enjoyed talking with her. Conversation with Christina was always appealing, and inspiring.

Christina used to spend her free time reading books and learning the computer, just like many children her age. She only really lacked for free time - it always seemed like she never had enough. Now it seems to me that she was trying to grab ahold of life, to do as much as possible quickly, as if she knew that there so many things that she would never be able to do.

She was only thirteen. Thirteen!

She dedicated a year and a half of her life to the musical 'Nord-Ost'. Half a year before the premier went through casting 3 times, and finally landed the role of the play's main character: Katerina as a schoolgirl. Christina was so proud! She was even more happy when they told her that she would be starring the first night. All of us, our parents and I, worried so, but Christina performed perfectly, and the rest of that year she almost lived on the stage. Sometimes we could not believe that it was our Christina up there, but Katerina Tatarinova, the heroine from Kaverin's novel 'Two Captains' that was the inspiration for the play. Our family even met New Year's at the theater, just as Christina wished, because the theater became for her a second home, and the actors there were like a second family.

Three days before the siege of the 'Nord-Ost', the theater was celebrating the first anniversary of their premier. It was a real festival, with music and laughter and joy. Christina was happy, and we were happy to be with her and near her. We had always been together, and many remarked that we were such a happy and devoted family.

There is a Russian superstition that grumpy old ladies often use to scold children: do not laugh too much today, or you will surely cry tomorrow. It turned out that we would pay for our happiness, and the price was very, very high.

October 23rd, 2002, crossed out everything: the past, and the present.

What was Christina thinking about, sitting there during the siege? Was she hoping, and waiting for help? Did she believe, as everybody did, that it would turn out all right? Her friends told us later, that when gas attack started, when everyone noticed the gas, Christina tore up her skirt and handed out pieces of cloth to the other children to cover their mouths and try to breathe. My beloved sister. She could not have done otherwise.

It is simply too hard for me to think about it, about how the authorities did not do anything to save her. She was denied the most important of things - her right to live. Why? What for? Whose evil will was done? My parents are searching for answers, but I doubt they will find any. Grief and misfortune now dwell in our house, forever. I can only thank God that Christina was in my life for a little while. Her memory is all that remains, and that can never be taken away from me.



Anastasia Kourbatova,
2004