For Soprunov the traveler, the trip to the theater was a trip with the highest degree of complexity.

The theater is not only associated with grief, but with gunmen.  The probability that Maxim Soprunov would have met residents of the Caucasus somewhere in the mountains was greater, since he was a virtuoso at navigating complicated mountain rivers.

Soprunov was one of the founders of the modern school of kayaking in Russia, a participant and leader of many trips with high degrees of complexity.  The 42 year-old instructor of water tourism went to ‘Nord-Ost’ with his wife Elena, whom he met on a tourist flight, and a friend of his wife’s.  The friend is now in Hospital #7, while Elena is in intensive care at the Botkin Hospital.  Maxim was buried last week.

From their loved ones we are finding out how the dead hostages lived, but in Maxim’s case he kept his own recollections: on the internet is his diary with descriptions of one of his trips – the navigation of the Koksu river in Kazakhstan.

From Maxim’s mother Zhanna Kirillovna:

“The first time he called was right after the capture.  He said that armed people had ordered those with cell phones to call the television stations and say that if there was any kind of armed action, then for every terrorist killed they would shoot twenty hostages.  I had the phone number for ‘Vremechka’, so I called.”

For others you are impassable,

But I need to get through

Your steel borders.

“After breakfast, leaving the injured and women back at camp, we went for the catamarans and kayaks we had left back upstream.  We did this for one and a half hours.  We got the catamarans and put them in the water.  The day afterwards passed in drawn-out idleness.  Before lunch we bathed and caught fish (five).  After lunch we went to look at the rapids, which end past the left bend of the river, 50 meters under the mouth of the Tentek.  O Lifanov’s sailing chart, the obstacle just after the river mouth is called ‘Mini-kamikaze’ (a kayak flipped in the rapids).”

“They sat in the 11^th row, seats 33, 34, and 35.  One time he called and said: ‘Mom, I’m not doing well’.  I went to NTV and the show ‘Freedom of Speech’.  When they gave me the microphone, I appealed to Barayev to help my son, since he is a diabetic, and was feeling ill and needed treatment.”

River with the simple name of ‘Life’

In some places wide, just like the sea,

In other places shoals lay bare

Stones like pitted knives

From Maxim’s diary:

“We left, as usual, late.  For 1 hour and 10 minutes there were uncomplicated turns and at the end some Siberian-type rapids formed from the indigenous rock in the channel (reddish cliffs).  The mountains descend farther along.  The bends get more complicated, the water stronger, and the rate of fall increases.  The valley again widens and the mountains recede.  We stopped on the left bank for the night.  That evening, repelling a multitude of advisors, Grisha backed pancake burgers.  The day was quite hot.  There were not many plants on the left bank, so the tent was the only escape from the sun.  The water in the river got warmer.”

“My son and his wife worked for a solid firm.  After the assault their colleagues went driving around, looking for Maxim for two days.  On Sunday there was a rumor that he was in satisfactory condition at Hospital #13, and that he was supposed to be released and had even asked someone to come with his things, but I woke up that day and my heart told me that he was dead.  So when I went to Hospital #13 I had photographs of him to send with them to Petrovka.  My son had the photo album at his place (we lived separately), so all I had were some poor-quality photos of him paddling a kayak.  My son wasn’t at the hospital, so I went to Petrovka.”

Little by little it is overpowering.

And here – two stumpy horns!

Never again in life will I experience them

“For 1.5 km further along the river is simple, not more than category 3.  On the way back we reconnoitered a nice raspberry patch.  They were only just beginning to ripen.  Part of the group went to visit an apiary.  They served us hot scones and milk with honey (for money).  They promised to slaughter a sheep tomorrow.  Supper included the delicacies enumerated above and fried mushrooms.  In talking with our hostess, we found out that the place where we’d stopped our kayaks was called Judino.  Several years ago a kayaker from Petersburg died here.”

“At Petrovka they told me that Maxim was in the morgue at Izmailov.  I went there.  They showed me his image on a computer.  I recognized my son – his fallen face and dark hair.  They opened the door and I went up to him and said: ‘Sleep peacefully my little son, my dear.  You will always be remembered’.  He was covered up to his chin.  There was a scratch on his temple, like a grazing hit from a pistol.  It wasn’t a contusion.  Maxim had no papers on him, but since childhood he’s been taught always to carry ID.  Apparently the gunmen took it.”

River with the simple name of ‘Life’

Not as long as we would have liked,

Because the blizzards of everyday life

Imprison it in ice.

“Not making it to the river’s next ravine, we stopped at a low, wooded shelf on the left bank.  Such an early stop was due to a double holiday in the group.  First, we’d finished the complete passage of Kazan and the Devil’s Ravine of Koksu.  Second, it was the wedding anniversary of one of the participants.  So it was decided that we’d go upriver where we’d seen some shepherds’ yurts (nomadic tents).  At the yurts we found several shepherds who were gathering for their own holiday.  The received us warmly.  We traded a whole rope for a sheep, and later observed the local entertainments (horseracing and goat baiting).  The holiday lasted until well after midnight.”

From Maxim’s mother:

“We set the date of the funeral for the 30^th.  I went to the morgue to be present at the washing of the body – otherwise I’d have gone through life never forgetting what he looked like when he left this world.  They wouldn’t allow me.  As I understood it, the authorities would not allow the body shown even for identification – they would only show the face, and only they were allowed to verify distinguishing marks.  We buried him at the Preobrazhensky cemetery.  For the last rites I asked Maxim’s friends to sing his favorite songs.  They went and got a guitar and sang three songs, including Vizbor’s ‘My Darling, but no one had any voice left.  We decided that we would sing at fortieth-day ceremony.”

Not as simple as it seemed.

We’d like to have known a bit sooner,

What we would be getting into, -

If only to join hands.

By Yulia Larina, Moskovskie Novosti, November 6^th, 2002.

Comments (1)

1. Written by Илья Гинзбург , on 07-03-2007 22:50 Сколько горя… Сколько боли… Читая, словно заново переживаешь эти страшные дни. Сколько же людей, разных живых людей погибло… Примите искреннее сочуствие И спасибо Вам за рассказ, это очень важно — рассказать. Report

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