To my widow

Dearest darling,

It’s not easy to write because of the cold. It’s 70 degrees below zero and the only shelter is a tent. We are in a very tight corner and I doubt that we’ll manage to pull through it. In a short lunchtime I take advantage of a little warmth to write letters and get prepared for a possible end. If anything happens to me, I would like you to know how much you have meant to me. I must write a letter to the boy. Hopefully, he’ll find time to read it when grown up. My dear, you know, I don’t like this sentimental nonsense about remarriage. When a worthy man comes to your life, you shall be happy again. Make the boy interested in Sciences, if you can. It’s better than games. Try to make him believe in God. It’s comforting. Oh, my dear, my dear, I have had so many dreams about his future. And still, my girl, I know that you will cope with everything. Your portraits will be found in my breast. I could have told you so many stories about this journey. What tales you could have told to our boy, but such a high price to pay it is to lose an opportunity to see your dear face. I think we’ve no chances. We decided not to kill ourselves and fight till the end. It’s painless to pass away in the fighting, so don’t worry about me.

May, 1922