During the Civil War I was in the Red Army, in Kikvidze's division.
In the famine of 'twenty-two I struck out for the Kuban and worked like an ox for the kulaks, wouldn't be alive today if I hadn't.
But my whole family back home, father, mother and sister, starved to death.
So I was left alone.
As for relatives anywhere, I hadn't got a single one, not a soul.
Well, after a year I came back from the Kuban, sold my cottage and went to Voronezh.
First I worked as a carpenter, then I went to a factory and learned to be a fitter.
And soon I got married.
My wife had been brought up in a children's home.
She was an orphan.
Yes, I got a good woman there!
Good-tempered, cheerful, always anxious to please. And smart she was, too-no comparison with me.
She had known what real trouble was since she was a kid. I dare say that had an effect on her character.
Just looking at her from the side, as you might say, she wasn't all that striking, but, you see, I wasn't looking at her from the side, I was looking straight at her.
And for me there was no more beautiful woman in the whole world, and there never will be.
"I'd come home from work tired, and badtempered as hell sometimes.
But no, she'd never fling your rudeness back at you.
She'd be so gentle and quiet, couldn't do enough for you, always trying to make you something nice, even when there wasn't enough to go round.
It made my heart lighter just to look at her. After a while I'd put my arm round her and say:
'I'm sorry, Irina dear, I was damn rude to you.
I had a rotten day at work today.'
And again there'd be peace between us, and my mind would be at rest.
And you know what that means to your work, mate?
In the morning I'd be out of bed like a shot and off to the factory, and any job I laid hands on would go like clockwork.
That's what it means to have a real clever girl for a wife.
"Sometimes I'd have a drink with the boys on pay-day.
And sometimes the scissor-legged way I staggered home afterwards, it must have been frightening to watch.
The main street wasn't wide enough for me, let alone the side streets.
In those days I was tough and strong and I could hold a lot of drink, and I always got home on my own.
But sometimes the last stretch would be in bottom gear, you know. I'd finish it on my hands and knees.
But again I'd never get a word of reproach, no scolding, no shouting.
My Irina, she'd just laugh at me, and she did that careful like, so that even drunk as I was I wouldn't take it wrong.
She'd pull my boots off and whisper:
'You'd better lie next to the wall tonight, Andrei, or you might fall out of bed in your sleep.'
And I'd just flop down like a sack of oats and everything would go swimming round in front of me.
And as I dropped off to sleep, I'd feel her stroking my head softly and whispering kind words, and I knew she felt sorry for me.
"In the morning she'd get me up about two hours before work to give me time to come round.
She knew I wouldn't eat anything after being drunk, so she'd get me a pickled cucumber or something like that, and pour me out a good glass of vodka-a hair of the dog, you know.
'Here you are, Andrei, but don't do it any more, dear.'
How could a man let someone down who put such trust in him?
I'd drink it up, thank her without words, just with a look and a kiss, and go off to work like a lamb.
But if she'd had a word to say against me when I was drunk, if she'd started snapping at me, I'd have come home drunk again, believe me.
That's what happens in some families, where the wife's a fool. I've seen plenty of it and I know.
"Well, soon the children started arriving.
First there was a little boy, then two girls. And that was when I broke away from my mates.
I started taking all my pay home to the wife; we had a fair-sized family by then, and I couldn't afford to drink any more.
On my day off I'd have just a glass of beer and let it go at that.
"In 'twenty-nine I got interested in motors, I learned to drive and started to work on a lorry.
And when I got into the way of it I didn't want to go back to the factory.
Driving seemed to have more fun in it.