On a warm spring day relatives gathered to say goodbye to Viktor Boiko and his wife, Olha. Their open coffins were laid out next to one other. Viktor wore his best suit. Olha was in a flowery blouse, with carnations heaped around her slippered feet. A priest sang prayers. Gravediggers lowered the couple into the ground, and shovelled earth on top. It landed with a percussive thud.
“Give me a weapon. Any weapon. I want to kill those butchers in Moscow,” said Viktor’s brother-in-law Anatolii Prykhodko, as his wife stood sobbing next to him. “They have murdered so many people. Adults, kids, peaceful citizens. If you lose a house or a car in a war, you can get it back. If you lose a person, a loved one, they are gone for ever.”
