“My grandfather came into my room. I had already undressed and was lying in bed. He sat down on the edge of my bed. He had in his hands a box of liqueur-filled chocolates. His eyes, usually mischievous and smiling, that night looked at me from under his gray prickly crew-cut with a tired and sad expression. He offered me the box of chocolates and then pulled a bottle of vodka out of the pocket of his cavalry breeches.

“I want us to have a drink together,” he said. “You have the candy and I’ll have the vodka.”

He slapped the bottom of the bottle with the flat of his hand and the cork shot out. I fished a chocolate out of the box.

“What shall we drink to?” I asked, trying hard to sound grown-up.

“To the Revolution,” my grandfather said with grim simplicity.”

Excerpt of A Precocious Autobiography by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Tags:PoetryrevolutionRussianRussian RevolutionsovietYevgeny Yevtushenko