ryethenovel Chapter 363 A Lightweight Medal
Chapter 363 A Lightweight Medal
As I stepped out of the side exit of GUM department store, the cold outdoor air rushed towards me.
The temperature difference between the 20-degree indoor temperature and the -15-degree street temperature stung my nasal mucosa.
There is a covered arcade outside the arcade. The wind seeps through the gaps between the stone pillars, and the ground is covered with a thin layer of ice, making it a bit slippery to walk on.
Kozlov was called away by another staff member. The man whispered a few words in Russian in his ear, speaking very quickly. Kozlov nodded twice and then turned around.
"Lord Saionji, please wait a moment. There are some check-in procedures that need to be confirmed."
He walked quickly toward the exit.
The arcade was quiet for a while. The two men in dark gray coats followed Kozlov away, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps from the depths of the arcade.
Satsuki stopped in front of a counter selling used books.
The spine was facing outwards, and the binding was an old-fashioned hardcover. She reached out and flipped through it, but didn't open it.
Fujita stood two steps to her left and slightly behind, while Chizuru stood a step and a half to her right. Amy followed behind, carrying her tool bag, still quietly calculating something.
It was in this gap.
A figure moved out from behind the stone pillar on the left.
He was around sixty-five years old. His dark gray cotton overcoat was very old, the shoulder seams had sagged, and the hem was frayed. He wore a black felt hat with a slightly deformed brim.
He didn't walk fast, nor did he come in a straight line. Instead, he approached slowly along the edge of the corridor, as if taking a stroll.
The security personnel on the perimeter had already spotted the gray figure and were about to step forward to stop him.
"This gentleman, please leave."
The old man stopped in his tracks.
His shoulder twitched, as if something had pushed him from behind. His right hand, which had been sticking out of his pocket, reflexively pulled back halfway, then stopped in mid-air.
He held two things in his palm: a metal medal and a brass compass.
He didn't run. Maybe he was too old to run, or maybe it was for some other reason.
He simply stood there, his lips beginning to move rapidly.
"Нет, нет——я только—— (No, no——I just——)"
His Russian was rapid, breathless, and his voice was low. He held out his palm towards the security personnel, as if to prove something.
The object in my hand gleamed in the pale sunlight. The edge of the medal was worn, and the red of the ribbon had faded to a dull pink, but it was wiped clean and there wasn't a trace of rust.
"Я только хочу——Dollar, cigarette——только это——(I just want some dollars and cigarettes——that's all——)"
The security guard had already placed his hand on his shoulder. It wasn't a rough shove, but the force was enough to make a 65-year-old man understand "don't go any further."
The old man took a half step back. His grey-blue eyes swept over the security guard's face, past his shoulder, and landed on the group of people further away. His gaze lingered for a moment between Shuichi and Satsuki.
Then he lowered his head.
The medal and compass in his palm were slowly put back into his pocket. His movements were very light, as if the medal were something fragile.
Satsuki stopped in her tracks.
She saw it.
Through the gap in the security guard's arm, she saw the hand that had retracted—the nails were trimmed very short, and old, indelible stains were embedded in the cracked knuckles. She also saw the last glimpse of the medal's dark pink ribbon before it disappeared.
"Let him come over."
The sound wasn't loud. But the security guard immediately removed his hand from the old man's shoulder.
He took a step back and stepped aside to make way.
The old man was stunned.
He raised his head, his gaze passing over the retreating figure and landing on a small figure ten steps away, wearing a long dark gray cashmere coat and a camel-colored scarf.
His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.
Satsuki didn't go over. She simply turned her head slightly, looking at him calmly.
The old man hesitated for three seconds. Then, he moved his feet again.
Slower than before, each step was taken with a kind of cautious probing.
He stopped two meters away from Satsuki.
Fujita had already taken a half step to the side, his right shoulder naturally turning towards Satsuki, maintaining a standby state ready to intervene at any time.
The old man's right hand came out of his pocket again.
His movements were slow. As if afraid of startling someone, he unfolded his five fingers one by one.
He was still holding the same two things in his palm—a medal and a compass.
The compass has fine scratches on its surface, and the brass has lost its luster.
His lips moved, and the English he spoke had a heavy Slavic accent.
"Dollar?"
The sound was so low that only the nearest person could hear it.
Then another word was added.
"Cigarette?"
Satsuki looked down at the old man's outstretched palm.
The obverse of the medal features a red enamel five-pointed star with a hammer and sickle embossed in the center. Behind the star is an embossed outline of a short sword and a rifle crossed, the edges of which are plated with a worn, dark silver.
The back has a serial number—the first three digits are still faintly discernible, but the rest have been worn away by the years.
She recognizes this thing.
Medal of Honor for the Great Patriotic War.
Established in 1942, the award is specifically given to Soviet soldiers who demonstrated outstanding bravery and unwavering will during the Great Patriotic War. Recipients must have achieved specific combat feats in actual combat—destroying enemy tanks, leading assault platoons to capture strongholds, or continuing to fight until the position is consolidated after being wounded.
Unlike the commemorative medals routinely issued in peacetime, this was something earned with blood.
Forty-five years ago, this medal was pinned to the chest of a young soldier, representing the country's recognition of the blood he had shed.
It means the country remembers him, it means his sacrifice was meaningful, it means an invisible covenant—you shed blood for this country, and this country will never forget you.
Now, it is held in the palm of a hand covered with age spots, and its price tag is a pack of foreign cigarettes.
Although the satin of the ribbon had faded from bright red to dark pink, the edges were not frayed, indicating that it had been carefully pressed flat with something.
Maybe it's an iron, or maybe it's just stroking it repeatedly with your thumb every night.
She looked up.
The old man's eyes were grayish-blue. His eye sockets were deep-set, and the color of his irises almost blended into his pupils in the gray sky.
His gaze flickered and landed on Satsuki's scarf and gloves.
Is this still the same brave soldier from back then?
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.
But one thing is certain: this soldier's homeland is no longer the same homeland.
Satsuki turned her head.
"Fujita."
Fujita had already taken the flat wallet out of his inside pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
Satsuki took it.
She placed the light banknote in the old man's palm.
The old man glanced down at his forehead. His fingers clenched together, then relaxed again.
Her lips parted slightly, her gaze shifting back and forth between the coins and Satsuki's face.
He started searching his pockets. He looked to the left, then to the right, but found nothing.
His movements quickened. The face value of the banknote clearly exceeded the price those two items should have—at least that's what he thought.
Time passed by, and Satsuki watched as he groped her body.
Slowly, he stopped moving and stood still.
He found nothing.
Yes, what does he have left?
The silence lasted a long time. So long that Fujita thought he was going to stand there and leave without saying a word.
Then he spoke. His voice was low, as if squeezed from deep in his throat.
He seemed unaccustomed to asking for favors or showing kindness to others.
"Я знаю， что это ничего не стоит. (I know these things aren't worth much.)"
He looked down at his palm.
The medal's ribbon had faded to an indistinguishable grayish-yellow, and there was a diagonal scratch on the bronze surface.
The compass's glass cover was chipped, but the needle still moved—it still pointed north.
"Но это всё， что у меня осталось. (But this is all I have left.)"
He didn't look up; his lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were biting down on something that shouldn't be seen.
Finally, he stuffed the medal and compass into Fujita's hands.
The movement was quick; the fingers touched Fujita's hand and then withdrew, as if afraid of getting burned.
"Передайте той девочке. (Give this to the little girl for me.)"
His voice had returned to its dry, hard tone, as if the momentary loosening had never existed.
Then he turned and left.
He walked quickly, his back straight—as if he were still in a certain formation, head held high, heading towards a post that no longer exists.
A few seconds later, his figure disappeared among the birch trees and pedestrians.
Amy stood still.
She was holding her tool bag, looking in that direction with her mouth slightly open.
"Satsuki-chan." Her voice was a little hoarse. "Why is he selling this?"
Satsuki took the medal from Fujita's hand.
"Because their country can no longer afford the interest on honor."
Amy didn't respond; she seemed not to have quite understood.
Satsuki handed the medal back to Fujita.
"Keep it safe."
She took another step.
"When a country starts selling its medals, the next step will be to sell its land."
"The next step is the mines, and the next step after that is the fleet."
Her leather boots made a soft cracking sound as they stepped on the thin ice of the corridor.
"Finally, the scientists."
"Until they've sold all of them."
……
The car door closed.
The heating was put back on.
Kozlov returned to the passenger seat. When he turned around, his smile was still the same standard curve.
"Regarding the supply of materials, please do not worry, distinguished guests. The country and the people are confident in overcoming any setbacks."
"my country has a vast territory, and transportation and allocation will take some time."
"Currently, there are only some temporary difficulties in the distribution process, and the Party and the government are already taking effective measures."
His Japanese was still fluent, and he still emphasized certain long vowels with a slight pause. But he spoke this half a beat faster than before—perhaps because he had been asked the same question too many times.
Outside the window, another shop window came into view.
Three pairs of black leather shoes were displayed in the shop window.
One pair faces left, one pair faces right, and one pair faces forward.
The soles were clean, suggesting they had never been worn.