My aunt Khasya barged into the apartment crying, telling us that while her son was standing in line, all of his ration cards had been stolen. This meant certain death. I then got a lesson that I have remembered all my life. My father rose up as best he could on the bed and turned to my mother: «Share with my sister.» These were his last words. My mother fairly divided the food products between our families. The next night my father died.