Five days before I flew to Russia, I learned that the father of the family I was supposed to photograph had been murdered. I was shocked and felt terrible for the family. My first thought was to stay home. Then I realized that my photographs could help people remember Eugeny. I ended up arriving on his birthday. That night we all drank many vodka toasts to his memory. Joanna said, "I have my life now and I have my life after."
Eugeny's presence was everywhere: the kitchen cabinets he hadn't yet completed, the incredible wood carvings that decorated the house, the pile of lumber that he bought to finish everything. Joanna told me that she had been happy when Eugeny quit his risky job in the mines and they moved to Suzdal because he would no longer be in danger all the time. This used to be a safe place, she said, but no more. Crime is everywhere. The police did nothing--when I got there, weeks after the event, they had not even interviewed Joanna.
After photographing Eugeny's car I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing the smashed windows and thinking of how he lay dying in a doorway for a day or two while people walked by. Just before I left, Joanna gave me a carving by Eugeny and said that she hoped the story would not be a "tear-puller." I told her that it would be hard not to be moved, but that I hoped my photographs would show that she and the girls are pushing forward.
