Introduction
Age brings a different kind of vision – you start to see not just the events themselves, but the human cost behind them, especially the loneliness of those left to carry memory on their own. What once seemed like isolated encounters now reveal themselves as fragments of a larger testimony: moments of endurance, compassion, and faith that shine quietly against the darkness.
My life and the archive have never been separate; they have always been one, and now they are fully intertwined. These reflections are gathered here as a supplement to the memoir, carrying forward the image first recorded in Appendix XXIII. The candle in the window is more than a symbol of memory; it is a reminder of the strength it takes to keep humanity alive, whether through compassion for others, courage in suffering, or faith in unseen companionship. Each meditation is part of a living archive, a way of keeping the flame lit so that witness endures.
Reflection : The Old Lady in Podil
In 1982, as a student wandering through Podil, the old quarter of Kyiv by the river Dnipro, I found myself in streets that seemed forgotten by time. Podil, literally the ‘lower area,’ was a district of sagging 19th‑century houses and cobbled lanes carrying the air of a fairy tale. Silence hung over the streets, as though history itself had paused there.
Looking down into a basement window, I saw her: an old woman seated at a table, a single candle burning before her. No sound, no movement, only the flame and her stillness. It was as though time had forgotten her, leaving her stranded between centuries. I thought of the life she must have carried: wars, Stalin, hunger, fear. And yet here she sat, not defeated but enduring, her silence more eloquent than any speech. A vision out of Dostoevsky, preserved in candlelight.
Podil in 1982 was a place suspended in time, behind the iron curtain, where lives like hers were hidden from the wider world. To stumble upon her in that moment was almost like uncovering a secret fragment of history, one that most would have walked past without noticing. I felt a shiver of recognition — a premonition, perhaps, that I too might one day sit alone with only memories for company. But instead of fear, I felt a strange calm. To endure, to remember, to keep the flame alive — was that not also a kind of victory?
This vision, first recorded in my memoir (Appendix XXIII), has stayed with me, and it continues to speak. In these reflections, the candle becomes more than memory: it is compassion for those who suffer alone, and courage to keep humanity alive even when pain tempts hardness. Each meditation is part of a living archive, carrying the flame forward into the present.
Not Alone
Before I ever went to the Soviet Union, I heard a story on the radio that stayed with me. A BBC correspondent described visiting one of those vast, grey tenement blocks in Poland so common behind the iron curtain. The elevators had long since stopped, the place was empty and depressing. Yet in one apartment he found an old woman living alone. When asked if she felt lonely, she replied: “No, I don’t feel lonely at all, because God is always here with me.”
Her faith, rooted in Poland’s Catholic tradition, gave her strength to endure what otherwise would have been bleak circumstances. To hear such testimony was one thing; later, to see it for myself in Kyiv was another. The candle in Podil was a lived reality of the same truth: that even in isolation, humanity and faith can keep the flame alive.
The Cost of Humanity
In a dream I was offered release from pain, even joy, but at the cost of compassion. The bargain was clear: relief would harden the heart, strip away tenderness, and leave me untouched by the suffering of others. I refused, and walked away. That refusal has stayed with me, for it speaks to the deeper truth that memory and witness demand humanity, even when pain tempts us to abandon it. To keep the flame alive is to resist the easy bargain of hardness, and to endure with conscience intact.
History itself shows the contrast. My Father, through suffering, found compassion and humanity. Others, like the ruthless despot who unleashes war without care, have long since lost theirs. To gain the world but lose the soul is no victory at all. The candle in the window is not only memory and identity, but a reminder of the courage it takes to keep humanity alive, whatever harm has been done. It is a fragile flame, yet it endures, and in its endurance lies the strength of witness.
