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Age 39; Russia, Moscow.  Born on November 1st, 1963, the youngest son in large, working-class family. He began his music studies in his hometown, but graduated from the Moscow Conservatory's music school, and later the conservatory itself in 1989, in V. V. Petrov's class. He worked in various orchestras, under Vladimir Onkin and Veronika Dudarova, as well in the military symphonic orchestra and others. For the last year he worked exclusively at 'Nord-Ost', as first clarinet.
What kind of a musician he was can probably best be explained by other musicians. He would say of himself: «We play any music in any condition.» I can only state that he was a beautiful husband, a remarkable father. He raised our son Nikita beautifully. He lived for his family, helped in every way, and tried to remedy everything that he could. He let me stay home with the baby. He was a happy, pleasant man, always the life of the party. He adored singing, and was always joking. When he would show up somewhere, everyone would begin to smile and enjoy themselves. The neighborhood kids would gather around, and play basketball and football with him. When Nikita would go to school, they would ask him: «Nikita, is your dad coming out?»
Our 19th wedding anniversary was on September 24th, 2002. October 26th is our son's birthday. Viktor died on the day of his son's birth, and his funeral took place on his own birthday, November 1st. And such were the course of circumstances.
It was our closest friend Marina who first heard of what was going on at 'Nord-Ost'. She called us up but would not say anything, she just tried to find out from me what I knew. «Did Dad call?» 'Dad' would always call up between acts. «He called at half-past eight, said that is going okay,» I said. Well, since everything was okay, Marina thought that she had misunderstood the broadcast. Nikita's friend later called for him, and a half-hour later Viktor himself called us up. He said two words to our son, then told me that it was all very serious, that they were asking (the authorities) not to storm the theater… But his voice was peaceful, as always — as if he wanted to calm us down: nothing serious, we'll get out of this. Later he called at 12 noon, and as before his voice was peaceful. He said that everything was okay, that they had just eaten, and that his only request was that they did not storm the theater, because everything had been mined — the walls, the chairs… The last time he called was on October 25th, at 5:22 AM. He said that he could not talk for very long, the cell-phone batteries were low, and he asked us not to worry about him. His voice was dismal. Don't worry, everything's okay — he could not say anything else. But I could tell by his voice that they had it very rough there. And that is all. You can imagine what condition Nikita was in. He was ready to go there, to run after these terrorists… Marina spent a long time talking him out of it, the place was surrounded, anything could happen, and his father would be much more relieved if he could call and know that we were at home.
Later, they told me that he was sitting in the center of the theater hall, right in front of a huge bomb. They said that he kept up everyone's spirits, helped them hold out, and kept everyone calm. Knowing him as I do, it could not have been any other way…
After the storming of the theater, we kept our hope alive until the very last. We had not even thought about looking for him in the morgue, we were afraid to talk about it. I still cannot believe it, it is as if he left on tour, like he did so many times before.
So many musicians who knew him called us up, the telephone never stopped ringing thanks to them. Now the pain is ours, and we will live with it for a very long time.
It is just not possible to believe that such a terrible event could happen here in Moscow. I have so many questions, and no one can give me an answer! How did this all come about?! Was he carried out dead or alive? Did anyone try to give him first aid? What did he die of? We will ever know?
I just cannot imagine how I can go on now. We were with him, he worked and lived for us. He did all that was possible to do. Why did he not come back? He stayed there, and that is all…
«Filarmonik» #4, 2002
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