By Dinger (Haifa, Israel). 08/16/2008.
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With this knife I have of recollection from the childhood itself. Small prehistory:

Once, very long time ago, my grandfather obtained this knife into the gift, from his American friend, with whom they met in Elba, distant 1945.

1964, Khrushev start his effort to cultivate wheat in Kazakhstan wild soil, entire world in great wonder and foreign journalists arrive to illuminate this the creation of the thought of agriculture. And the American, who in the civil life began to work as photo journalist, completely randomly meets his old friend on this virgin soil. Gone out of mind from this encounter, they entire night gulp local home-brew alcohol and recall fellow soldiers.

With the parting the American obtains from the pocket knife and gives to my grandfather, after adding that this knife - very cool and is made in America. Grandfather removes watches from his wrist and gives with the words “Moscow watch factory!” They parted on that, after being embraced and after taking leave. So having been encountered then never…

… Tom Walker die in six years, after car accident…

Through several years I was born. We they lived then at other end of the motherland, and at the every summer break I was sent into Kazakhstan, to the grandfather.

I saw for the first time this knife, when I was six years old. And since then, each summer, I dreamed him to get. I come up with many child schemes in order to secure the desired gift, but grandfather was inexorable. He carry it with himself, uses it all the time for everything, but never give it to me.

It must confess, I stole it one time. And then I for the first time understood that the knives have a soul. I came running to the friends, took out knife and began to brag. It swung it, perceiving pleasant gravity in the hand, and swing it to the fact that the knife very beautifully and tenderly cut my hand. Wound was not too deep, but the blood gushed out. It was not terribly, but I accurately placed knife on the place, and since then treat it with a lot of respect. It already acquired to its owner and somehow it did not hurry from it to part. And it left to me thin scar on the hand forever as reminding, that the knives do not love rotation foolish with them…

Knife served to grandfather entire remained life. Twice saved his life, one time - from the gangs and then - from the mad dog. And never it was lost, honestly serving it as faith and truth…

Two months ago of my grandfather died...

On his request knife was placed it into the coffin with him. So it remained to guard him forever…

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