I was weighed down by the heavy backpack on my shoulders and the bag-full of manuscripts that was hanging on my chest. In my hands I had two bags, full of books, manuscripts, and notebooks. My heart was aching: the flowers were left behind on the windowsill, and I felt as if it were their sorrow and a premonition of death. Books, a lot of letters, and, of course, manuscripts, were left on the shelves. I had been collecting them, sheet by sheet, for more than 20 years - at first in the old „Tiesa" editorial office, and later, in this one.

A paratrooper, his legs spread apart, was urging us to hurry. He was sheepishly justifying himself, saying that he wasn't the one who had disfigured the door, who had stolen my personal belongings, who had emptied my wallet which was lying on the desk, and who had taken a journalist's greatest treasure - fountain-pens and a dictaphone.

I had left everything on the desk and had run out for half an hour to buy my kids some milk. But when I returned I couldn't come in. Shots were ringing out, and the paratroopers were driving the rest of the journalists and Press House workers out of the premises. Juozas Čepulis, a carpenter who got caught in the attack, was hit on the shoulders by the butt of a gun. In pain, the honest man spoke about the brutality of the paratroopers.

The storming of the Press House is permanently imprinted in my mind. How they attacked! Ignoring everyone, they fired above the door, the bullets riddling the wall. They were real bullets. The children were cringing, clinging to their mothers, and the men were shielding the women with their chests. Amidst the firing the Lithuanian song „Oh, mother, don't cry!" rang out.

The paratroopers were blind. Having started shooting, they regained their senses as it were: their faces lit up - apparently shooting has a positive effect on a murderer. I tried to get inside to fetch my personal things - my ration coupons had been left there - but it was as if they were deaf.

„We really didn't steal anything. lt was the „grupa zachvata" („seizure group")...

I don't know what was worrying my armed companion, but he was evidently ill at ease when he saw our sorrow, and evil hadn't permiated his entire soul yet. I saw Vytautas Kaltenis and Jonas Geštautas carrying heavy loads; beads of sweat were rolling down their faces. And Arnoldas Čaikovskis was trying to cheer us up: „Look, l've left Naudžiūnas on the desk, maybe he'll protect the rest of my property...?" Arnoldas had really left Naudžiūnas' photo. Who could have thought that Naudžiūnas would become the symbol of a bloody executioner…

From the eight floor, Aldona Šmigelskienė was distributing our personal files to us. Her voice was trembling. This woman has been with „Tiesa" all her life, she is the soul of the editorial board, a symbol of light and humanity. I saw deputy editor Leonas Braziulis coming down the stairs. „Don't carry so much, it's very heavy..." - he was concerned, even though he was carrying at least the same amount himself. On the ground floor a stout man searched our things. God, editor Domas Šniukas was being detained like a criminal and searched in the true sense of the word by some activist who spoke broken Lithuanian. A miserable paratrooper couldn't be compared to that collaborator who was raised in God knows where. He was more dangerous, like his comrades, who invited the soldiers to this bloody feast.

I went outside. The north wind was blowing. The journalists leaving the building were reeling: robbed, driven out, but in light spirit. Forgetting their heart aches, they gathered at a new place an hour later. They were thinking not about revenge, but about making a more interesting issue of „Tiesa". And they did. The invaders were not able to subdue them.

Lithuania, 1991.01.13 : documents, testimonies, comments. - Vilnius : State Publishing Center, 1992, p. 93-94.