Growing up

      Prague is a city that never really sleeps. During the day, he enchants tourists with golden spires and reflections of the Vltava River, and at night he throws off his mask. In its dark alleys, old garages and sleeping areas of Branik, where the light of lanterns barely makes its way through the crowns of chestnut trees, another life continues. A life where the rules are dictated not by laws, but by fear, despair, and those who know how to use it.       Anna Kovacs was born in Prague on March 12, 2005 in a small apartment on the fourth floor of an old house in the Zizkov district. Mother — Marketa Kovacs, a Czech from Brno, worked as a primary school teacher. His father, Dmitry Kovalev, was a Russian who came to Prague in 1994, at the very beginning of the "wild" post—Soviet period. He was a mechanical engineer, but in the Czech Republic he was able to get a job first at a factory, and later opened a small car repair shop.       Since early childhood, Anna has lived between two worlds. At home, they spoke two languages: Czech with Mom and Russian with Dad. Her father often called her "Anechka" or "sunny," and her mother "Annushka." She carried this double accent through her whole life.: Her Czech was clear, but with a slight Russian "softness", especially when she was worried or tired.       Childhood can't be called either happy or unhappy — it was difficult.       My father worked a lot. The workshop took up almost all of his time, and Dmitry often returned home late, tired and irritable. He missed Russia a lot, although he never spoke about it directly. Sometimes in the evenings he would turn on old Russian songs — Vysotsky, Tsoi, "Cinema"—and silently drink beer in the kitchen. My mother didn't like these evenings. She wanted the family to be "normal Czech," and often reproached her husband for "not trying to integrate."       A quiet conflict was constantly smoldering between the parents. Not scandals, but cold, chronic discontent. Anna learned to feel the tension in the air even before she learned to read. On such evenings, she usually went to her small room, climbed with her feet on the bed and read books — first fairy tales, then detective stories and stories about cops.       At the age of nine, an incident happened to her that largely determined her future.       One evening, when she was returning from school, she was attacked by two older boys from the neighboring house. They took away the backpack, pushed it into a puddle and ran away. Anna came home covered in dirt, with a split lip and without a briefcase. The father wanted to go figure it out himself, but the mother stopped him: "No need, Dima. It will only make it worse." The police arrived, but the case was quickly put on hold — "childish pranks."       That evening, Anna got really angry for the first time. Not at boys. But the fact that no one helped. Neither the parents, nor the police. She sat in the kitchen with a wet towel on her lip and thought, "If no one wants to protect, then I'll protect myself." She was different after that incident. More introverted, more observant. She studied well at school, especially languages and history. But the real passion was physical education lessons and everything related to self-defense. At the age of fourteen, she persuaded her parents to send her to the judo section. My father was supportive, but my mother was skeptical.       Adolescence was difficult. Russian Russians were too Czech for Anna, and Czechs were too "Russian" for Anna, who was acutely aware of her "inferiority" at the age of fifteen or sixteen. Some classmates teased her as a "communist" or "mafia," even though her father had never been involved in crime. These taunts hardened her. She learned to keep her back straight and respond with a look that made many people uneasy.       At the age of seventeen, another important moment occurred. My father had a serious accident when a drunk driver crashed into his car. Dmitry miraculously survived, but the workshop had to be closed. The family was barely making ends meet. It was then that Anna finally decided: She's going to the Police Academy. Not for the sake of romance. And to make the world around you at least a little fairer. She often recalled her father's words, spoken late one evening.: "An, the main thing in this life is not to let yourself be broken. Neither people nor circumstances. And if you see that someone weak is suffering, don't pass by."       Her mother tried to dissuade her from the police until the last moment.:       "There's dirt in there, Anna. You're a beautiful girl, you could be doing something normal.       But the decision was made.       The summer of 2024 turned out to be particularly stressful for Anna. She had just turned nineteen, and she already knew for sure that there was nowhere to retreat to. She made the decision to enroll in the Police Academy of the Czech Republic in high school. She had no "plans B".       Since January, Anna has been seriously preparing. Every morning at six—thirty she ran through the park in Zizkov - five kilometers, then interval sprints. I went to the gym three times a week for judo and general physical training. In the evenings, she crammed Czech legislation, the criminal and administrative codes, the basics of criminology and psychology.       The most difficult part was the written general knowledge test: Czech history, geography, English, and logic. She knew Russian perfectly well, but the Czech formal and business style required a separate polish. Her father supported her silently but sincerely. Sometimes in the evening he would sit next to me in the kitchen and say: "Just don't break down there, Anya. The police are not a movie. It's a real mess."       Mother, on the contrary, tried to dissuade me until the last moment.:       "You're beautiful and smart. I could have gone to law at Charles University, to economics… Why do you need it?"       "Because I don't just want to make money", — Anna replied calmly. — "I want there to be fewer people like those boys who once took away my briefcase. And fewer like the driver who almost killed Dad."       The entrance exams were held in three stages in May and June.       The first stage was physical tests. Anna arrived at the stadium on the appointed day at the academy early in the morning. It was cool. It was necessary to pass: running for a hundred and a thousand meters, pull—ups, and for girls — hanging on the crossbar, push-ups, long jump from a place and the Cooper test - running for twelve minutes. She passed everything with a good margin. Running and jumping were especially good. When she finished, the instructor, an elderly man in uniform, nodded respectfully at her.:       "Not bad for a girl." Many don't even reach a thousand.       The second stage is written tests and psychology.       Two days in a row for four hours. Intelligence tests, situational tasks, police ethics, knowledge of the law. Anna wrote quickly and intently. During the psychological testing, she particularly remembered the question: "What will you do if you see your colleague receiving a bribe?" She wrote: "I will collect the evidence and report it to the management. Even if it costs me my career. Because if I don't say anything, I will stop being a policeman."       The third stage is an interview.       The most exciting thing. There were three people in the office: a lieutenant colonel, a psychologist, and a representative of the admissions committee. Anna was asked about her motivation, her family, and how she feels about her mixed heritage. "Do you understand that sometimes you will be reminded that you are "semi-Russian"?" one of the members of the commission asked.       Anna looked him straight in the eye: "I understand. I've already heard it in school. But I am a Czech citizen. I grew up here. And I want to serve my country. And origin is not a crime."       The interview lasted almost forty minutes. When she came out, her legs were shaking slightly.       The results came on the eighth of July. Anna was sitting in the kitchen with her laptop when a letter arrived in the mail. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears. She opened the letter with trembling fingers.       "Dear Anna Kovacs,       Congratulations! You are enrolled in the first full-time course of the Police Academy of the Czech Republic in the specialty "Operational Police Officer"."       She didn't scream. I just stared at the screen for a long time. Then she began to cry softly. Her father, hearing her sob, came into the kitchen. I saw the letter and hugged my daughter tightly for the first time in many years.       "I'm proud of you, Anechka. Very."       Mother was standing in the doorway. At first she was silent, then she came over and hugged me too.:       "If it's really yours... then I'll pray that you come home safe every night."       On the first of September, Anna stood in front of the main building of the academy in Hradcany in her new cadet uniform. Her hair is neatly gathered, her back is straight, and her gray-green eyes look confident. The same newbies were standing around — some were nervous, some were trying to joke. Anna, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. She was finally where she was supposed to be.       It wasn't the end of the road. That was just the beginning.