«We don't just light them, we revive a tradition». A lamplighter from Brest talks about the magic of light, a lucky button, and ancient music

Photo: sb.by

— They call me the talisman of the city, but I'm quite calm about it. I don't consider myself a star, and I've never sought any fame. I just try to do my job well, to give people a little light and warmth, — Kirisyuk modestly says about his work.

— Viktor Petrovich, where are you from?

— I was born in the village of Zalyadynne, Ivanava District, Brest Region. The places there are beautiful, quiet, life is simple. We had a large family: seven children. Two sisters live in Brest, a brother went to Nizhny Novgorod… Two are no longer with us, and neither are our parents. What can you do — life takes its course.

My childhood passed in my native village, where I finished high school. I enrolled in the Pinsk Naval School of DOSAAF, then served in the navy on a landing ship in the Caspian Flotilla.

— So you dreamed of being a sailor, but became an electrician?

— By specialty, I am an electrician for submarines. After the army, fate brought me to Brest, where I settled. I've been working in the same organization for over 40 years: initially it was called «Brestgarsvyatlo», and now we belong to KUP «Brest Road-Operational Enterprise». I am loyal to my place. It's calm, familiar, and reliable for me here.

— Before becoming a lamplighter, did you ever see anyone doing this?

— A lamplighter in my childhood? Are you kidding me! That's like seeing a unicorn. I grew up with electricity, only sometimes I had to do homework by the light of a kerosene lamp. But to see a real lamplighter walking the streets with a ladder and a lamp, that was only in books and old movies. It seemed distant and unreal.

— What do you think, is your profession a coincidence or a calling?

— More likely a coincidence. Nobody dreams of becoming a lamplighter in childhood — it's certainly not the most popular profession. It's just how circumstances turned out. In 2009, I was offered to try it — I agreed. And here I am, as you can see, I got hooked for a long time.

But, you know, sometimes there's something more hidden in coincidences. Maybe there is some hidden calling in this unexpected job. We don't just light lamps — we revive a lost tradition. And that's important for many. When you see people rejoicing, shouting «hurray!», you understand that you're doing something necessary, something real.

— Is it true that the selection process for the lamplighter position was quite serious?

— Yes, it was something like a casting. As far as I know, they were looking for someone who can talk to people and loves their city. Why I was chosen — it's better to ask the management. People often say that I outwardly resemble the lamplighters described in archival documents.

Honestly, when they offered it to me, my first thought was to refuse. I thought: «What nonsense? Who needs this anyway?» The plan was: light the lamps and leave. But it turned out that on the very first evening, I barely managed to take photos with all those who wanted to. Of course, a lot of time passes, but now I can't imagine myself without all these lights, these smiles. It's as if my whole life had been leading up to this.

— There's a legend: if you rub a button on the lamplighter's uniform, a cherished wish will come true. Do your buttons really bring good luck?

— Absolutely. There's an ancient belief: a person who gives light to people brings happiness and good luck. And if you believe in a miracle, it will surely come true. Previously, people rubbed the buttons of chimney sweeps for good luck. Now they are gone, so they ask the lamplighter to grant a wish. And I don't mind — I'm always happy when people are drawn to light and believe in miracles. The most touching thing is that many, after making a wish, return and say that it came true, thanking me.

In summer, when there are many tourists, a thousand people gather around me. It's impossible to give everyone time, so the city authorities came to help. On the pedestrian street, they recently installed an art object — an exact replica of a button from my uniform, made of stainless steel. And it's also large.

With the appearance of the large button, it became a little easier for everyone. Now you can come to Sovetskaya at any time and touch a dream. By the way, this button has the same power as the buttons on my uniform.

— And if you suddenly get sick or go on vacation, who lights the lamps?

— In the 16 years I've been dedicated to my work, it has never happened that I wasn't on duty. Apparently, it's such a profession — it strengthens health, and fire protects. However, I won't pretend, I've been away a couple of times. But these were special cases, related to important events. I remember going to an exhibition in Minsk. And to the VI All-Belarusian People's Assembly. All the rest of the time, I am guarding light and traditions.

By the way, the work of a lamplighter is not just the romance of evening lights. It also involves early rising, extinguishing lamps, and refilling kerosene. In the morning, you have to climb up to each lamp twice, remove the lamp, refill it, wash the globes, trim the wick. In fact, there's a lot of work, but interacting with people compensates for all the difficulties.

— Okay, what if there's a hurricane, or severe frost?

— Bad weather is no reason to shy away from work. I have a special raincoat, waterproof, reliable. I'll put it on — and go. The lamps won't wait, because people need light even in the gloomiest weather.

By the way, even in bad weather, brave people come to watch the lamps being lit. Can you imagine, standing in the rain, without umbrellas, soaked to the bone, but happy. They say they specifically came to see it with their own eyes. Often from far away: from the Far East, from Kazakhstan, from Sakhalin, even from China. Looking at these people, you realize that your work is needed. How can you stay home after that?

— Where is your uniform made?

— The uniform is a separate story. It's sewn according to old patterns found in archives. To recreate every detail, cut and stitch it correctly, takes a lot of work and time. The uniform must fit perfectly, matching the era. By the way, I change it every year because it wears out and fades in the sun.

Just now, a new set has been sewn. Everything as it should be: uniform, trousers, and new shoes, polished to a shine. The headwear is also new. There's always a problem with it: I have to order it in Minsk. Nobody sews such things in Brest. Because it's not just clothing — it's my calling card.

— How do you feel about your image being used as a brand?

— It's quite amusing: I go into a shop, and there… my photograph on bread. At first it was a bit unusual, but then even pleasant. People in shops, on the street recognize me, come up and say: «We buy your bread, it's very tasty!»

— What was the most unusual guest in Brest that you remember?

— There have been quite a few unusual ones over so many years… But one case particularly stuck in my memory. A man came all the way from Baikonur. And not in some modern car, but in an old «Zhiguli». That was a surprise.

Lately, by the way, there have been noticeably more Chinese tourists. They said that I'm a kind of celebrity there, they even put my photos on their phone backgrounds. They have a special culture, a reverent attitude towards traditions, and they really love lanterns.

— They say you have an interesting car…

— I have a «Moskvich». Old, of course, but I love it. On the last Sunday of July, I always put a naval flag on it, buy flowers, and go to church to honor the memory of lost sailors. People come from Kursk, and I immediately see that submarine, that tragedy…

Can you imagine how difficult that is? I served on a ship, and submariners, to me, are true heroes. I'm ready to kneel before them. We must not forget those who gave their lives for the Motherland.

— I saw a wonderful dacha on your Instagram. How do you spend your time there?

— There's always plenty of work: watering, tying up, plowing, painting… My wife Natallia and I have two plots, so we're never idle. The land requires special attention. My wife is a true fan — she grows roses with love and soul. We have about 200 rose bushes. Can you imagine the beauty when they bloom?

Once I invited a Chinese correspondent to the dacha. He was delighted by the beauty and our homesteading approach: he climbed into the cellar, photographed jars of pickles. I gave him canned cucumbers for the road. It turns out that dachas are not valued in China; it's not customary to spend time that way. But for us, it's both relaxation and a hobby, and a chance to grow something with our own hands, to treat relatives and friends.

— And one last question: do you have any rituals before you go out on your route?

— No, no special rituals. Look in the mirror, make sure everything is in order — and off I go. Although… I always have a sachet of salt in my pocket. They say it helps against evil eye. Not that I strongly believe in it, but, you know, it's calmer that way.

Sometimes I feel like a squeezed lemon, as if someone has drained all my energy. Maybe it's just fatigue, or maybe there's really something to these beliefs. I don't know if this counts as a ritual, but I always put on music for myself. Not modern music, but something… old, atmospheric. Something classical or folk melodies.

It helps me get into the right mood, create a special atmosphere, feel a connection with the past, with the history of the city. And when I walk to the sounds of this music, it feels like I'm not just a lamplighter, but a guardian of a city legend.

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