my grandfather had other images to haunt him , the same ones id heard about and envisioned since earliest childhood : the women dragged by the hair on their scalp behind the galloping horses of cossacks until they were dead bundles of torn clothing , ripped skin and broken bones , the babies stuck on the ends of bayonets , the buildings burned after the occupants had been bolted inside , the screams of pain , the cries of grief and loss and that endless question why ?