The author of the story, Yuri Nikolaevich Feoktistov (1913-1977), a stage designer from Riga, was born and raised in Siberia and later lived and studied in Moscow. He was illegally repressed in the 1930s. He participated in World War II and was in German captivity.
The novel, based on autobiographical material, was written in the mid-1960s. This fragment is about how a person is trying to maintain self-esteem in the Stalinist camp in the face of totalitarian mobbing, in an atmosphere of persecution, harassment and humiliation that continues even for a minute.
The text was provided by Dmitry Feoktistov, the son of Yu.N. Feoktistov.
***
The man who was let into the cell did not stop at the door, as all newcomers usually stopped, but walked to the middle of the cell and slowly took off his shoulder bag and hat.
Vasily Pakhomych Kravtsov, he introduced himself. “A former professional revolutionary and now a professional convict.” Hallo! — the man bowed.
He was wearing camp uniforms. Under the hat he took off, there was a yarmulka, that is, a quilted round lining from the hat. She made Kravtsov look like a Tatar from Gorky's play “At the Bottom”.
Sorry, I'm not taking it off, Kravtsov touched his yarmulka. “It's bald, my head's getting chilly...”
Kravtsov answered the questions of the camera chief in detail and loudly, so that the whole camera was listening to him. He has been in camps for eight years now and has now been called in for “further investigation”.
— What is the next investigation in eight years? — Kostya Myshakin asked in surprise.
Kravtsov readily explained:
— My article is solid: it is fifty-eighth, and the point is nonsense: the tenth, that is, counter-revolutionary propaganda. At the present time, this is nothing. Besides, I will be ending my term in two years, and, excuse me, there is no way to allow this to happen. Now they'll turn me into a spy, a terrorist, a traitor to the motherland and be thrown away for another twenty or twenty-five years. This is at best.
— Get ready for a walk! - announced the warden who opened the doors.
The walk took place in the prison courtyard. With their hands behind their backs, people walked in circles one after another. It was strictly forbidden to stop, talk, or remove hands from behind.
Egor tried not to miss walks. Now he was following Kravtsov and taking deep breaths in the fresh frosty air. Kravtsov walked hunched over, moving his legs heavily in his camp kirz boots. Egor saw the gray hair on the back of his head that had come out from under his hat and thought about how much this man must have experienced during the eight years of camp. Suddenly Kravtsov put his hands in his pockets.
- Put your hands back! - the warden shouted.
Kravtsov did not pay any attention to this scream.
- Are you deaf? Put your hands behind your back!
Kravtsov kept walking with his hands in his pockets.
— Stop walking! - the enraged warden yelled.
And one by one, people meekly reached out to the prison building. Kravtsov kept walking around the yard alone. A warden ran up to him and grabbed him by the sleeve.
— March to the camera!
Kravtsov forcefully tore out his elbow:
— Hands off! Don't you know, you idiot, that a defendant is an inviolable person? I'll walk as long as I was supposed to: fifteen minutes, and he walked on, putting his hands back in his pockets.
Kravtsov was brought to his cell only ten minutes later.
— Why did you want to rebel, Vasily Pakhomych? — asked the chief.
Not everyone should be lambs like you, Kravtsov flashed his eyes. “Why should I keep my hands behind my back if they're freezing?” Why should I stop walking early at the whim of a berk?
— But this is a punishment cell. You will be imprisoned for at least ten days.
Kravtsov shrugged his shoulders:
— Better let me smoke on the track.
In less than an hour, he was called in with his things.
Two weeks later, Kravtsov returned to his cell pale, covered with gray bristles. He was treated to cigarettes and bread.
— Are you compassionate? Vasily Pakhomych smiled crooked. “It's not from the punishment cell that I'm like that.” The interrogations tormented...
He sat down wearily on the bunk beds and paused.
Yes, I can make you happy... When they took me to the punishment cell, they passed by an office with a glazed door, and through it I could see a portrait of Yezhov hanging on the wall. And now, on my way back, I see he's gone. The other one is hanging. And do you know who? Beria.
— What are you saying?!
— It can't be!
— Aren't you mistaken?
— It's done!
— So Stalin found out about lawlessness...
— Now wait for events!
— It has come to Stalin, that's clear.
— Beria is a person close to Stalin; he will restore order.
— Of course, he has broad powers...
— Yes, comrades, we are going through a great moment: it has finally reached Stalin. Stalin found out...
The whole camera was filled with unusual excitement. People hugged each other, shook their hands, shouted “hurrah”, and many of them had tears in their eyes.
— Rabbits! You are rabbits! Kravtsov shouted, blocking the noise, Stalin found out... Stalin had realized... Oh, if only the Tsar Father knew the whole truth! Don't you understand that this is not about Yezhov or Beria...
— But what is it?
Not in what, but in whom, Kravtsov corrected. “There was Yagoda.” He has shot and transferred thousands of people to death. Yezhov took his place. The berry was declared an enemy of the people and liquidated. And the people he imprisoned continue to sit as they were. Now Yezhov has added maybe a hundred times more to them. And so Beria came in. Yezhov is likely to be declared an enemy of the people. And you and I will continue to sit down. Remember my words: nothing will change. Because Yagoda, Yezhov, and Beria are just hands and head, Kravtsov pointed his finger up and fell silent.
There was a painful silence in the cell. Even here in prison, it was scary to hear such speeches. Kostya Myshakin was the first to wake up.
— You are a gloomy person, Vasily Pakhomych. They ruined the whole meal. Don't let poor prisoners even dream.
But no one accepted the joke. People were depressed and silent.
Books were brought to the cell. The chief read all the titles out loud. Hildebrandt was the first to get the right to choose a book in terms of his career, but he never read anything. Kravtsov, as the “youngest” in his cell, had to be content with what was left. And what remains is “The Iliad” in Gnedich's translation.
That's good, Vasily Pakhomych rejoiced. “I would never have mastered this thing in the wild, and now I'll be happy to read it.”
He opened the front page of the heavy volume.
— “Anger, oh goddess, sing Achilles, Peleev's son...” Of the entire Iliad, that was the only line I knew.
Climbing into the bunk beds with his feet, he went into reading and kept reading until lunch.
Homer, Vasily Pakhomych, captured you well, Yegor said.
— You know, this is great! And I would say very topical. How simple and powerful!
After an evening walk, I was supposed to sleep. And if you can't sleep, you can lie with your eyes open, but reading was forbidden, despite the fact that the cell lights were on all night. Vasily Pakhomych, of course, ignored the ban. Soon, the key clanged and the cell door opened.
— Hey, who's wearing a skullcap, stop reading, you're supposed to sleep!
Vasily Pakhomych did not even turn his head towards the vigilant guard.
— They tell you to drop the book! Don't you know the rules? - the warden shouted.
I don't know and don't want to know, Kravtsov replied. “Don't yell, people are sleeping.”
Writing down the name of the obstinate prisoner, the guard, red with rage, slammed the door shut loudly. In the morning, Kravtsov was called in with his belongings.
It's good that I've finished reading the Iliad, Vasily Pakhomych sighed, tying his bag.
A week later, he came back from the punishment cell even more pale and overgrown.
Vasily Pakhomych, you will finish yourself with your stubbornness, Kostya said.
I'm about to die, Kravtsov replied.
— What, were they taken from the punishment cell again for questioning?
Vasily Pakhomych nodded silently.
— And we recently had a shop. Eat bagels, Egor moved his bag of groceries to Kravtsov.
Thank you, Vasily Pakhomych chewed a bagel soaked in boiling water and kept silent. An expression of sadness and a kind of alienation appeared in his eyes. Egor hadn't noticed this before. Suddenly Kravtsov said:
— Scoundrels won't let you live. They won't leave me in this world. They won't leave it!
Egor and Kostya looked at him in confusion, not knowing what to say. Finally, Kostya asked:
— Why do you think so?
— Because I read the indictment. They won't let me live. This is clear. And I loved to live... Oh, it's good to live! Even in hard labor, in camp. In the summer, you will go out to the taiga with your team. You can hear the balsamic smell of pine needles. You see squirrels snooping at cedars. You cross mountain rivers that jump on rocks like young goats. And in winter... What silence it is in the taiga in winter! You shout, and your voice makes snow and fir trees fall off. You thaw the bread on the fire. How delicious it is, bread that smells like fire! But it could happen that I would have spent my whole life in a smoky office on Nogin Square...
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