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Authors: Orlando Figes
Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag (22 page)
BOOK: Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag
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Lev was concerned for Konstantin Rykalov, a political prisoner and wood-chopper at the power station, a large man who had been a boxer in his youth but had been worn down by the hardships of the camp, eventually becoming incapacitated with an acute form of TB which made it hard for him to breathe. Lev was fond of Rykalov. He described him to Sveta as ‘an educated man, strong, honest to the point of pedantry, and, despite the two years he has spent here, an incorrigible searcher after truth’. Lev went to see Rykalov in the infirmary:
I found him dressed and relaxing in the corridor, complaining that for exercise he’s been chopping wood and quickly getting exhausted. ‘But where on earth is your axe?’ I ask. And he replies: ‘I came across a really bad knot in the wood so I hit it a bit harder and the axe handle broke in half. They’re going to make a new one.’
Rykalov was working to regain his strength and hoping to become an electrician at the power plant with the help of Lev and Semenov. He would visit Lev in his lunch breaks:
Two or three days ago, feeling ashamed by his reproach that I don’t go to see him any more, I paid him a visit and we spent the evening drinking tea. I listened to his reminiscences over a packet of photographs and, although it was all a little alien to me, I didn’t begrudge spending my time that way – firstly because he’s unquestionably a fine fellow with a good heart, who is interesting for his likes and his abilities, and is quiet; and secondly because he’s lonely here, and I know that he finds it easy to talk to me, and this brings him some relief, which makes me feel good because I’ve helped someone. That’s me analysing it now, but at the time I was simply having a nice time.
Rykalov became a stoker in the boiler room of the drying unit, but he could not cope with the heavy work and seriously injured his back (the former boxer had overestimated his physical capacities). Refused access to the infirmary, Rykalov was put into a punishment block after he had been caught smoking in an undesignated place. Given only bread and water, he became very ill and had to be released on the request of a doctor. He was taken to a special zone of the infirmary for TB sufferers and given lighter work duties inside the industrial zone.
Visiting Rykalov in the infirmary, Lev was struck by the kindness of one of the nurses there who was, ‘it seems, not a native here but who inherited the post or has family’. There were many exiled nurses in the infirmaries of Pechora. On 20 April, Lev wrote to Sveta about a medical assistant in the sick-bay of the transit camp called Nina Grin,
a woman in her forties who will be in her fifties when she ends her work trip [i.e. sentence] here. But I think her real name ought to be Grinevskaya. When the patients ask for something to read she gives them
Scarlet Sails
or
Gliding on the Waves
.
36
The patients all love her.
Scarlet Sails
or
Gliding on the Waves
.
36
The patients all love her.
As Lev had evidently guessed, Nina was the widow of the writer Aleksandr Grin (or Grinevsky), whose romantic seafaring fantasies, much read and liked by Lev at just this time, could not have been more removed from the grim realities of the Gulag. After her husband’s death in 1932, Nina had qualified as a medical assistant and worked as a nurse in Feodosia in the Crimea. During the war the Germans sent her to a concentration camp near Breslau. For collaborating with the enemy, she was given ten years in Pechora by the Soviets in 1945.
Another nurse in the transit camp was Svetlana Tukhachevskaya, the daughter of Marshal Tukhachevsky, who had been tried in
secret and shot as a spy in 1937. After the arrest of her father, Svetlana was sent with her mother, brothers and sisters to Astrakhan, and then, when her mother was arrested, she was placed in an orphanage, where she stayed until 1941. In the chaos of the first days of the war she ran away from the orphanage but was tracked down by the NKVD and sentenced to five years in Pechora. She was taken off the list of prisoners and hidden in the infirmary by one of the doctors, a repressed German national named Agata Rempel, who saw that Svetlana, a beautiful young woman, then aged twenty-four, and the daughter of a famous Soviet marshal, would not survive if left to fend for herself among the prisoners. Svetlana worked in the infirmary and lived in various houses in the town, where she was taken in by voluntary workers who concealed her whereabouts.
secret and shot as a spy in 1937. After the arrest of her father, Svetlana was sent with her mother, brothers and sisters to Astrakhan, and then, when her mother was arrested, she was placed in an orphanage, where she stayed until 1941. In the chaos of the first days of the war she ran away from the orphanage but was tracked down by the NKVD and sentenced to five years in Pechora. She was taken off the list of prisoners and hidden in the infirmary by one of the doctors, a repressed German national named Agata Rempel, who saw that Svetlana, a beautiful young woman, then aged twenty-four, and the daughter of a famous Soviet marshal, would not survive if left to fend for herself among the prisoners. Svetlana worked in the infirmary and lived in various houses in the town, where she was taken in by voluntary workers who concealed her whereabouts.
On 2 July 1949, the Party leaders of the wood-combine met to discuss how to carry out an MVD decree (No. 10190) calling for stricter isolation of the prisoners. Nothing had been done to implement the decree since it had been issued in March 1947. There were no systematic searches of the prisoners and their barracks, so all sorts of things were smuggled in and out of the prison zone. There was still no proper segregation between the industrial zone and the settlement of free workers. The guards at the main guard-house were corrupt and took bribes to let goods and people through. Many of the guards were in cahoots with the prisoners in the black market: a prisoner called Liashuk was a skilled tailor who made clothes for many of the guards; another, Kozarinov, was a cook who made them meals. There was even a black market in ‘government secrets’ (official documents) stolen from the headquarters of the MVD inside the settlement and sold to the prisoners, some of whom got hold of their personal files and forged alterations to the articles of their sentence or even changed the date of their release.
The upshot of the meeting was a new system of passes; stricter controls on visits; more searches of the barracks; the prohibition of military uniforms (which were still worn by some prisoners); the ending of dry rations (which could be used in an escape); the repair
of the perimeter barbed-wire fence (which had several holes in it); the clearing of the bushes between the fence and the windmill (where axes, pliers, saws and other tools had been thrown from the bushes into the barracks zone); the increased manning of the watch-towers (three of which had been left unguarded for several months); and finally, after a year of discussion, the construction of a fence and new guard-house between the settlement and the industrial zone.
of the perimeter barbed-wire fence (which had several holes in it); the clearing of the bushes between the fence and the windmill (where axes, pliers, saws and other tools had been thrown from the bushes into the barracks zone); the increased manning of the watch-towers (three of which had been left unguarded for several months); and finally, after a year of discussion, the construction of a fence and new guard-house between the settlement and the industrial zone.
‘How it’s going to work out this year with the visit I just don’t know,’ Lev wrote to Sveta. ‘The new procedures offer no comfort.’ Once again, Sveta was determined not to be put off from trying to see Lev: ‘The decision made little sense last year, but victors are never judged.
37
I’ve been coping so far, but fortune might not always smile on the brave.’
37
I’ve been coping so far, but fortune might not always smile on the brave.’
This year there were added complications. The institute did not have the funds to send her on a trip just to Kirov, but Tsydzik did not want to lose her for a month by letting her inspect the factories ‘along the entire route’ – in Omsk and Sverdlovsk and Kirov – which would justify the costs but jeopardize the institute’s fulfilment of the plan, because Sveta was needed to direct the latest research projects in the laboratory. By 4 July, Sveta had secured a work trip to Omsk and Sverdlovsk, from where she hoped to travel on to Pechora, but nothing was for sure: a colleague, who had got the Kirov trip, was being slow in going there, and Sveta could not leave until she had returned.
Three weeks later, Sveta’s colleague had still not left for Kirov, and she was now resigned to coming out to see him during a week’s holiday in the autumn, ‘which up to now has been a lucky time’. Lev had warned her that the tighter rules were restricting visits to ‘between 30 minutes and two hours with the usual “dressing” [code for: in the presence of a guard]’. Litvinenko’s mother had visited in
June. Even after paying bribes, she had been given just three meetings of three hours on her own with Nikolai. Lileev’s father had been no more successful, receiving only two meetings of the same duration with his son. In a coded letter, in case it fell into the hands of the authorities, Sveta asked Lev to send her more details about the risks and chances of success of bribing guards with vodka (‘vitamin C’)
38
or money (‘vitamin D’) to gain more time or privacy. ‘Wives are more interesting to me than mothers,’ Sveta wrote, underlining her desire to see Lev in a situation where they might be on their own, ‘but then I’m purely interested in the practical issue of where meetings can take place.’ In his equally coded reply, Lev warned Sveta not to build up expectations of achieving much by paying bribes:
June. Even after paying bribes, she had been given just three meetings of three hours on her own with Nikolai. Lileev’s father had been no more successful, receiving only two meetings of the same duration with his son. In a coded letter, in case it fell into the hands of the authorities, Sveta asked Lev to send her more details about the risks and chances of success of bribing guards with vodka (‘vitamin C’)
38
or money (‘vitamin D’) to gain more time or privacy. ‘Wives are more interesting to me than mothers,’ Sveta wrote, underlining her desire to see Lev in a situation where they might be on their own, ‘but then I’m purely interested in the practical issue of where meetings can take place.’ In his equally coded reply, Lev warned Sveta not to build up expectations of achieving much by paying bribes:
You probably already received advice about three days ago from I. S. [Lileev’s father] on the various technical matters and have realized that even optimum conditions don’t promise much chance of success. Fermentation using preparation D or its organic equivalent [alcohol] helps very little. In any case, it cannot change the details of space and time [how long or where a meeting could take place], and at best can only reduce the number of components [get the guard to leave the room], and even then not always. That’s how it is. Statistics show that you’re right, wives are less interested in their husbands than mothers are in their sons. According to local data, the ratio of the first to the second is zero, so there’s no specific information regarding the first case. But it’s unlikely it will be any different from the second.
Sveta was not to be deterred by the difficulties or by the likelihood that she would be able to see Lev for only a few hours, if at all. ‘It might be possible to think of a more “interesting” holiday option,’ she wrote to Lev, ‘but I won’t be capable of any kind of “relaxation” if I don’t have a meeting with you behind me.’
I wonder why others are so scared of brevity and prefer nothing to having just a little, whereas it seems to me that 3 hours is better than nothing at all. Maybe it’s bitterness? I think I’m able to decide for myself whether something’s better for me than nothing. And for you as well. What is easier for you, Levi? After all, we will have a chance to see each other, isn’t that right? And to touch – to make sure we exist in reality and not just in letters. That is surely better than nothing. But maybe I am taking on too much in deciding this for you.
Lev replied:
It doesn’t matter how long our meeting is, as long as we see each other. That is not in question here. It won’t make it any more painful for me to wait for you afterwards. And even if it is painful, it will still be better, better because there will be the certainty that it not only
was
but still
is
and may still be in the future – but at any rate
it is
. And if I never mention this, it is because I think it is selfish, a form of indirect pressure when it shouldn’t even be mentioned at all. It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Sveta, so please don’t be angry.
was
but still
is
and may still be in the future – but at any rate
it is
. And if I never mention this, it is because I think it is selfish, a form of indirect pressure when it shouldn’t even be mentioned at all. It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Sveta, so please don’t be angry.
In August, an opportunity arose for Sveta to travel to Ukhta, a Gulag-dominated industrial town near Izhma on the railway between Kotlas and Pechora. The factory had asked the institute to send a specialist to check the work of its laboratory, and Tsydzik had selected Sveta for the job. He had no idea where Ukhta was: when he had informed her that she would have to go there instead of Omsk, he had apologized for having spoilt her plans to travel to Pechora to see Lev. ‘I asked Mikhail Aleksandrovich if he knew where Ukhta was,’ recalled Sveta, ‘that it was barely 250 km from Pechora, and that I could think of nothing more ideal, as long as he didn’t worry if I came back two or three days late from my work trip.’ Sveta left by train for Ukhta on 30 August, and spent at least a week there, staying in a village near the factory. When she had done her work, the factory officials suggested that she fly back to
Moscow – there was a flight about to leave from the airport at Ukhta – but Sveta said she would prefer to go by train. ‘They took me by car to the station [at Izhma],’ recalled Sveta, ‘and I tried my hardest to persuade them that there was no need for them to wait for me to get on to the train. Luckily the train for Moscow and the one from Moscow going to Pechora arrived in Izhma almost simultaneously. ’ Once her hosts had disappeared, Sveta bought a ticket for the northbound train and climbed on board.
Moscow – there was a flight about to leave from the airport at Ukhta – but Sveta said she would prefer to go by train. ‘They took me by car to the station [at Izhma],’ recalled Sveta, ‘and I tried my hardest to persuade them that there was no need for them to wait for me to get on to the train. Luckily the train for Moscow and the one from Moscow going to Pechora arrived in Izhma almost simultaneously. ’ Once her hosts had disappeared, Sveta bought a ticket for the northbound train and climbed on board.
In Pechora, Sveta stayed with Boris Arvanitopulo and his wife, Vera, with whom she had stayed the year before. She was in Pechora from 9 to 12 September but this time she had far less time with Lev –probably no more than a couple of hours, and in the presence of a guard, either in the main guard-house or in the smaller one where they had met the previous year. As Lev had warned, the tightening of security had made it practically impossible to get more time, even with a bribe. But both of them were heartened by the brief meeting – it made the separation of the coming months less difficult to bear – and that made her trip worthwhile. To be with Lev for this short time she had made a round trip of 4,340 kilometres.
Sveta left the Arvanitopulos in the early morning of 12 September. That evening she posted a letter from the station at Tobys’, just south of Ukhta:
My darling Lev, the journey is fine.
Give my thanks to Zhaba [Aleksandrovich].
39
I didn’t go anywhere yesterday evening, I just got changed, collected my things and went to bed at 10 o’clock. Vera woke me up at 4 – it was already getting light. There was nobody at the ticket window and I managed to get a ticket only when a delayed northern train pulled in and pandemonium broke out – everyone had to buy a ticket or get one stamped at Pechora. I gave Boris 125 for the transfer and Vera 50. She refused, of course, but then she took it readily. I promised to send her a pattern for a fashionable flared skirt and she is still planning to send
money for a fur coat. I tried to convince her to buy it herself when she is on holiday. But my chief hope is that she’s not able to save the money up …
39
I didn’t go anywhere yesterday evening, I just got changed, collected my things and went to bed at 10 o’clock. Vera woke me up at 4 – it was already getting light. There was nobody at the ticket window and I managed to get a ticket only when a delayed northern train pulled in and pandemonium broke out – everyone had to buy a ticket or get one stamped at Pechora. I gave Boris 125 for the transfer and Vera 50. She refused, of course, but then she took it readily. I promised to send her a pattern for a fashionable flared skirt and she is still planning to send
money for a fur coat. I tried to convince her to buy it herself when she is on holiday. But my chief hope is that she’s not able to save the money up …
I saw Lev Yak. [Izrailevich] in Kozhva … I think he looks just the same …
Passing Ukhta and Izhma, I felt almost as if I were passing through my own home town, it looked so familiar. The village was mostly visible from the train but not the factory – it’s behind the hill. The sun is already setting and they’re promising a 30-minute stop, so I’ll be able to send you this letter.
Look after yourself, my darling.
BOOK: Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag
10.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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