Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag (31 page)

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Authors: Orlando Figes

BOOK: Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag
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you mustn’t turn down the opportunity of a holiday in the Altai or in Erevan, whatever the circumstances … All other routes [i.e., to Pechora] are too complicated; if we have to wait another year, or a year and a half at most, we can do that. It’s not so bad any more, Sveta.
In some ways, it was Lev who was supporting Sveta through this last year or so of separation. Their roles had changed. Despite his anxieties, Lev was getting stronger as conditions in the labour camp improved and the date of his release approached, while she was increasingly exhausted from coping with her parents and her work.
At the start of August, for the first time in her life, Sveta found herself in hospital. She had septicaemia and was running a fever. When she had recovered, she took Lev’s advice and went on a walking holiday in the Altai. She wanted to travel to Pechora afterwards, but did not feel up to it. Lev was anxious about her.
Svetloe, thanks to our postal system and the delivery of your telegram, I wasn’t as frightened as I should have been by Aunt Katya’s letter about your illness. That’s also why your letters from the hospital didn’t throw me into more of a panic. Still, I’m just a little
worried that you might suffer a relapse of this incomprehensible ailment during your travels.
It was agonizing for him to go so long without seeing her, but he found a paradoxical consolation in the wait:
Sveta, increasingly I want to say all kinds of needless – and perhaps even hurtful – words to you, and I’m always trying to hold my tongue. About how it is so difficult seeing your face only in a photograph for such a long time. And how the very fact that it’s difficult is a source of joy. And how it becomes even more difficult with each passing year and therefore all the more joyful. And how, consequently, time and distance are not only able to destroy what there is but also to nourish it.
Writing on 22 September, around the time of her previous visits to Pechora, he begged her not to feel bad about missing yet another year. By this time he expected to be released in November 1954. He told her to be strong:
Sveta, my darling, you must not take yourself to task – don’t put at risk your future or happiness, or your health. You mustn’t tear yourself to pieces with journeys, work trips, caring for your mother, your father, domestic chores, and your own problems. All the more so, since the administrative scoundrels here are this year four times more stupid, bureaucratic and malicious than before. Svetin, when all is said and done, there are only 14 months to go – that’s not so many any more. Try to be healthy, Sveta, and don’t torment yourself with doubts and worries.
Sveta replied:
Of course, Lev, it’s 14 months, not 14 years, to go. And in my brighter moments I remember this, but when I’m feeling bad – then it’s bad. One shouldn’t tear oneself to pieces, but one should be able to do
things quickly, easily, successfully, without so much effort. And that I haven’t managed to do.
For the moment her main task was to plan for Lev’s release, to think about where they might build a life together. Lev would learn his options only when he received his release papers from the MVD – they would state the towns in which he could not live – but it was unlikely that he would be permitted to return to Moscow (newly released prisoners were nearly always barred from living closer than 100 kilometres to any of the major cities). The further away from the capital he settled, the easier it would be to find work that made use of his scientific skills, but the harder it would be for Sveta to see him, unless she left her parents in Moscow.
Lev and Sveta had discussed these issues as early as 1949. At that time she had suggested he might think about Poltava, in Ukraine, or some other town in the provinces, where he might find work as a teacher and where she could join him:
Levi, why do you dismiss the idea of teaching? I don’t know how it is around Poltava, but in my opinion the more remote places offer more opportunities. Obviously, Levi, I’m not planning to talk seriously about such topics now, since we know absolutely nothing about how things will be in half a dozen years.
52
Maybe everything will be the same but maybe it won’t, and maybe we won’t, either. If it’s the same, then you know I’m ready for any possibility – only ideally with snow.
By the end of 1953, Sveta had come to favour Yaroslavl, which she had visited on a work trip to inspect a factory. It was only a night’s journey from Moscow – so she could see her parents easily – and it had industries in which both of them could be employed. She wrote to Lev from the northern Volga city on 15 December:
Yaroslavl is a nice town – not as rural as Omsk is. It’s a city with long, straight streets, a decent number of boulevards and gardens, and 2-to 3-storey buildings. There are 4-storey ones in the centre and near the factory. The people aren’t so provincial, at least I didn’t see any preposterous dresses at the theatre or any garishly made-up girls. They don’t go to the theatre wearing boots and don’t chew sunflower seeds. Provisions are also better here. There are lots of dairy products – both at the market and in the shops (cheese, cottage cheese, sour cream and cream). The situation with meat is not so good, but there are all the vegetables you could possibly want, and there’s always kasha, flour, sugar and confectionery, etc. There are even different kinds of wine (not just one vermouth, as in Omsk). The bread is really good and tasty and people eat well in the cafeterias.
Voronezh was another alternative. Four hundred kilometers south of Moscow, it was twice as far away as Yaroslavl, but it had some advantages, and Tsydzik recommended it. Sveta wrote to Lev on 10 December:
M. A. says that Voronezh is better than Yar-l, that the climate is milder (which I’m not sure about – summers there are very hot), that there’s always a light breeze, and no smell of rubber in the air (the factories are located outside the centre) as there is in Yaroslavl. I’ll have a look at Voronezh in the spring or the summer. It takes about 10 hours to get there (also a night journey). Papa used to like Voronezh – he and Mama quite seriously discussed resettling there (before the war).
‘I’ve been told good things about Voronezh,’ Lev replied, ‘but I think that while your parents haven’t yet resolved to settle there themselves, we should make sure that getting to them, that is, to Moscow, won’t take any longer than from morning to evening or from evening to morning.’ Lev was pessimistic about the possibility of actually living with Sveta and did not want to settle so far away that it became a burden for her to travel between him and her parents.
Sveta discussed the idea of Voronezh with relatives and friends. ‘So, Levi,’ she wrote on 19 January,
no matter whom I ask about which is better, Voronezh or Yaroslavl, everybody without a moment’s hesitation answers Voronezh. First, it has a lot of educational institutions, which inevitably leave their mark on a town, and it has more culture as well. Apparently the people are more friendly than in Yaroslavl. The streets are more beautiful. It’s warmer. I don’t know whether the latter is a plus or not. It seems that winters there are still winters. I’d be sorry if that wasn’t the case. I really love winter. But it would undoubtedly be quite hot there in the summer.
And the minuses: it’s twice as far and, although it’s been restored [it was badly damaged in the war], there is still so much damage that it will probably be more difficult to find a place to live, although everyone from here [the institute] who got a job at the factory was given a room and some even got an apartment. They have more need of engineers, so they’ll probably take greater care of them. I’m making wild guesses, though.
Lev favoured Yaroslavl – it was closer to Moscow – though his main concern was not to be a burden on anybody and to track down his university diploma so he could get his career back on track. ‘As regards the possibility of settling in Yaroslavl,’ he wrote to Sveta,
I still have no definite information. Many have been forced to settle in the outskirts of similar towns. But others live in places like Lvov. It’s unclear what accounts for the difference – whether it’s the whim of those in charge or personal resources, including the ability to make use of vitamins [pay bribes]. In any case, I think it will be possible to settle some 10 to 15 km from Yar[oslavl]. I can base myself at friends of Nikolai [a prisoner at the wood-combine], where I’ll be able to leave my suitcase and spend a few nights until I find myself a corner and somewhere to work. Regarding the latter: I don’t want and I’m not going to visit family or friends before I’ve found work
and a place to live. I can’t count on anybody finding my diploma. I think the best thing would be for me to get it myself, once I’ve got myself organized wherever God is going to send me. In the meantime I’ll look for work as a fitter or something else in any electrical facility, with no requirements except ≥ 500–600 roubles a month. With the diploma in hand, I’ll be able to get different work – in the same enterprise or department – or leave to go somewhere else … This ‘transition period’, I imagine, could last 6 months to a year.
Lev had already warned Sveta that during this ‘transition period’ he would be able to visit her only occasionally for a few hours at a time. It was unlikely that the terms of his release would allow him to spend more than twenty-four consecutive hours in Moscow, and if he found a job in a provincial town, he would have to work six days a week, like everybody else in the Soviet Union. But he was hopeful that ‘further down the line’, once he had obtained his diploma and got a better job, he might ‘finally be allowed to return home’. Until then, Lev was adamant that Sveta remain with her parents. Having waited all these years to be reunited with her, he had learned to be patient.
My darling Sveta, the things I’m going to write now are only tentative thoughts so don’t get upset if you think that something is not as it should be. Sooner or later, in one way or another, we’ll find something that’s not too bad. But if it’s not completely wonderful – well, it can’t be helped. It will still be better than what we had before or have now. Sveta, of course you need to be near your mama and not just in case she or your papa becomes worse – how they are at the moment is bad enough; and your departure might cause their conditions to worsen … Which means there’s really only one solution – for me to try to find work as close to you as possible so that if we can’t be together all the time we can at least be together for one day out of seven. And that’s already infinitely better than it’s been for the past 13 years.
Lev’s hopes were raised by the early thaw of 1954. ‘Spring has been here for three days now,’ he wrote on 25 March. ‘After the freshly fallen snow of the day before yesterday, everything is already grey and muddy and our feet keep sinking in.’ This year Lev found promise in the spring. The release of prisoners was gaining momentum, and he was expecting to be free at some point in the next months. The prospect of release got him citing poetry, Pushkin in particular:
In the hope of glory and good
I look ahead without fear.
Sveta, too, was buoyed by the anticipation of Lev’s return. ‘My darling, ’ she wrote, ‘I’ve been planning to tell you how good I’ve been feeling lately; I’m being kind to everyone. My spirits are so high. I feel as if you’d greeted me this morning, as you used to do, on my way to catch the tram, and that we still had the whole evening ahead of us.’
Where and how would they meet at last? Sveta wanted Lev all to herself for the first few days. To make that happen she was prepared to travel anywhere, even to Pechora to collect him and bring him home. ‘I can imagine,’ she wrote to him, ‘that eventually I’ll be able to leave you for a month or two, but right now I don’t want to let you out of my sight, even for an hour.’
You must tell me if I should come for you. If I do, then later on I’ll be able to hand you over to all the aunts for whole minutes at a time … There’s no reason for you to be on your own, ever. I could see to that – I could walk behind you everywhere, I’d be like a tail, but at least I wouldn’t be worried about losing you again. I don’t want our first meeting to take place in front of other people and I’m not making an exception for anybody – not for your aunts, or my parents, or any friends. I have a horrible nature.
Lev too wanted to see Sveta straight away. He hoped to come to Moscow directly from Pechora, ‘if only for a day or two’, he wrote to her on 10 May, ‘and only to see you’.
Lev was pessimistic about his chances of returning to Moscow on a more permanent basis. To live in Moscow he would need a ‘clean’ passport, which could be obtained only if he was officially rehabilitated or received a pardon on his release, but there was little hope of either. ‘I don’t think – as far as I understand the essence of the matter – that any efforts at the present time will produce anything positive,’ he had written to Sveta on 11 April. ‘Complete rehabilitation is impossible and a pardon won’t provide any benefits for the future, if previous convictions aren’t removed.’ Lev had no illusions that his crime against the state could be negated by appeal. Even if the full facts of his conduct in the war had been taken into account at his trial in 1945, he now thought, he would still have been convicted, albeit with a shorter sentence, since he had allowed himself to be used as a translator in the German camps. The fact that he had been sentenced would remain on his passport.
Lev’s acceptance of his partial guilt was something new in his thinking. In their earlier discussions of an appeal (in 1946–7) he had not acknowledged it or used it in his arguments against Sveta’s suggestion that they try to get his sentence overturned. Perhaps the long years in the camp had worn him down to the point of accepting the injustice done to him. They had certainly taught him that there was nothing special about his own situation. There were many others just like him. ‘I could apply for a change in circumstances if I thought I could make a case as a war hero, let’s say, or at least of having merited a medal,’ he explained to Sveta on 10 May.

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