Just Send Me Word: A True Story of Love and Survival in the Gulag (33 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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Lev was released on 17 July 1954. It was eight years and four months since he had arrived in Pechora, but under the credit system introduced in 1948 he had managed to reduce his ten-year sentence by one year and eight months. In preparation for his departure he had made two wooden suitcases in the workshops, one for his clothes, his linen and other personal items, the other for his tools – the pliers, spanners, hammers and screwdrivers that he would need to work as a mechanic or electrical engineer. With one heavy suitcase in each hand, he left the barracks zone. He was free at last.
But he could not leave right away. First he had to get his exit papers processed by the MVD and this took about a week. While he waited for his papers Lev stayed at the Aleksandrovskys inside the industrial zone, in the same apartment where he had met Sveta in 1947. ‘Send your letters here for the time being, as before, but starting with your next letter, it will be better to send it to Marusia [Maria Aleksandrovskaya],’ Lev had written to warn Sveta not long before his release.
He spent these last days in Pechora saying farewell to his friends and sorting out his things. He packed his books into parcels and sent them to his Uncle Nikita, who had room to store them at his house in Malakhovka. He also went to the market at Kanin, the settlement neighbouring Pechora. On his day trip there he took Igor, the eleven-year-old older son of the Aleksandrovskys, who had never been anywhere out of Pechora. It was very hot, and Igor got a headache on the long walk to Kanin. At the market Lev bought the boy an ice-cream. It was the first time he had ever eaten an ice-cream –an ‘unheard-of delicacy in Pechora’, recalls Igor. While he was enjoying it, a boy dressed in rags began to badger him and would not go away. He could not take his eyes off the miracle of the
ice-cream. Taking pity on the boy, Lev spent the money he had saved so carefully and bought an ice-cream for him too.
ice-cream. Taking pity on the boy, Lev spent the money he had saved so carefully and bought an ice-cream for him too.
Once he had his exit papers, Lev was at last ready to leave Pechora. He said a final farewell to his friends and exited the camp through the main gate of the wood-combine. Carrying his wooden suitcases, he turned left on Moscow Street and then right into Soviet Street, the long main avenue that ran through the town to the station, 4 kilometres from the wood-combine. At the station he waited for the Moscow train coming in from Vorkuta, along the railway built by Gulag prisoners. The MVD had given him a ticket that would enable him to travel all the way to Kalinin, where he had chosen to go in search of a place to live.
Lev’s first aim was to find Sveta. His train arrived in Moscow late at night. It was dark everywhere. From the Yaroslavl station he went to Sveta’s house but ‘the lights in the windows were out’ and he did not want to wake the family. The last train for Malakhovka was about to leave from the Kazan station, so he went there and stayed the night at his Uncle Nikita’s house. The next morning he returned to Moscow and knocked on the door of Sveta’s apartment. He had not been there for thirteen years, since before his departure for the front in 1941. Now, as then, the door was opened by Sveta’s mother. ‘Anastasia Erofeevna, herself ill, said that Aleksandr Alekseevich had had a stroke and that Sveta was with him at the sanatorium,’ recalled Lev. The scene that he had pictured in his head a million times – his knocking on the door of Sveta’s home and her opening it to embrace him – was not to be.
Lev returned to the station and got on a train to Bologovskoe, the nearest stop to the sanatorium at Shirokoe, which he reached on foot. Dressed in the clothes in which he had left Pechora, thin, pale-faced and exhausted from his long train journey in the heat, he had the unmistakable appearance of a newly released prisoner, which attracted the attention of the staff at the sanatorium. Lev found Sveta in the ward with her father. She had wanted them to be alone at this moment. ‘I don’t want our first meeting to take place in front of other people,’ she had written six months earlier. But that did not
matter any more: they were at last together and that was all that counted now. During these first hours Aleksandr was the focus of their emotions. They sat together by his bed. Sveta’s brother, Yara, had joined them at the sanatorium. Lev now felt that he belonged to Sveta’s family. More than fifty years later Lev recalled a moving gesture of kindness that made it clear he had Sveta’s father’s blessing as a son. Aleksandr was in bed. He could not sit up, but beckoned Lev to him. Lev kissed him, and he kissed Lev. Aleksandr told him that he had 30,000 roubles in his savings account – enough to buy a home. ‘That money is for you and Sveta,’ Aleksandr said.
matter any more: they were at last together and that was all that counted now. During these first hours Aleksandr was the focus of their emotions. They sat together by his bed. Sveta’s brother, Yara, had joined them at the sanatorium. Lev now felt that he belonged to Sveta’s family. More than fifty years later Lev recalled a moving gesture of kindness that made it clear he had Sveta’s father’s blessing as a son. Aleksandr was in bed. He could not sit up, but beckoned Lev to him. Lev kissed him, and he kissed Lev. Aleksandr told him that he had 30,000 roubles in his savings account – enough to buy a home. ‘That money is for you and Sveta,’ Aleksandr said.
That evening Lev wrote to Sveta’s mother from the sanatorium. He wrote as if he had been her son-in-law for years:
Dear Anastasia Erofeevna!
Svetka told me to write everything to you just as it is, objectively, which I’m going to try to do. Firstly, Aleksandr Alekseevich was in better form than I expected from your report … He’s in good spirits and making jokes. The clarity of his thoughts and his memory is impeccable but his speech is still causing problems: he speaks somewhat indistinctly, though always coherently. If he wants to emphasize something he articulates the phrase very clearly but with obvious effort.
Svetka is probably exhausted but it’s not noticeable. I think she’s looking well, but I don’t have anything to compare it to. We’ve been given lodgings: Yara is in the 5th dacha, 1
1/2
minutes’ walk away, and I’m here with Aleksandr Alekseevich and Svetka. There haven’t been any complications so far.
1/2
minutes’ walk away, and I’m here with Aleksandr Alekseevich and Svetka. There haven’t been any complications so far.
Svetka thinks she’ll bring Aleksandr Alekseevich home on the 29th if there’s a definite decision about his release by then … It’s rather cool here at the moment with intermittent rain showers, but we’ve been able to drag ourselves out of our room every so often. Svetlana and I tried to set out for some raspberries but were frightened off by the waterlogged bushes and so just settled for a walk for an hour and a half and an overview of the surrounding countryside.
It’s a really beautiful place. It would still leave an enormous
impression on one, even if it wasn’t coming in the wake of such a dramatic change in scenery – and that’s all there is to say for now. Well, it seems as if it’s a full report.
impression on one, even if it wasn’t coming in the wake of such a dramatic change in scenery – and that’s all there is to say for now. Well, it seems as if it’s a full report.
Look after yourself. All of us send all of you our greetings. L.
Three days later, Aleksandr was transferred to a hospital in Moscow, and Sveta went with him while Lev set off for Kalinin, where he was obliged to register his place of residence with the police. It was difficult for them to separate after such a brief reunion. But they knew they were together now.
Before he left Pechora, Lev had found someone to help him get set up in the Kalinin area, a stoker in the workshops who came from nearby Kuzminskoe. He gave Lev the address of a woman who, he said, would put him up. Kuzminskoe was a run-down settlement of fifty houses with a ruined church, a small brook, a pond and a few fields, a half-hour walk from a railway station on the Moscow–Kalinin line. Maria Petrovna and her children lived in a dirty peasant hut with a small orchard garden on the edge of the village. Her eldest son, who was supposed to help Lev find a job, was not there when Lev arrived: it was harvest time and he had left to work on a collective farm. Lev had hoped to rent a room, but the one he was now offered by Maria was so filthy that he chose to stay instead in the hayloft and find another place to live. On 1 August Lev explained his situation to Sveta:
I found the woman quickly but her son, who’s going to help me get settled in K[alinin], is on a kolkhoz until 4 or 5. So I’ll try tomorrow to sort things out myself, get a passport
53
and so on. But today I’m going to go to Kalinin to buy some tea, sweets for the children and spoons and other things for the household where I’m taking refuge for the moment. They’re good people – the mother, from Karelia, about 50–55 years old, and her younger sons, 18 and 14 – but they keep the house according to the principle of indifference and
inattentiveness, so that even I, who am after all used to anything, can hardly bear to stay here any longer than basic politeness requires, which is about 3 days. After that I’ll try to find a place with somebody else in a different hut. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to get a separate room (bearing in mind the most important of our requests). I’m going to consider the situation carefully tomorrow but for now I’ll settle for Maria Petrovna’s hayloft … The area is rather monotonous – near the village at any rate: a field with gently sloping uplands and some emaciated-looking villages every 1 to 2 km. There are gardens in the villages – as in ours – with apples, cherries and berries. Vegetable gardens, obviously. Cherries are 6–7 roubles per kg, cucumbers – 2.50. I was fed with a baked potato and cucumber yesterday and goose eggs and milk today.
53
and so on. But today I’m going to go to Kalinin to buy some tea, sweets for the children and spoons and other things for the household where I’m taking refuge for the moment. They’re good people – the mother, from Karelia, about 50–55 years old, and her younger sons, 18 and 14 – but they keep the house according to the principle of indifference and
inattentiveness, so that even I, who am after all used to anything, can hardly bear to stay here any longer than basic politeness requires, which is about 3 days. After that I’ll try to find a place with somebody else in a different hut. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to get a separate room (bearing in mind the most important of our requests). I’m going to consider the situation carefully tomorrow but for now I’ll settle for Maria Petrovna’s hayloft … The area is rather monotonous – near the village at any rate: a field with gently sloping uplands and some emaciated-looking villages every 1 to 2 km. There are gardens in the villages – as in ours – with apples, cherries and berries. Vegetable gardens, obviously. Cherries are 6–7 roubles per kg, cucumbers – 2.50. I was fed with a baked potato and cucumber yesterday and goose eggs and milk today.
Lev could not begin to look for work until he had a passport, but he had left Pechora before one had been issued by the MVD, so now he had to spend a lot of time trying to get hold of one from the police in Kalinin, a task complicated by the fact that he had none of the required documents to hand except for his birth certificate. ‘As a way out of this vicious circle,’ he wrote to Sveta on 4 August,
I went to the head of the local MVD administration’s passport department yesterday. He was suspicious at first, but then I guess he saw that my face showed nothing but suffering. They can’t decide about authorizing the passport without consulting ‘Moscow’ first. Fortunately, it turned out that one of Moscow’s representatives is here at the moment and they suggested that I call on him. But at the appointed 16:00 hours, another meeting had already started and he put me off until this morning. It’s now 10 o’clock and I’m waiting at the main post office before I go and see him. So that’s what’s happening.
The next day, Lev moved out of the hayloft and became a lodger in a neighbouring house owned by an elderly couple, the Roshchins. He hoped that the move would allow him to register as a resident
with the local soviet and thus qualify for a passport. ‘I’m going to go to the soviet first thing tomorrow morning,’ Lev wrote to Sveta, ‘it’s in a village with the inexplicably evangelical name of Emmaus. We should find out what kind of jokers the landed gentry were who called it that.’ Lev set out on the road to Emmaus. The passport desk was closed, so he was given a receipt and told to come back the next week. The chairwoman of the village soviet, once she found out that he had worked as an electrician, offered him a job at one of the smaller power stations in the area, but Lev rejected the offer, intending to apply for a job instead in Kalinin.
with the local soviet and thus qualify for a passport. ‘I’m going to go to the soviet first thing tomorrow morning,’ Lev wrote to Sveta, ‘it’s in a village with the inexplicably evangelical name of Emmaus. We should find out what kind of jokers the landed gentry were who called it that.’ Lev set out on the road to Emmaus. The passport desk was closed, so he was given a receipt and told to come back the next week. The chairwoman of the village soviet, once she found out that he had worked as an electrician, offered him a job at one of the smaller power stations in the area, but Lev rejected the offer, intending to apply for a job instead in Kalinin.
The delay was frustrating. Lev had been planning to visit Sveta, but the problems with his passport meant that ‘my journey has to be postponed’, as he wrote to Sveta on 7 August.
I called you today (some girl came to the phone) to let you know as soon as possible. My passport will be ready ‘perhaps today after 4 o’clock in the afternoon’, but most likely I won’t have it until the next day the passport desk is open, which is Tuesday. After that it’s supposed to be taken to the village soviet for registration, and from there to the police on the next day they’re open – possibly Wednesday or else Saturday again (the office is open only 3 days a week). What a lot of tedious red tape. Damn those Pechora cretins from the special department.
Meanwhile Lev occupied himself in Kuzminskoe. He liked the Roshchins, but as an urbanite he found their peasant way of life, shared by much of the rural population, strange and primitive. He described it to Sveta:
My old couple – Petr Kuzmich and Marfa Egorovna – are illiterate and childless. Their wooden hut is made up of small anterooms and one large room, approximately 6 × 6 m, with a little kitchen off to the side. It’s relatively clean; in comparison with the previous place it’s even very clean. There is a smell of ammonia – the pigsty is next door (under the same roof which stretches over the interior
courtyard) and doubles as the toilet. This is new to me but, if you believe a certain folk rhyme I heard a long time ago, it is characteristic of villages in Tver. After 20–30 minutes you don’t notice the smell, and you take great pleasure in the silence and spaciousness and the illumination of the table I use for writing (with one window in front and another to the left) and the tranquil nature of the hosts.
courtyard) and doubles as the toilet. This is new to me but, if you believe a certain folk rhyme I heard a long time ago, it is characteristic of villages in Tver. After 20–30 minutes you don’t notice the smell, and you take great pleasure in the silence and spaciousness and the illumination of the table I use for writing (with one window in front and another to the left) and the tranquil nature of the hosts.
The old couple are letting me sleep on a day bed in their main room for 10 roubles a day, with full board, which consists of:
1) Breakfast – eaten with them just like all the other meals – made up of something like potatoes with cucumber, cottage cheese and tea.
2) Lunch – I still don’t know what this consists of.
3) Dinner – either soup or kasha and milk. There’s no tea in the evenings.
They don’t have any bedclothes; laundry wasn’t agreed on but it’s hardly likely that the grandmother is going to do the laundry since she’s 70 and doesn’t work on the kolkhoz. The grandpa repairs saddles on the kolkhoz. He drinks vodka, smokes and has tuberculosis. But on the whole he seems like a good fellow. I should also buy them some knives and forks because all they have in the house is a samovar and a couple of plates and spoons. It’s really quite surprising.
From Kuzminskoe Lev could walk to Kalinin, only 12 kilometres away. He visited the town and reported on its merits as a place to live. He considered it a ‘handsome’ place with lovely squares and streets, well-maintained historical buildings and ‘none of the tasteless mix of styles or pretensions to style of certain buildings on Gorky Street in Moscow, for example’, he wrote to Sveta. The housing situation was not good, however. It was practically impossible to find an apartment. There were many ‘new arrivals’ in the town, released prisoners attracted to Kalinin’s proximity to the Soviet capital. They were paying 7 roubles a day just for a bed in a hostel. Thinking of the money Sveta’s father had given the two of them, Lev wondered about the cost of purchasing a house.
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