Kolyma Tales (55 page)

The experiment in Berezniki was conducted by Berzin.
^*
It was not, of course, his personal invention. Berzin could always be counted on to carry out other people’s ideas, whether or not they involved the shedding of blood. Berzin was also the director of the Vishera Chemical Factory. Filippov was his subordinate in the camps, but the Vishera camp, which encompassed both Berezniki and Solikamsk with its potassium mines, was enormous. Berezniki alone had three or four thousand people.

It was here that the question of the camps’ very existence was decided. Only after the Vishera experiment was judged profitable by the higher-ups did the camps spread all over the Soviet Union. No region was without a camp, no construction site was without convicts. It was only after Vishera that the number of prisoners in the country reached twelve million. Vishera blazed the trail to new areas of confinement. The prisons were handed over to the NKVD, the secret police, whose feats were sung by poets, playwrights, and film producers. Engrossed in his
Kara-Bugaz
, Paustovsky saw none of this.

Toward the end of 1931 I shared a room in the hotel with a young engineer by the name of Levin. He worked at the Berezniki Chemical Factory as an interpreter for the German engineers. When I asked Levin why he worked as a simple interpreter for a salary of only 300 old-style rubles a month when he was a chemical engineer, he answered: ‘It’s better this way. I don’t have any responsibility. The factory opening might be delayed for the tenth time, and a hundred people might be arrested, but that doesn’t concern me, because I’m just a translator. Besides, I don’t have much to do, so I have all the free time I need, and I make good use of it.’ Levin smiled.

I smiled back.

‘You don’t understand?’

‘No.’

‘Haven’t you noticed that I don’t get back till morning?’

‘No, I never noticed.’

‘You’re not very observant. I have a job that brings me all the money I need.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I play cards.’

‘Cards?’

‘Yes, poker.’

‘With foreigners?’

‘Why should I play with foreigners? The only thing I could get out of that would be a court trial.’

‘With Russians?’

‘Of course. There are a lot of bachelors here. And the stakes are high. So I have all the money I need. I get along fine and thank my father every day. He taught me to play poker. Want to try? I’ll teach you in no time at all.’

‘No thanks.’

I’ve inserted Levin by accident. I just can’t get started on the story of Mr Popp.

The work of the American firm was moving along at a rapid pace, the order was a large one, and the vice-director decided to come to Russia himself. M. Granovsky, director of the Berezniki Chemical Factory, was informed in advance a thousand times of Mr Popp’s arrival. Granovsky decided that diplomatic protocol would not permit him to go in person to meet Mr Popp. After all, Granovsky was a Party member of long standing, construction chief of the largest project undertaken during the first five-year plan, and he ranked higher than the American businessman. It just wasn’t proper. So Granovsky decided to meet him in his office, and not at the railroad station, Usolye, later renamed Berezniki.

Granovsky knew that the American guest was arriving by special train – just a locomotive and one car. Three days in advance the chief of construction was informed by telegram from Moscow of the arrival time at the Usolye station.

The protocol of meeting was worked out beforehand: the chief of construction’s personal car was to be sent to pick up the guest and take him directly to the hotel for foreigners. For the past three days, the director of the hotel, a party lackey by the name of Tsyplyakov, had been keeping the best room vacant. After freshening up and having breakfast, Mr Popp was to be brought to the office where the business part of the meeting had been scheduled to the minute.

The special train with the guest from beyond the seas was to arrive at nine in the morning, and on the previous evening Granovsky’s personal chauffeur had been called up, instructed, and sworn at repeatedly.

‘Comrade supervisor, maybe I ought to take the car to the station the night before and spend the night there,’ the chauffeur fretted.

‘Nothing doing. We have to show them that we do everything to the minute. The train whistle blows, and you pull up just as the train pulls in. That’s the only way to do things.’

‘Yes, sir, comrade supervisor.’

To rehearse the plan, the car was sent empty to the station ten times, and the exhausted chauffeur calculated the exact speed and time. On the night before Mr Popp’s arrival, Granovsky’s chauffeur fell asleep and dreamt he was on trial…

The chief of construction hadn’t honored the garage man with any confidential chats; he awakened the chauffeur when the phone rang with a call from the station.

Granovsky was an active man. He arrived in his office at six a.m. that day, conducted two meetings, and issued three official reprimands. He listened closely to every tiny noise from below, opened the curtains, and peered out the window at the road. There was no guest from beyond the seas.

At nine-thirty the man on duty, the chief of construction, called from the station. Granovsky picked up the receiver and heard a rasping voice with a strong foreign accent. The voice expressed surprise that Mr Popp was inadequately received. There was no car. Mr Popp asked that one be sent.

Granovsky fell into a satanic rage. Rushing down the stairs two at a time, he reached the garage, breathing heavily.

‘Your chauffeur left at seven-thirty, comrade supervisor.’

‘What do you mean at seven-thirty?’

At that moment the car horn honked, and the chauffeur stepped over the threshold of the garage with a drunken grin.

‘What the hell are you doing, you…’

But the chauffeur explained. At seven-thirty the Moscow passenger train had arrived. The head of bookkeeping, Grozovsky, had arrived on it with his family from their vacation and, as always, had taken Granovsky’s car. The chauffeur tried to explain about Mr Popp, but Grozovsky replied that it was all a mistake, that he knew nothing about any of it. He ordered that the car be sent directly to the station, and the chauffeur went after him. The chauffeur thought the whole business with the foreigner had been canceled, and, besides, what with all these Grozovskys and Granovskys, he didn’t know whom to obey. So they all went to the new settlement four kilometers from the station where Grozovsky’s new apartment was located. The chauffeur helped them carry in their things, and they treated him to some vodka.

‘We’ll talk about this later. We’ll see who’s important – Grozovsky or Granovsky? But for now get your ass down to the station.’

The chauffeur screeched into the station just before ten. Mr Popp was not in a good mood.

The chauffeur, too drunk even to recognize the road, nevertheless rushed Mr Popp straight to the hotel for foreigners. Mr Popp was shown his room, where he washed up, changed clothes, and calmed down.

Now the nervous one was Tsyplyakov, commandant of the hotel. That was his title – not ‘director’ or ‘administrator’ but ‘commandant’. I don’t know whether it took more pull to get that position than, say, ‘director of the water-tower’, but that was the title of his position.

Mr Popp’s secretary appeared on the threshold of the commandant’s office: ‘Mr Popp would like breakfast.’

The hotel commandant put two large unwrapped pieces of candy, two sandwiches with preserves and two with sausage, and two glasses of watery tea on a tray and took it to Mr Popp’s room.

The secretary immediately brought the tray back out and set it on the table in the corridor. He was certain Mr Popp would never eat that.

Tsyplyakov rushed off to report to the chief of construction, but Granovsky already knew everything – he had been informed by telephone.

‘You old bitch,’ Granovsky roared into the receiver. ‘You’re shaming me and the government. You just lost your job! This time you’ll learn what work means! I’ll send you to shovel sand in the quarries! Saboteurs! Bastards! You’ll rot in the camps!’

The gray-haired Tsyplyakov waited for his boss to get his fill of swearing and thought to himself: ‘He’ll probably do it too.’

It was time to begin the business part of the meeting, and Granovsky calmed down a little. The firm had done good work at the site. Gasholders had been installed in Berezniki and Solikamsk. Mr Popp was sure to want to see Solikamsk. That was why he had come, and he had no wish to give the impression that he was upset. Why, he wasn’t upset at all. Surprised, maybe, but that was a trivial matter.

Casting aside his diplomatic reservations and canceling all his meetings, Granovsky accompanied Mr Popp personally to the construction site. Granovsky also accompanied Mr Popp to Solikamsk and returned with him. The appropriate documents were signed, and a gratified Mr Popp was ready to return home to America.

‘I have some extra time,’ Mr Popp said to Granovsky. ‘I’ve saved two weeks, thanks to the excellent work of our engineers.’ Here he paused, then continued: ‘And yours too. The Kama is a beautiful river, and I’d like to take a boat trip down it to Perm – or, maybe, to Nizhny Novgorod. Is that possible?’

‘Of course,’ Granovsky said.

‘Can I rent a boat?’

‘No. Our system of government is different from yours, Mr Popp.’

‘Could I buy one?’

‘No, you can’t buy one either.’

‘Well, I guess I can understand that I can’t buy a passenger ship. That might hinder navigation on an important body of water. But how about a tug? Something like that
Chaika
over there?’ Mr Popp pointed at a tug passing by the windows of the chief of construction’s office.

‘No, a tug is out of the question too. You have to understand…’

‘Yes, I’ve heard a lot… Buying one would be the simplest way. I’d leave it in Perm. I’d make a present of it to you.’

‘No, Mr Popp, we can’t accept such gifts.’

‘But what can I do then? It’s absurd. Here we have summer and beautiful weather. This is one of the finest rivers in the world. It’s a real Volga – I read about it. Besides, I have the time. And I can’t leave. Ask Moscow.’

‘Moscow’s far away,’ Granovsky quoted from habit.

‘Well, you decide. I’m your guest. I’ll do whatever you think best.’

Granovsky asked for a half-hour to think things over. He summoned to his office the chief of navigation and Ozols, the local head of the OGPU (the secret police). Granovsky told them about Mr Popp’s desire.

There were only two passenger ships that passed Berezniki –
The Red Urals
and
The Red Tataria
. They connected Cherdyn and Perm. Mironov said that
The Red Urals
was far downstream and couldn’t arrive with any speed. Farther upstream,
The Red Tataria
was approaching Cherdyn. If she turned around right away and made no stops, she could be in Berezniki tomorrow. ‘Your boys would have to help out, Ozols.’ In a word, Mr Popp could have his trip.

‘Get on the telegraph, and tell your boys to get moving. Let one of them get on the boat to make sure they don’t stop off somewhere and waste time. Tell them it’s an important government assignment.’

Ozols contacted Annov, Cherdyn’s dock, and
The Red Tataria
left Cherdyn.

‘Get a move on!’

‘We are.’

The chief of construction visited Mr Popp at his hotel, where the commandant had already been replaced. He announced that a passenger boat would arrive at about two o’clock the next day and would have the privilege of taking an honored guest on board.

‘No,’ Mr Popp said. ‘Give me the exact time so I won’t have to wait around on shore.’

‘At five o’clock then. I’ll send a car for your things at four o’clock.’

At five o’clock Granovsky, Mr Popp, and his secretary arrived at the landing. There was no boat.

Granovsky excused himself and rushed off to the OGPU telegraph.

‘They haven’t even reached Icher yet.’

Granovsky groaned. Icher was at least two hours away.

‘Maybe we ought to return to the hotel and have a snack. We’ll come back when the boat arrives,’ Granovsky suggested.

‘You mean breakfast,’ Mr Popp said expressively. ‘No thank you. It’s a beautiful day with a great sun and sky. We’ll wait here on shore.’

Granovsky remained at the landing with his guest, smiled, made small talk, and kept glancing toward the promontory upstream, where the boat was to appear.

In the meantime Ozols and his men were on the telegraph demanding that things be speeded up.

At eight o’clock
The Red Tataria
appeared from behind the promontory and slowly approached the landing. Granovsky smiled, expressed his thanks, and said goodbye. Mr Popp returned the thanks without a trace of a smile.

As the boat approached the landing, there occurred the difficulty, the delay that almost sent Granovsky and his weak heart to the grave. The difficulty was resolved by the experienced and efficient chief of the regional office, Ozols.

The boat was packed with passengers. These crafts did not run frequently, and there were so many people on board that all the decks, all the cabins, and even the engine room was full. There was no room on
The Red Tataria
for Mr Popp. Not only were all the cabin tickets sold, but each contained secretaries of regional committees, shop supervisors, and directors of important factories going to Perm for the holidays.

Granovsky felt that he was about to lose consciousness, but Ozols was more experienced in such matters. He went up to the top deck with four of his men, all armed and in uniform.

‘Everybody get off! Take your things with you!’

‘But we have tickets! To Perm!’

‘To hell with you and your tickets! Go down below, to the hold. You have three minutes to think it over.’

‘The guards will travel with you to Perm, I’ll explain along the way.’

Five minutes later, Mr Popp stepped on to the empty deck of
The Red Tataria
.