Photograph: Andre Durand/AFP/Getty Images
“First they arrested my wife. She went to the theater and didn’t come back. I got home from work and found my son sleeping on a little rug in the hall next to the cat. He’d waited and waited for Mama until he finally fell asleep. My wife worked at a shoe factory. She was a Red engineer. “Something strange is going on,” she’d told me. “They’ve taken all my friends. For some kind of treason…” “You and I are innocent, so no one is coming for us.” I was sure of it. Absolutely positive…Sincerely! I was a Leninist, then a Stalinist. Until 1937, I was a Stalinist. I believed everything Stalin said and did. Yes…The greatest, the most brilliant leader of all eras and peoples. Even after Bukharin, Tukhachevsky, and Blyukher*14 were all pronounced enemies of the people, I still believed him. It seems stupid now, but I thought that Stalin was being deceived, that traitors had made their way to the top. The Party would sort it all out. But then they arrested my wife, an honest and dedicated Party warrior.
Three days later, they came for me…The first thing they did was sniff inside the oven: Did it smell like smoke, had I burnt anything in there recently? There were three of them. One walked around the apartment picking things out for himself: “You won’t be needing this anymore.” He took down the clock from the wall. I was shocked…I hadn’t expected that…At the same time, there was something human about it that gave me hope. This human nastiness…yes…So these people have feelings, too. The search lasted from 2 A.M. until morning. There were lots of books in the house and they flicked through each and every one of them. Rifled through all of our clothes. Cut the pillows open…It gave me a lot of time to think. Trying to remember, feverishly…By then, there was a mass incarceration going on. People were being taken away every day. It was pretty frightening. They’d take someone away, and everyone would be silent about it. It was useless asking what had happened. At the first interrogation, the investigator explained, “You’re automatically guilty because you failed to inform on your wife.” She was already in jail…During the search, I racked my brains, scrutinizing every last detail…I only remembered one thing…At the most recent citywide Party conference, they read a salutation to Comrade Stalin, and the whole auditorium had stood up. A storm of applause: “Glory to Comrade Stalin—the organizer and inspiration behind our victories!” “Glory to Stalin!” “Glory to our Leader!” Fifteen minutes…Half an hour…Everyone kept turning and looking at one another, but no one wanted to be the first to sit down. So we all just stood. And then, for some reason, I sat down. It was mechanical. Two plainclothes officers went up to me: “Comrade, why are you sitting?” I jumped up! I jumped like I’d been scalded. During the break, I kept looking around. Waiting for them to come up and arrest me on the spot. [A pause.]
“The search ended toward morning. They ordered me to pack my bags. The nanny woke my son. Before I left, I managed to whisper to him, “Don’t tell anyone about your mother and father.” That’s how he survived. [He pulls the tape recorder toward himself.] Record this while I’m still alive…“S.A.”…“Still alive”…That’s what I write on cards. Although there’s no one to send them to anymore…People often ask me, “Why did you keep silent?” “It was the times.” I thought that the traitors were to blame—Yagoda, Yezhov*15—not the Party. It’s easy to judge us fifty years later. To laugh…mock us old fools…but in those days, I marched in step with everyone else. And now, there’s nobody left…”
**
“I ended up in a group cell with fifty people. They would take us out to use the toilet twice a day. And what about the rest of the time? How can you explain this to a lady? There was a big pail by the entrance…[Angry.] Try taking a shit in front of a cell full of people! They’d feed us herring and wouldn’t give us any water. Fifty people…all English and Japanese spies…an illiterate old man from the country…He was in there for starting a fire in a stable. A student was in for telling a joke: “A portrait of Stalin hangs on the wall. The lector reads a report on Stalin, then the choir sings a song about Stalin, and finally, an actor declaims a poem about Stalin. What’s the occasion? An evening commemorating the hundredth anniversary of Pushkin’s death.” [I laugh, he doesn’t.] The student got ten years in the camps without the right of correspondence. There was a chauffeur who had been arrested because he looked like Stalin. And he really did. ”
**
“You can’t judge us according to logic. You accountants! You have to understand! You can only judge us according to the laws of religion. Faith! Our faith will make you jealous! What greatness do you have in “your life? You have nothing. Just comfort. Anything for a full belly…Those stomachs of yours…Stuff your face and fill your house with tchotchkes. But I…my generation…We built everything you have. The factories, the dams, the electric power stations. What have you ever built? And we were the ones who defeated Hitler. After the war, whenever anyone had a baby, it was such a great joy! A different kind of happiness than what we’d felt before the war. I could have wept…[He closes his eyes. He’s tired.] Ahhh, we were believers. And now, they’ve passed the verdict on us: You believed in utopia…We did! My favorite novel is Chernyshevsky’s What Is to Be Done? Nobody reads it anymore. It’s boring. People only read the title, the eternal Russian question: What is to be done? For us, this book was like the catechism. The textbook for the Revolution. People would learn entire pages of it by heart. Vera Pavlovna’s fourth dream…[He recites it like a poem.] “Houses made of crystal and aluminum…Crystal palaces! Lemon and orange groves in the cities. There are almost no elderly, people get old very late in life because life is so wonderful. Machines do all the work, people just drive and control them. The machines sow seeds and knit…The fields are thick with verdure and bounty. Flowers as tall as trees. Everyone is happy. Joyful. Everyone goes around in fine clothes, men and women alike, leading free lives of labor and pleasure. There’s enough space and work for everyone. Is this really us? Can this really be our Earth? And everyone will live this way? The future is bright and wonderful…” Get out of here…[He gestures in the direction of his grandson.] He giggles at me…To him, I’m a little old fool. That’s how we live now.”
**
“You think that communism was like an infectious disease, as they write in today’s newspapers? That it was brought over in a sealed train car from Germany?*17 Nonsense! The people revolted. There was no Tsarist “golden age” like the one that’s suddenly being remembered today. Fairy tales! Like the ones about how we fed America with our grain and decided the fate of Europe. The Russian soldier died for “everyone—that’s the truth. But the way people lived…In my family, there was one pair of snow boots for five children. We ate potatoes with bread and, in the winter, without bread. Just potatoes…And you ask me where communists came from.
I remember so much…and for what? Huh? For what? What am I supposed to do with all of this? We loved the future. The people of the future. We’d argue about when the future was going to come. Definitely in a hundred years, we thought. But it seemed too far away for us…[He catches his breath.]
[I turn off the tape recorder.]
“Good. It’s better without the tape recorder…I need to tell someone this story…
I was fifteen. Red Army troops had come to our village. On horseback. Drunk. A subdivision. They slept until evening, and then they rounded up all the Komsomol members. The Commander addressed us, “The Red Army is starving. Lenin is starving. While the kulaks are hiding their grain. Burning it.” I knew that my mother’s brother, Uncle Semyon, had taken sacks of grain into the woods and buried them. I was a Komsomol youth, I’d taken the oath. That night, I went to the troops and led them to where he’d buried the grain. They got a whole cartload. The Commander shook my hand: “Hurry up and grow up, brother.” In the morning, I woke up to my mother screaming, “Semyon’s house is on fire!” They found Uncle Semyon in the woods, the soldiers had cut him to pieces with their sabers…I was fifteen. The Red Army was starving…and Lenin…I was afraid to go outside, I sat in the house, weeping. My mother figured out what had happened. That night, she handed me a feedbag and told me, “Leave, son! Let God “forgive your miserable soul.” [He covered his eyes with his hand. But I could still see he was crying.]
I want to die a communist. That’s my final wish.”
Excerpt From
Secondhand Time
Svetlana Alexievich