Gulag

Everyone had a bundle in their arms. I had one too. I had even brought a coat with me, since without a coat it is hard to survive imprisonment. It’s a pillow, a blanket, a cover—everything. In most prisons, there are no beds, no mattresses, no linen. But after we had traversed 20 miles in that heat, I quietly left my bundle by the side of the road. I knew that I would not be able to carry it. The vast majority of the women did the same. Those who didn’t leave their bundles after the first 20 miles left them after 130. No one carried them to the end. When we had gone another 10 miles, I took off my shoes and left them too . . .

When we passed Adzhamka I dragged behind me my cell mate, Sokolovskaya, for 20 miles. She was an old woman, more than seventy years old, completely gray-haired . . . it was very difficult for her to walk. She clung to me, and kept talking about her fifteen-year-old grandson, with whom she had lived. The last terror in Sokolovskaya’s life was the terror that he would be arrested too. It was difficult for me to drag her, and I began to falter myself. She told me to “rest a while, I’ll go alone.” And she immediately fell back by 1 mile. We were the last in the convoy. When I felt that she had fallen behind, I turned back, wanting to get her—and I saw them kill her. They stabbed her with a bayonet. In the back. She didn’t even see it happen. Clearly, they knew how to stab. She didn’t even move. Later, I realized that hers had been an easy death, easier than that of others. She didn’t see that bayonet. She didn’t have time to be afraid ...³⁵

In all, the NKVD evacuated 750,000 prisoners from 27 camps and 210 labor colonies.³⁶ Another 140,000 were evacuated from 272 prisons, and sent to new prisons in the east.³⁷ A significant proportion of them—though we still do not know the real numbers—never arrived.

Chapter 20

“STRANGERS”

Willows are willows everywhere

Alma-Ata willow, how beautiful you are, draped in glowing white frost.But should I forget you, my withered willow in Warsaw’s Rozbrat Street,Let my hand wither as well!

Mountains are mountains everywhereTian Shan, before my eyes, sails upward into a purple sky . . .But should I forget you, the Tatra peaks I left so far behind,The Bialy brook, where my son and I daydreamed colorful sea voyages . . .Let me turn into Tian Shan stone.If I forget you

If I forget my hometown . . .

—Alexander Wat, “Willow Trees in Alma-Ata,” January 1942 1