In the mornings, prior to the beginning of the work parade, nearly every man and zek did gather in the main plaza, and it became eminent that there were few characteristics that could distinguish one zek from another. The height of them did vary, although very slightly, but their faces were all but identical. They were all wide, and in most cases covered with a dark beard, and with a pair of dark animal eyes peering from behind their caps. As I child, I had dreamed of looking upon my own face. I possessed a single photograph – part of my paperwork – that was taken many years before, and so I did not assume it to be accurate. I often did pretend that I possessed some exotic characteristic, such as colorful eyes or hair, or even a bulbous nose, but it was a futile thought. As I looked into the crowd of my brothers, I did see my own face, a thousand times over.
And did we not hold the same ambitions as well? Was not escape, or release, the purpose of every step, every breath, and every thought of every zek? Of course, there was some of whom wished to look upon the faces of their beautiful wives or children again, just as I was on a journey to find my Fabi.
We were a massive throng, almost as an army, with each of our personalities totally integrated. We may as well have been a single man. It were the zeks such as Kykov I did envy: they had not allowed the Kolyma to entirely destroy their soul. But I, I Pavel Milodanovich, I was no-one. I was a slave to my own incessant cognition, my own self-deprecating thoughts. My mind wove a rope of self-abhorrence, each one adding another heavy stone to the difficulty of my every step.
The senior job assigner passed by gang-De’s lines, assigning Churchin and the rest of gang-De our duties for the day. Along with gang-Schla, we were instructed to scrub the floors of the various buildings in the facility: the washrooms, the mess hall, even the officer’s latrine. The two gangs then marched along the frozen gravel to the washrooms.
As we marched, I stared at the back of the young zek walking before me. The dark strands of hair curled out from between his red scarf and his grey cap. Instantly, my heart yearned for my Fabi. The said zek was almost a head shorter than me, around the same height as my brother, and his scarf was nearly the same shade. I followed him in a desperate pursuit nearly all the way to the washrooms. And, oh, how I desired to reach out and touch the smooth skin of his neck, just barely hidden beneath his thick hair. It was easier to simply pretend that he was my Fabi, that he walked with me, experiencing the world of the Kolyma by my side. And yet I could not bring myself to the act of touching him, as I was aware that if I did, he would turn around, and I would be forced to look upon an unfamiliar face.
The young zek boy walking before me, although he was not my Fabi, did provide some frail light of hope that Fabi did still walk upon the earth.
When we finally reached the washrooms, I was partnered with a great beast of a man. He was easily the tallest man in gang-De. His wiry beard was streaked with grey, and underneath his thick eyebrows there sparkled two beady dark eyes. He threw the heavy mop over his shoulder with ease.
“Come along, Boy. If we are to complete our work early we may be granted time of relief before the lunch hour.”
In a hurry, I grabbed the pale of warm, soapy water and followed him to the back corner of the washroom. Although the warmth of the water would have provided some assuagement from the freezing cold, I was careful not to dampen my fingers, as it would cause them to freeze over eventually.
The two of us provided an excellent team. The man, with his great strength, pushed the mop along the floor very quickly, and I endeavored to follow along behind him with the same speed, drying the floor with a thick cotton rag. I was determined to not fall behind.
Our work was thus completed long before the lunch hour, and so gang-De and gang-Schla were permitted to return to leisure quite early. To my surprise, my partner remained at my side during the march in the direction of the main plaza. He did not speak, but I marveled at his incredible posture, and the amount of pride he carried with each heavy step. As I approached the door to the mess hall, he reached out and put a heavy hand upon my shoulder.
“Come with me,” he said, pulling me away from the door. We instead took a different path, behind the building, where two warders and another zek sat before a small fire, warming their hands before it and eating bread.
“Aye, Victor!” said the zek, waving his mug in my partner’s direction, nearly spilling its contents. “How was the work parade?”
My partner emitted a chuckle. “It was quite the enjoyable experience. Why did you not partake?”
The zek shrugged, and then shivered dramatically. “I have such a chill; I found it necessary to take a leave of absence in the sick bay.” One of the warders laughed as he said this, and shook his head.
“Bastard,” said my partner, sitting upon a wooden bench next to the fire. I remained standing behind him, merely watching the conversation take place, with no interest in partaking. I had nothing to say.
“I must say,” my partner continued after a warder handed him a slice of bread. “I could see the sadness in Churchin’s eyes: he missed his favorite little zek.”
All four of the men laughed, and then the two officers stood. “You are Churchin’s favorite as you are the only man here – whether he is prisoner or comrade – who does not look upon him as the dim lard that he is,” one of them said, smiling with one side of his mouth. He and the other warder began walking away, in the direction of the door to the mess hall. “We must help Churchin the hungry little zeks. May we trust you three to tend to the fire?”
My face flushed with gratitude as my presence was finally acknowledged.
“Aye,” said my partner.
“Haven’t you always trusted us, Abramov, my love?” said the other zek, smiling at the warder.
The warder scowled, yet his eyes were smiling. “Shut your dim mouth.” The warders finally disappeared beyond the side of the building, leaving us three zeks surrounding the fire.
My partner took off his thin gloves and began warming his hands before the fire.
“Who is he?” said the other zek, tilting his head in my direction.
My partner furrowed his brow. “What is your name, boy? And do sit down.” He used the name “boy” not in order to prove his dominance, but as a term of endearment, as his disposition was kind.
I sat down next to him upon the bench, straightening my back. My frozen vertebrae cracked as I did so. “I am called Pavel,” I muttered.
The other zek shook his head.
My partner put a hand upon my shoulder. “Find your voice, my son, as we cannot hear your words.”
Beneath the frozen layer of frost that clung so unremittingly to my face, I could feel the flush within my cheeks. I repeated myself, louder this time: “I am called Pavel Milodanovich.”
“Ah,” said the other zek, his smiling reaching across to me, warming my soul from within. “And I am called Sergei Okecka. And this is Victor Gorchakov.”
Victor then nodded his head solemnly. “Pavel is from a maloteki place, in the west. Arrived days ago.”
“And how are you enjoying your time of residence in the Kolyma?” asked Sergei, leaning forward in his seat, still smiling.
“It is not the most enjoyable place I have experience in my lifetime, although it is preferable to death.”
The serious words of which departed from my dry, cracked lips sliced through Sergei’s positive demeanor. For a moment, he was taken aback, his mouth held open, his expression nearly blank. But, in another moment, he then regained his customary smile, and spoke thus:
“Preferable to death? You appraise this world so low! Look at the amazing food – comparable to the finest restaurants in the faraway land of France! And the clothing, designed by the greatest tailors in Italy, and given to us free of price! And, above all, we are governed by the greatest man upon this good earth.”
Victor could no longer hold back his laughter. “A god-damned Georgian!”
He and Sergei laughed together, and I could not understand their logic. Had life in the Kolyma frozen their very minds? Were they not capable of imagining a better life?
“Look at the boy’s face!” Sergei sputtered. “Pavel, my friend, believe not that I am a lunatic. The idiocy of my words is entirely intentional. Perhaps, you may believe, that in a world such as this, that there is nothing. The warders and the foremen and the commandant may have taken all happiness that once ran through you. But do not let it be so! A man’s happiness is not determined by others; moreover, it is decided by him, and him alone. The Kolyma will not destroy all that is Sergei Okecka!”
Victor shook his head, smiling. “Not a man has spoken truer words.”
“And so, little Pavel,” Sergei continued. “Do not be so serious. As that is what will destroy you, in the end.”
It was silent for many moments, until I found it in myself to speak. “I suppose that is so.” Although the words were spoken by my mouth or lips or whatever appendage enables a man to speak, my heart did not believe them. In fact, I shuddered as I spoke, as it was a lie. I did not trust the words of Sergei as I truly believed them to be corrupt. The – Sergei and Victor – were lying to themselves. No positive thing would ever occur as a result of the Kolyma, and to imagine such chimerical fantasies was as lying. And yet, by saying that his words were true, I was a liar myself.
And I knew that I had lied many a time. So many times had I assured my Fabi that our father would one day destroy the maloteki institution and bring us to a life of mundane salvation. Instead, I was forced to release my Fabi from my loving grasp, and with that abandon him. Did Fabi still believe that our father was to come? Perhaps, he did believe that some coalition of I, our father, and our entire family would descend upon the place in a hellish wrath, rescuing our brother, and leaving the camp a devastated ruin. Perhaps it was thoughts such as that that kept him alive.
If a simple lie keeps a man alive, then it is not a sin to tell it.
Victor then stood up, removing me from my world of thoughts. “They are serving the skilly now; I can hear the ladles hitting the sides of the pot.”
“I should return to the sick bay.” Sergei stood up as well. “It is nice to be acquainted with you, little Pavel.”
“You as well.” I followed Victor to the other side of the building, looking behind me to catch a glance at Sergei throwing snow into the fire’s flickering flames. The crystalline ice overcame the warm, hopeful embers.
Inside, after we were served our skilly, I savored every mouthful to its fullest extent. The fish in the skilly held more meat in it than usual, and for that I smiled, and I allowed myself to be happy. It was my own private revenge against the warders, the commandant, even the Leader himself. Although they tried, with every thread of muscle in their bodies, to destroy me from within, I did not allow this to transpire. And so, with that, I regarded the lot of them as failures. They possessed every resource in all of Russia to destroy me, and yet they failed to do so.
It aroused some amount of sympathy within me, however. The men who create such anguish in the lives of others must be afflicted with some cancerous tumor, destroying all that makes them human. It must be horrendous for one to be so sick in the head that others no longer regard him as a Man.
