Chapter 23 Chapter 2 The Port of the Islands

Please spread out a large map of our motherland on a large table.Please put big black dots on all capitals, all railway junctions, all transfer stations where railway lines meet rivers and rivers and dirt roads.What is this like?Could it be that the entire map is infested with germ-spreading flies?Let me tell you, you've got a magnificent "port map of the archipelago". Admittedly, this is not the glamorous port to which Alexander Green lures us, where people drink rum in taverns and court beautiful women.There is also no warm blue ocean here (one liter of bath water is stipulated here. For convenience, four liters of water for four people are poured into one basin, please wash together!).But the other aspects of Port Romance--the filth, the bugs, the foul language, the banter, the gibberish, the brawling--are more than adequate here.

Prisoners who have not been through three or five deportation stations are rare; many can remember a dozen, and the sons of the Gulag can count half a hundred without difficulty.It's just that they are mixed together in people's memory because they are similar to each other: the ignorant escort; Body searches for clothes; unhygienic pushing; cold and slippery bathrooms; smelly toilets; musty corridors; cells that are always crowded and stuffy and almost always dark and damp; The warmth of the human flesh on the sides; the ridges of the pillow made of boards; the bread that was raw and almost liquid; the soup that seemed to be made from silage.

If someone has an accurate memory and can recall each place separately, then this person does not need to travel in the country, because he is already familiar with the geography of the country according to the deportation station.Novosibirsk city?I know, I've been there.The hut was solid, made of rough logs.Irkutsk?The windows there were bricked up several times, and it still looks like the old days of the Tsar.The bricks are not connected each time, leaving a small gap in the middle.Vologda?By the way, it is an ancient building with a tower.The toilet is up and down.The floor is rotten and the upstairs toilet is leaking.Usman?of course!Smelly cells, infested with lice, archaic structures with vaulted roofs.The inside of the cell is really well filled: whenever a prisoner is released, the line can hold half the mayor of the city, and you can hardly imagine how it is packed inside.

It's better not to annoy such a connoisseur by telling him that you know there are still some cities that don't have deportation stations.He will prove to you conclusively that such a city does not exist, and that he is right.Sarisk?The detainees are kept in the temporary detention room there, and they are kept together with the person under investigation.Every district center does this.How is this different from a deportation station?Is it in Sori-Iletsk?There is a deportation station!In Rybinsk?What is the second prison in the monastery for?Oh, it's quiet there.The yard was flagged and empty, the old flagstones overgrown with moss.The bucket in the bathroom is made of wood and is very clean.Chita?first prison.In Naushki?It wasn't a prison, it was a deportation camp, the same thing.In Torzka?Also located in the monastery.

You must understand, dear sir, that a city cannot exist without deportation stations!Know that courts are in session everywhere.How to send prisoners to labor camps?Are you flying? Of course, not all deportation stations are created equal.But if you want to say which is good and which is bad-that is impossible to argue for the result.Three or four prisoners gathered together, each must praise his "own" one. "Although the Ivanovo deportation station is not very famous. Just ask the people who squatted there in the winter of 1937-38. There is no fire in the prison-but instead of freezing, the upper floor The people in the shop couldn’t even wear their clothes. In order not to suffocate, all the glass on the windows was knocked out. Cell No. 21 has a capacity of 20 people, and the actual number of prisoners is 3 million 13! It's water, and even on the water, a board is built to sleep people. The broken window is just directing the cold air to that place. The development under the board bed is exactly like the arctic night: there is no light. The people on the board bed and standing in the aisle The light is completely blocked. The aisle leading to the toilet can't walk at all, you have to climb over the edge of the plank shop. The food is not distributed to individuals, but to ten people. If one of the ten people dies, the Stuff the dead under the plank until it stinks. The rest eat the empty space of the dead. It's all bearable, but the locomotives seem to be smeared with turpentine, endlessly pulling prisoners from one cell to another. Room rushes to another. Just settled down, -- "Get up -- come --!Change cell! "It was time to fight for territory again. The reasons for the overcrowding were as follows: three months without bathing, lice infested, causing leg ulcers and typhoid fever. In order to prevent the spread of typhoid fever, the deportation station was declared isolated, four Month did not send a release.

"Guys, the problem is not the Ivanovo prison itself, but the year. 1937-38, that's natural. Not to mention the prisoners, even the stones at the deportation station are crowded. Il The same goes for Kutsk's, which is not a special deportation station. But in 1938, the prison doctors didn't even dare to stick their heads into the cells, they just wandered in the corridors. Shouting from the room; unconscious—come out!" "In 1937, my fellows, the flow of people going to Kolyma through Siberia has never stopped. They are all blocked on the coast of Okhotsk and Vladivostok. The ships to Kolyma can only be transported in a month. Thirty thousand. But Moscow didn’t care about it, and kept bombarding people here. As a result, there was a backlog of 100,000. Do you understand?”

"Who counted?" "The number of people exceeds." "If you're talking about the Vladivostok deportation station, there were at most 40,000 people there in February 1937." "But once stuck there, it lasted for several months. Bedbugs crawled all over the bed, like locusts! Half a glass of water a day: no more! No one went to carry water! There was a quarantine area full of North Koreans, who died of dysentery. No more, not one left! Every morning, a hundred people are pulled out of our isolation area. They build a morgue and ask the prisoners to pull carts to transport stones. Today you transport the materials, and tomorrow they will transport you. In autumn, typhus spreads again. Yes. We also adopt this method. We won’t hand over the corpse if it doesn’t smell bad, and we will take his rations. There is no medicine at all. We climbed to the edge of the quarantine area and begged them—give me some medicine! On the watchtower They shot at us. Later, the typhoid patients were gathered in a separate hut. It was too late to carry them all in, and few came out of it. There were two floors of wooden bunks. So they couldn't get out of bed, so they poured water on the people in the lower bunk: there were fifteen hundred people lying there. The hygienists were all thieves. They pulled gold teeth from the mouths of the dead. They didn't feel ashamed to do anything to the living. about..."

"Why do you keep talking about your 1937 and 2037? In 1949, you were in Vanino Bay, the Fifth Quarantine Area—don't you want to talk about it? There were 35,000 people. They also stayed for several months! It's because Can’t solve the problem of transportation to Kolyma. I don’t know why, every night they drive people from one hut to another, from one ghetto to another. Just like with the fascists: again Whistling, shouting again.--No one is left! And they all have to run! They have to run for everything! Lead a hundred people to get bread--run! Get soup--run! There are no utensils. Vegetable soup can be served wherever it can be served - it can be worn by the lapel or held by the hand! The water for drinking is transported in a large water tank. Put your mouth up, the water is his. Prisoners fight in front of the water tank - the watchtower opened fire on them! Just like the first floor in the hands of the fascists. Terevyan, Uswitler's chief Ko came to the scene. An air force pilot walked over to him in front of everyone, ripped off his military jacket and said: I have seven military medals! Who gave you the right to shoot into the quarantine area? Terevyenko said : We shot today, and we will need pistols in the future, until you learn to obey the rules.

"No, guys, these aren't deportation stations. The Kirov deportation station is the real one! Don't talk about a special year, let's just take 2047-Kirov deportation station cell The door of the house can only be closed by two guards kicking people in with their leather boots. People were sitting in the heat with their clothes off—they were sitting because there was no place to lie down: one row sat by the head of the bed, and the other by the foot of the bed. There were also two rows sitting on the floor in the aisle, with one in between. There was a line of people standing. They switched each other. The knapsacks were in their hands or on their laps, because there was nowhere to put them. Only the burglar was lying wide and wide in his legal place—the second-story bunk by the window. Bedbugs Bite as often as in broad daylight, and they dive-bomb right from the ceiling. People would have to live like that for a week, maybe a month."

I also wanted to jump in and talk about the summer of the Victory Year - Red Presnya in August 1945.Embarrassed, though: we can always stretch our legs at night, and the bedbugs are fairly benign, but the flies bite us hot, naked, and sweaty all night under the strong lights.But this is really nothing, and it's really embarrassing to boast about it.We were sweating every time we moved, and it was like rain on our bodies after eating.One hundred people were accommodated in a cell that was slightly larger than an ordinary cell.We were so packed that there was no room for our feet on the ground.The two small windows were blocked by iron "cage mouths" and faced south. Not only were they not ventilated, but they were scorched by the sun and radiated air into the cell.

Few in Moscow know about this deportation station with its glorious revolutionary name.No one visits.Cough, how can I visit!It is still in use today.You don't have to go far to get a closer look at it - it's next to the Novokhoroshev Ring Railway. Just as the deportation station itself is thoughtless, so is the talk about the deportation station, so this chapter of this book is likely to be written like this: I don’t know what to catch first, Which one is better to introduce, and what to say at the beginning.The more people there are backlogs in the deportation depot, the more mindless it becomes.It was unbearable, and it did no good for the Gulag.But people are still stuck in it month after month.The deportation station has become an out-and-out factory: rations and bread are transported on stretchers like those used to carry bricks on construction sites; walk. The Kotlas deportation station was more intense and more open than many other stations.It is more nervous because it is the gateway to the entire northeast of Europe and Russia, and more open and honest because it is already in the heart of the archipelago, and there is no need to hide from anyone.It is an open space, divided into many small grids by board walls, and each grid is locked.Although there was a dense population settled here in 1930 when the peasants were exiled (it should be assumed that there were no roofs over their heads at that time, but no one can tell us these things now), but by the third Eight years later, the rickety shed with a canvas roof, made of raw boards, is still far from being able to accommodate all the prisoners.Under the wet snowflakes of autumn, or in the cold that is beginning to freeze, people sleep here on the ground.It is true that they were not allowed to stand upright and frozen like this, they kept counting the number of people, and kept them refreshed by checking (there were 20,000 people there at the same time) or sudden body searches at night.Later, tents were set up in these square grids, and two-story houses were built with logs in some grids. However, in order to save the cost reasonably, no floor slabs were laid among them, but six-story slabs were directly built. , The two sides of the board shop are nailed with straight up and down pedals.The prisoners who were breathless had to climb up and down on them like sailors. (This structure is more suitable for seagoing ships than for ports.) In the winter of 1944-1945, all the people lived in covered houses, and at this time, only 7,500 people could be accommodated. .Fifty of these people die every day.The stretcher carrying the dead body to the morgue couldn't stop for a while. (Some will object that this is perfectly plausible, with a death rate of less than one per cent per day. At the turnover rate mentioned above, each person can drag for five months. True, but you need to know that the main slaughtering machine --The work in the labor camp has not yet started. The current loss of 0.73 percent per day is pure shrinkage, and not any vegetable warehouse can tolerate this rate.) The deeper you go into the archipelago, the more conspicuously the concrete port turns into a piling wharf. The word Karabas - a deportation station near Karaganda - has become a common noun.Within a few years, the number of prisoners deported through here reached 500,000 (when Yuri Kalbe passed there in 1942, the registration number was already more than 433,000).Guanren's houses are some low rammed-earth wall sheds with muddy land.The daily pastime is to ask the prisoners to bring their things and rush them outside the house, and the artist will paint the floor with whitewash, and even draw patterns on the carpet.At night, the prisoners lay on the ground, rubbing off the white ash and the carpet with their bodies. Calabasas is more worthy of being a museum than any other deportation station.But, alas, it no longer exists: on its original site is now a steel and concrete parts factory. Knyazh-Pogost Deportation Point (63N ) camps are shacks on the swamp!A broken canvas tent with no sides on the ground was covered on the skeleton made of tree roots.The double bunks inside the shack are also made of tree sticks (not even the branches have been cut clean), and the aisle in the middle is also paved with tree roots as footboards.During the day, the mud splashes through the cracks of the treads The ground is rising upwards, and the night is freezing hard.The passages in various places in the isolation area are also paved with brittle and trembling sticks.Here and there the men, clumsy with weakness, dodge here and there into the water or the mud.In 1938, the food in Knyazh-Pogost did not change a single day: wheat flakes and fish bones were boiled into a paste.It is more convenient to eat, because there are no such things as bowls, jars, and spoons at the deportation station, let alone the prisoners themselves; dozens of them can line up at the cauldron and scoop the paste on them with ladles. caps, leather caps, and skirts. At the Vog-Vozkino deportation point where 5,000 people lived at the same time (it is a few kilometers away from Uster-Weim. Before reading this line, does any reader know that there is a Vog-Vozkino? How many such unknown deportation stations! Please multiply them all by five thousand!), the food served is thin soup, but there is still no bowl.However, I also thought of a way (what difficulties can't be overcome by our Russian quick-witted ability!) - the vegetable market is poured into the bathtub, and ten people will be given out at a time, and they will fight over each other to drink. It is true that no one in Vogvozkino spent more than a year in prison (the ones who had been in prison for more than a year were those who had only one breath left, and all labor camps did not accept them). In the face of the life style of the archipelago, the writer's imagination is surprisingly poor.When they want to write something most reprehensible and ugliest about prisons, it's always the toilet bucket.In literature the commode became a symbol of prison, of humiliation and filth.Oh, all ignorance and nonsense!Are toilets a disaster for prisoners?It is the most benevolent invention of jailers.All the horrible scenes started from the moment there was no toilet in the cell. In 1937, some prisons in Siberia did not have toilets because there were not enough.There wasn't much to prepare for - Siberia's industry couldn't keep up with the scale of the mass arrests.The toilets needed for the new prison cannot be distributed in the warehouse.There were commodes in the old prison, but they were so old and small that the only sensible thing to do at this point was to get rid of them, because in a situation where the number of people exploded, it was as good as none.For example, the Minusinsk Prison was long ago built with a capacity of 500 people (Vladimir Ilyich did not enter it because he traveled to the place of exile by car as a free man), and now holds 10,000 people .That means each commode should be twenty times bigger!But it doesn't increase.... We Russians have always written things with thick lines. We have experienced many things, but what we describe and reveal is almost equal to zero.Under the pen of western writers who are used to observing the tiny cells of life through a microscope and shaking test tubes under the beam of the illuminator, they are in a cell that is twenty times overcrowded and has no toilet bucket and is only allowed to come out once a day and night to relieve their hands. The convulsions of the human mind could make for a long epic, ten volumes more!Of course, there were many plots they didn't know: they couldn't think of a way to urinate in a canvas hood; they couldn't understand another prisoner's advice to urinate in his boots.In fact, this advice is the crystallization of experienced wisdom. It is by no means to tell you to destroy your boots, nor is it to reduce boots to pails.It means: take off a boot, turn it upside down, and turn the shaft inside out--thereby forming the gutter-like container you so desperately need!And if Western authors had known the following rules of the Minusinsk prison, how would they have enriched their literature with subtle psychological descriptions (and never risked repeating the work of famous masters) !In this prison, only one rice bowl is given to four people, and a mug of drinking water is given to each person every day (the tea mug is enough); such a thing may happen: one of the four people even uses the public bowl for convenience, but Before lunch, he refused to hand over the water he kept to wash the bowl.What a conflict will arise!What kind of confrontation between the four personalities!What a nuance! (I'm not joking, only then does one reveal one's true nature. It's just that Russian pens don't have time to describe it, and Russian eyes don't have time to read it. I'm not joking, because only a doctor can tell You, a few months in such a cell can permanently destroy the health of a man who was not shot in Yezhov's time and was restored in Khrushchev's time.) You see, we fantasized about taking a break in the harbor and relaxing!How we fantasized about the deportation station during the days and nights we spent huddled together in the compartment of the "Zeck Carriage"!The idea is that here we can stretch our waists and straighten our bodies.What I think is that here we can drink cold water and get boiled water.What I want is that we will not be forced to use our own things to redeem our own rations from the escort team.Thought we'd be served hot food here.In the end, I thought about taking us into the shower room and soaking in hot water, then my whole body would not be so itchy. In the "crow car", our waists hurt, and we fell from one side to the other; the escort team yelled at us: "Hold your arms!", "Grab your heels!" We secretly encouraged ourselves: "Nothing, nothing , we're almost at the deportation station! Just get there..." But here, even if some of our dreams can become reality, we will always be very disappointed by other things. You can never tell what will happen in the bathroom.Suddenly they started shaving women's hair (Red Presnya, November 1950).Or have an all-female barber shave our long line of bare-ass men.In the steam baths in Vologda, the fat aunt Moggia yells: "Men, line up!" and deflates the steam hoses over the entire line of men.The Irkutsk deportation station has a different opinion. It is more natural and humane for the bath room service staff to be all men and for men to apply tar ointment between the women's legs.Or, as in the deportation station in Novosibirsk, the taps in the cold bathrooms in winter only flowed cold water; the prisoners mustered up the courage to ask the chief to take a look; I tried the interview, and then said: "I tell you, the water is hot, understand?" As for some places, there is no water in the bathroom at all, and some places burn the prisoners' clothes in the oven, and some places force Prisoners who had showered and ran barefoot in the snow to another place to get their clothes (Rodniza, Counterintelligence Service of the 2nd Belarusian Front, 1945), we are tired of talking. As soon as you step into the deportation station, you will find that it is not the guards who control your fate here, nor the epaulettes and uniforms, these people have to obey a little bit of written law anyway.It is the handyman at the deportation station who controls your destiny here.It's the gloomy-faced bathroom attendant who came to greet you new prisoners: "Hey, fascist gentlemen, go take a shower!"; It is the dispatcher who searches in the ranks and urges you to go to work; it is the educator who has a tuft of long hair on his shaved head and touches a roll of newspapers and taps his legs, but his eyes are glancing at your bags. there are other handymen you don't recognize, who are looking through your suitcases with X-ray vision.How like each other they are!During your short deportation, you seem to have seen this group of guys somewhere. Although they are not as clean and tidy as they are, they are also animals with cruel fangs. Yes, the thieves again!Those pickpockets that Udyosov sang about again!Those Renka again? Ruoguoli, Beast Sheryoga and Jimka-Kishenya... It's just that they are no longer squatting behind bars, they have been cleaned and dressed, and they have become official figures. Discipline is maintained--as long as we observe it, if one looks at these faces with a little imagination, he may even get the impression that they, too, were born from our Russian roots, and were once some rural children , their parents were countrymen named Kerim, Prohor, Guli, and the like.Their body structure is even somewhat similar to ours: two nostrils, two irises on each eyeball, a crimson tongue for swallowing food and some Russian accents, but the words are completely different from ours. Just different. The head of any deportation station will find this trick: All salaries for established positions can be paid to relatives who stay at home or privately divided by prison chiefs.Prison errands are as long as you blow the whistle, and there are as many self-proclaimed brave people among the social kinsmen.They only want one thing, that is, they can tie the cable at the deportation station, and never go down the mine, go up the mine, or enter the taiga forest.The dispatchers, the clerks, the accountants, the educators, the bathroom attendants, the barbers, the custodians, the cooks, the dishwashers, the laundresses, the tinkers -- all permanent residents of the deportation station.What they receive is the rations of the prisoners, which are included in the quota of the cells, but they can get extra food and oil and water from the big room or the burden of the prisoners without the care of the chief.The handymen at these deportation stations recognized that they would not be more comfortable in any labor camp than they are now.When we fell into their hands, we were still not scoured, so they wanted to give us a good blow.Here they even searched us instead of guards.Before the search, we were persuaded to hand over the money to them for safekeeping and make a list of some kind, but the list and the money disappeared immediately. "We handed over the money!" "Who did it go to?" asked the officer who was walking in surprise. "That's the man who was here just now!" "Who exactly is it?" All the handymen present said they hadn't seen it... "Why did you give him the money?" "We thought..." "I thought it was a fart! Just think less!" Everything blew up.They advised us to leave our clothes in the dressing room in the bathroom. "Nobody's taking yours! Who wants your stuff!" We stayed and couldn't take it into the bathroom anyway.Back: The sweater is gone, the fur gloves are gone. "What kind of sweater?" "Grey..." "Oh, it must have gone into the laundry room!" They sometimes take our things in good faith: as a way to put the boxes in the storage room for us , Putting us in a cell without thieves, releasing us as soon as possible, and not delaying our release as much as possible.The only thing they don't do is outright rob. "These people aren't thieves!" explained the insiders among us. "These are bitches. Prison servants. They're the enemy of serious pickpockets. The real pickpockets are the ones in the cells." But that's too hard for our rabbit minds.They all have the same style, and the patterns of tattoos on their bodies are also the same.Maybe one gang is the enemy of the other, but none of them are our friends, that's the obvious thing... At this time, they asked us to sit on the ground next to the window of the cell in the yard.The windows all have "cage mouths", so we can't see inside, but someone inside advised us with a hoarse and kind voice: "Folks! There is a rule here: all loose things such as tea and tobacco powder will be confiscated during the body search." Whoever has it, put it here quickly and put it in our window. We will return it to you later. "What can we know?We are "Fulaier", a domestic rabbit.Maybe the tea and tobacco powder will really be confiscated.We have spoken of the general solidarity among prisoners in the great literature, and prisoners do not deceive prisoners!The address is so affectionate - "folks!".We left them the cigarette purse.Thoroughbred pickpockets caught it inside, and there was a roar of laughter: "Hey, little fascist fools!" "Don't try to reason here!" "Hand over all your stuff!"—that's the sign that greeted us at the deportation station, even though it wasn't on the wall. "Hand over all your things!" - the guards, escorts, thieves all repeat this to you.You have been crushed by the heavy prison sentence and cannot turn over. What you think about is how to breathe a sigh of relief, but what the people around you think about is how to search for you.Everyone is trying to add another layer of pressure to the already depressed and helpless political prisoners. "You have to hand over everything!" - said a guard at the Gorky deportation station, shaking his head helplessly.Anse Bernstein handed him his officer's overcoat as if he had relieved a burden—not for free, but in exchange for two onions.What's the use of suing a burglar?Don't you see that all the guards in the red Presnya wear big chrome-tanned leather boots that the government has never issued?It was all obtained by the thieves in the cell and then passed on to them.What is the use of a complaint against a thief, if even the educators of the Literary and Educational Department are theft and they write the testimonials for political prisoners (Kemerovo deportation station)?Can thieves be restrained at the Rostov deportation post, if that is their old den? It is said that several officers (Gavrilov, military technician Sebekin, etc.) who were arrested at the Gorky deportation station in 1942 rose up to resist, beat up the thieves, and forced them to subdue them.But this kind of thing is generally treated as a legend: only in one cell?Been obedient for a long time?What is the blue-brimmed hat for? It can make dissidents beat close ones?As for some people who said that in the 1940s, thieves next to the commissary at the Kotlas deportation station robbed money from political prisoners, and the political prisoners beat them hard, but no one could stop them. Burglars—there's nothing suspicious about that sort of thing, it's perfectly real. Confused relatives!They are running outside to borrow money (because the family does not have this money), and bring you things and food-the last offering of a widowed wife.Little do you know that these gifts are poisonous, because it turns you from a hungry but free person into a scared and cowardly person.It robs you of that budding awakening and congealing tenacity, which are the only things you need before you go into the abyss.O wise parable of the camel and the eye of the needle!These extraneous things do not allow you to enter the heaven of spiritual liberation.You see in the "crow car" that other people carry the same pockets as you.The thieves barked at us, "Beasts with rotten bundles!" But there were only two of them, and there were fifty of us, and they didn't touch us for a while.Now we have been locked up in Presnya Prison Junction for more than a day.Because of the crowding, I had to sit on the dirty ground with my legs crossed under my body.But none of us has the heart to observe the life around us, because our hearts are all on how to store the boxes.Although it was considered our right to deposit things, it was only because this was a Moscow prison, and seeing that we had not yet completely lost the Moscow appearance, that the dispatch workers reluctantly agreed to do it for us. A stone fell to the ground! --Things received (meaning that we will not contribute them at this deportation station, but at the next one).All that's left is the hapless food parcel dangling in our hands.Because our group of "beavers" was too concentrated, they scattered us into various cells.I was put in the same cell as Valentin, who signed the decision of the special court on the same day as me.At that time he had passionately proposed to start a new life in a labor camp.The cell was not yet filled; the aisles were empty, and there was plenty of space under the bunks.According to tradition, the second-floor shop was indeed occupied by thieves: the bosses were by the window, and the younger brothers were a little farther away.The lower bunk is a neutral gray crowd.No one is attacking us.We two inexperienced fellows flung ourselves on the asphalt and crawled under the bunk without thinking ahead or looking around.We thought it would be very comfortable there.The bunk was very low, and a big man had to lie flat on the ground to get in.We climbed up.Now we're going to lie here quietly and talk quietly, but it's not good!In the dimness of the lower floor, there was a silent cricket, and a group of juvenile delinquents stalked towards us from all directions like rats on all fours.These guys are still completely children, some are even only twelve or thirteen years old, but the Criminal Code stipulates that such people can also be arrested.Having been tried for theft, they have come here to continue their apprenticeship with their master thieves.The masters have now released them to attack us!They crawled up to us without saying a word, grabbed all the belongings around and under us with a dozen hands at the same time.They did not speak a word as they went about their business, but gasped viciously.We fell into the pie: unable to stand up or move.In less than a minute they had snatched away the sacks of bacon, sugar, and bread, and disappeared at once.And we lie like fools.All our supplies have been given up without a fight. Although we can continue to lie down now, we can't lie down at all.We rubbed our legs on the ground ridiculously, moved our buttocks forward, and sat up outside the bunk. Am I a coward?I didn't think so.On the open grasslands, I have dived into the fire nets of shell explosions, and I have dared to drive through paths that I know are planted with anti-tank mines.When I took the artillery company out of the encirclement and went back again to take out a broken "Gaz", I was very calm all the time.Then why don't I grab one of these human-faced mice and press its bright red face on the asphalt floor and rub it vigorously?He is too young? --Then go to their leaders.cannot…….There is an added awareness (perhaps entirely false) in the line of fire that makes us strong: is it the sense of togetherness of our soldiers?Is it a sense of appropriateness for my actions?Is it a sense of obligation?But here and now is at a loss.There is no doctrine.Everything can be figured out by groping. I stood up and turned to one of their leaders.On the second-floor bunk next to the window, all the looted food was placed in front of him: the little mice didn't put a single bit of it into their mouths, and they were disciplined.The front part of the thief's head, that part of the biped which is usually called the face, was molded by nature with loathing and hatred, but it may be that his brute life has turned him into a This way.Slanted and sagging face, low forehead, primitive society scars and modern steel crowns on the front teeth.His small eyes were just big enough to see familiar objects but never to appreciate the finer things in the world.He looked at me with those little eyes like a boar watches a reindeer, knowing he could knock me over at any moment. he waits.And what did I do?蹦上去哪怕在这兽面上擂它一拳再跳下来回到过道里？瞎，我没有这样做。 我是个卑劣的人吗？在这以前我一直觉得不是。但是，在被掠夺、被屈辱了以后，再乖乖地肚皮贴着地爬回板铺下面，我觉得太委屈了。我恨懑地对贼头发话，我说既然你们抢走了吃的，至少该在铺上给我们腾个位子。（嗯，作为一个城里人，作为一个军官，这不是个很自然的要求吗？） The results of it?贼头同意了。要知道我这就等于自愿放弃了咸肉，等于承认了他的至高无上的权威，等于暴露出与他的观点相似--他也会赶走最弱者。他命令两个灰色的中立人物离开靠窗口的下铺，把位子让给我们。那两个人顺从地离开了。我们在最好的位子上躺下。对于我们的损失我们还难过了一阵子（我的马裤没有引起盗贼们的兴趣，这不是他们的制服。可是一个扒手已经在摸瓦连金的毛料裤子。他看中了这东西）。只是天快黑的时候我们才听到邻人的悄悄的责难：我们怎么能央求盗贼们的庇护，把两个自己人赶到铺底下去？也仅仅是在这时候我才像被针扎一样意识到自己的卑劣，我的脸发烧了（以后许多年，每当回想起这件事我还是脸红）。睡在下铺的灰色囚犯们都是我的兄弟，五十八一l-乙，是被俘人员。我不是在不久以前还发誓和他们共命运吗？怎么这会儿就已经把他们往铺下赶了？诚然，当盗窃犯欺侮我们的时候他们也没有出来替我们说话--但是既然我们自己都不战斗，他们为什么要为我们的咸肉去战斗？足够多的残酷战斗早在战俘营里就已经使他们失去了对高尚行为的信念。毕竟他们没有做过有损于我的事，而我却做了损害他们的事。 我们就是这样像一窝小猪一样用腰，用鼻头冲撞着、冲撞着，为的是至少有朝一日我们会变成人……为了变成人。 但是，即使对于一个新犯人，尽管他在递解站被剥一层皮，去一层壳，递解站也是非常非常需要的。它使他能够逐步地向劳改营过渡。因为一步完成这样的过渡是人的心脏经受不起的。他的意识不可能马上在这一片漆黑中判明方向。需要逐步地过渡。 还有，递解站给予他一个和家庭联系的表面机会。他在这里写出第一封合法的家信：有时候是告诉家里他没有被处决，有时候是通知发配的方向。总之，是一个被侦查的，用犁头反复翻耕过的人初次写家信的时候使用的那些不习惯的字眼。在家人的记忆中，他还是原来的样子，但是他已经永远不会再成为原来的那个人了--这一切会像电光一闪似地通过几行歪歪斜斜的字迹呈现在家人眼前。歪歪斜斜，这是因为递解站虽然准许写信，院子里也挂着个邮箱，但是纸和笔均不可得，更谈不到削铅笔的工具。不过总能搞到一张展平了的马合烟包装纸，或者一张包砂糖的纸。另外，监室里面总归会有人藏着铅笔。于是几行难以辨认的潦草字迹便写成了。这几行字将成为家庭今后是合是分的契机。 丧失理智的女人们有时候还会凭着这封信冒冒失失地长途跋涉到递解站来，想见到丈夫一面，尽管这里永远不会准许他们会面。她能做到的只是送去一些东西给她的丈夫添累赘。这样的妇女当中有一个，据我看，提供了为所有这些妻子们树立一座纪念像的标本，并且连建立这座塑像的地点也指定了。 事情发生在古比雪夫递解站，时间是一九五0年。这个站设在一片洼地里（然而从那里却可以看见伏尔加河上的日古里峡口）。一道杂草丛生的高峻的山梁矗立在它的近旁，环抱着洼地的东侧。山梁在隔离区以外，整个地势很高；我们从下方看不到从外面登山的道路。山梁上也很少有人影出现，偶尔见到山羊在上面吃草，或者有小孩在上面乱跑。在一个阴沉的夏日，陡崖上出现了一个城市打扮的妇女。她用手搭在眼眶上朝下面我们这里观望，缓缓地转动着身体。这时候，三间拥挤的监室里的犯人们正分别在各个院落里放风。她希望在下面的这个深渊里从三百个失去个性的蚂蚁当中分辨出自己的那一个！她是不是指望她的精诚之心能给她以启示呢？她一定是因为探视本能获准才攀上了这座商丘。各个院落里的人都发现了她，都凝望着她。在我们这洼地里没有风，可是那山梁高处风却吹得很疾。她的长裙、短衣、头发被疾风掀起、扇动，好像是为了披露她内心全部的爱情，全部的忧患。 我想，如果就在她站立的地方，在俯视着递解站的山梁上，采取她站立的姿势，面朝着日古里的方向，建立一座像她这样的妇女的石像，也许能让我们的子孙后代们稍许明白一些事情吧。 不知道为什么好久没有人上去赶开她，可能是警卫队懒得爬山。后来终于有一个当兵的爬了上去，朝她吆喝，挥手，--把她赶走了。 递解站还能打开囚犯的眼界，让他看到广阔的事物。俗话说，虽然忍饥挨饿，但是过得快乐。在这里的永不休止的流动中，在成十成百人的交替中，在坦率的叙述和交谈中（在劳改营里是不敢这么说话的，那里到处都害怕碰上行动人员的触须）--你渐渐耳目清新，豁然开朗，心明眼亮，对于你自己、对于你的人民甚至对于世界上发生的事情开始能够更好地理解。有时候，被推进监室里来的一个古怪的犯人竟能告诉你一些在书本里永远读不到的新鲜事。 监室里忽然关进来一个奇迹般的人物；一个有着罗马人脸型的高个子的年轻军人，头上仍然保留着淡黄色的鬈发，穿着一身英军制服，好像是一个直接来自诺曼底海岸的登陆部队的军官。他走进来的时候态度非常高傲，似乎预料着所有的人都会在他面前肃然起立。实际上这是因为他根本没有想到现在走进了朋友们之中：他已经被关了两年，但是一次也没有进过监室。他被秘密地装进单独的包房里，直接运到这个递解站。现在出人意外地，不知道是由于疏忽还是故意地，关进了我们这间集体马厩。他在监室里走了一圈，见到一个穿德国军服的国防军军官，便用德语和他攀谈起来。可是没说几句就发生了激烈的争吵，看样子如果带着枪，他们马上就会动武。战争已经结束了五年，而且人家反复向我们灌输说，西线的战争是装样子的，所以看到他们之间这么仇恨，我们甚感奇怪。这个德国人在我们当中躺了那么久，我们这些俄国佬并没有跟他发生过冲突，相反却经常在一道说笑。 如果不是艾里克?阿尔维德?安德森幸免剃光的头发（这是全古拉格的奇迹），如果不是他那洋里洋气的派头，如果不是他那一口流利的英语、德语、瑞典语，他讲出来的事情恐怕谁也不会相信。据他说，他是瑞典的一个不止是百万富翁而是亿万富翁（好吧，就当他吹了一点牛）的儿子，是德国英占区司令官罗伯特将军的外甥。作为一个瑞典公民，战争期间他以一名志愿者的身份在英军中服役，真的参加过诺曼底登陆。战后，他成为瑞典军队的一名职业军官。然而他一直对考察社会制度怀着兴趣。对社会主义的向往超过了对父亲的资本的留恋。他对苏联的社会主义抱着深厚的同情，而且当他作为瑞典军事代表团成员访问莫斯科的时候，他还通过亲眼所见确信了它的繁荣昌盛。主人为他们举行宴会，邀请他们到乡间别墅。在那里他们可以不受阻碍地和普通苏联公民--漂亮的女演员们--接触。她们都不忙着去工作，都很乐意陪他们消磨时间，甚至私下在一起。这样最终地确信了我国社会制度的胜利之后，艾里克回到西方就开始发表一些捍卫和盛赞苏联社会主义的文章。这终于成了他毁灭的祸根。在这几年，即一九四七一四八年，苏联正从各个缝隙里搜罗愿意公开和西方决裂的西方国家进步青年（似乎如果能凑足十来二十个这样的人物，西方就会发抖和崩溃）。根据艾里克在报上发表的文章，他被内定为一个合适的对象。他当时在西柏林服务，妻子留在瑞典。由于可以谅解的男性的弱点，艾里克时常去东柏林和一个未婚的德国女人幽会。在一个夜间，就在她那里被人捆绑起来（"去找大娘，进了牢房"这句俄国谚语说的就是这种事儿吧？大约早已经是如此办理的，他并不是头一个）。他被带到莫斯科，葛罗米柯在斯德哥尔摩曾经在他父亲家里吃过饭，和艾里克相识。现在为了酬答他令尊大人的盛情，要求这个年轻人公开咒骂整个资本主义和他父亲。作为代价，他答应这位公子在我国立即得到终生的资本主义式的物质享受。但是令葛罗米柯吃惊的是，虽然艾里克在物质上不会受到任何损失，但他却勃然大怒，说了一大堆难听的话。他们仍不相信他能够死硬到底，便把他软禁在莫斯科郊区的一座别墅里面，供养得像童话中的王子（有的时候对他也实行"残酷迫害"：拒绝接受他预定的第二天的菜单，他原来点的是笋鸡，却忽然给他端上一盘煎牛排），在他周围摆满了马、恩、列、斯的著作。这样等待了一年，期望把他改造过来。奇怪的是连这也没有奏效。这时候弄来一个在诺里尔斯克服过两年刑的前中将，和他软禁到一起。大概是想要中将用劳改营里的可怕情形促使艾里克就范。但是中将执行这项任务极不得力，也许是并不想执行。在一起蹲了十个月，全部成绩只是教会了艾里克一口半通不通的俄语，再就是加强了艾里克本来已经产生的对蓝箍帽的厌恶。一九五0年夏天，再次由维辛斯基出面召见，艾里克再次表示拒绝（他竟以意识践踏了存在，这是完全违反马列主义规律的举动）。于是阿巴库莫夫亲自向艾里克宣读了决定：二十年监禁（？？为什么？）。他们自己已经后悔跟这位呆公子打上了交道，可是又决不能把他放回西方。就是在这时候他被装进一间单独的包房，押往劳改营服刑。在车上他听到隔壁的一位莫斯科姑娘的叙述。第二天清晨，他又通过车窗看到了朽烂的草屋顶的梁赞地方的俄罗斯。 这两个年头使他牢固地确立了对西方的忠诚。他对西方的信任达到盲目的程度。他不愿意承认西方的弱点。他认为西方的军队是不可摧毁的，西方的政治家是不会犯错误的。我们告诉他，在他关押期间斯大林下了封锁柏林的决心并且相当顺利地实现了，他不肯相信；当我们嘲笑邱吉尔和罗斯福的时候，艾里克的乳白色的脖颈和奶酪色的面颊气得鲜红。他同样坚信西方决不会容忍对他--艾里克-一的监禁，西方情报机关马上就会根据从古比雪夫递解站得到的情报查明艾里克并没有淹死在施普累河里，而是正在苏联坐牢，一定会把他赎买或者交换出去。（相信自己的命运不同于其他犯人的命运--在这一点上他很像我们的思想纯正的正统派。）尽管我们之间进行了激烈的舌战，他还是邀请我的朋友们和我有机会到斯德哥尔摩的时候到他家去作客（他含着疲倦的微笑说："人人都知道我们。瑞典王室差不多全靠我父亲维持"）。而眼下这位亿万富翁的公子却没有擦脸的东西，我把一条多余的破脸巾赠送给了他。他不久就解走了。 人们不断地流动-一带进来，带出去，单个地和成批地。解犯的队伍一个接一个地出发。表面上如此有条理、有计划，实际上其中充满了胡闹荒唐，简直达到令人难以置信的程度。 一九四九年建立了特种劳改营。遵照某人的最高决定，大批女犯从苏联欧洲部分的极北地区和外伏尔加地区经过斯维尔德洛夫斯克递解站迁往西伯利亚泰谢特市的奥泽尔拉格。可是到了一九五0年，某人又认为把女犯拉到奥泽尔拉格是不方便的，不如集中到莫尔多维亚捷姆尼基地方的杜布罗夫拉格。于是这同一批女犯又经过同一个斯维尔德洛夫斯克递解站逦西行，一路享受着古拉格旅行的全部舒适条件。一九五一年在克麦罗沃省建立了几座新的特种营（卡梅施拉格）--闹了半天，原来需要妇女劳动力的还是这个地方！于是这一批时运不济的女犯们现在通过同一个可诅咒的斯维尔德洛夫斯克递解站又登上了奔赴克麦罗沃特别营的苦难历程。释放犯人的时代来临了，但不是所有的人全放啊！在全面松动的赫鲁晓夫时代仍需服完刑期的女犯们又从西伯利亚经过斯维尔德洛夫斯克递解站被装运到莫尔多维亚：上面认为把她们全集中在一起比较牢靠。 反正这全是我们内部的业务，各岛屿全是我们自己的。它们之间的距离对于我们俄国人来说也并不那么遥远。 个别倒霉的男犯有时也遇到同样的情形。申德里克--面容憨厚、乐呵呵的大块头青年，在古比雪夫的一座劳改营里从事着所谓诚实的劳动，他没有料到会有什么灾祸。但是祸从天降。营里接到一项紧急指示-一不是来自一般人物，而是来自内务部长本人（部长从哪里知道申德里克这个人？）：立即把这个申德里克送往莫斯科第十八监狱。他被提出来，拽到古比雪夫递解站，从那里毫不拖延地送到了莫斯科。但并没有把他投进什么第十八监狱，而是和别人一起关进了大名鼎鼎的红色普列斯尼亚。（申德里克本人压根不知道十八号监狱的事，因为没有向他宣布过。）可是他的劫数未尽：没过两天，他又被拉出来解送。这次是去伯朝拉。车窗外的景色愈来愈贫瘠阴郁。小伙子吓错了：他知道有部长的指示。现在这样一个劲地往北方拉，八成是部长手里有申德里克的过硬材料。路途的疲劳再加上被偷走了三天的口粮，申德里克到达伯朝拉的时候已经东倒西歪。伯朝拉的接待很不客气，饿着肚子，不让住下，就押着他们顶风冒雪去上工。一连两天连衬衣也没有机会晾干，连床垫还没有用松枝填上。一声命令又要他交还全部公家的东西，往更远处遣送--去沃尔库塔。根据这一切迹象看，部长是决定把申德里克在劳改营里熬死。诚然，不是专门对付他一个，整整一批犯人都要摘掉。在沃尔库塔整一个月没有人过问申德里克。他参加了一般作业。虽然还没有从旅途的疲惫中恢复过来，但已经开始顺从北极圈内的命运了。可是有一次忽然大白天把他从矿井里叫出来，叫他赶紧回营里交还全部公家的东西。一小时以后就上了往南边开的火车。这次可有点像专门惩罚他一个人了！拉到了莫斯科。投进了第十八监狱。在监房里关了一个月。后来一个什么中尉叫了他去问："您跑到哪里去了？您真的是机械制造工程人员吗？"申德里克说是。于是就把他送到了……天堂岛！（是的，群岛里也有这类岛屿！） 这一类人物的隐现，这一类的遭遇，这一类的故事，使递解站大为生色。老劳改犯传授经验说："躺着，别管闲事！在这儿能吃最低保证的口粮，也不需要卖牛劲。人不挤的时候，你只管足足地睡。伸直了腿，吃了睡，睡了吃。吃不饱可是能睡足。"只有尝过劳改营一般作业滋味的人才懂得递解站是休养所，是我们途中的幸福。还有一样便宜事：白天睡过去--刑期就过得快些。只要把白天消磨掉，夜晚反正是瞧不见的。 诚然，递解监狱的主人们由于念念不忘劳动创造了人以及只有劳动才能改造罪犯的理论，有时由于有一些辅助性的活茬，有时由于承包了一些外活以便搞点额外财政收入，他们也驱使手头这些整日挺尸的递解劳力去干活。 在上面说过的那个科特拉斯递解站里，战前时期这种性质的劳动一点不比劳改营轻。六七名身体衰弱的囚犯套着搭缚，拉一辆拖拉机的挂斗雪橇。一个冬季的白天要沿着德维纳河拉上十二公里的路程，到维切格达河口去。一会儿人陷进雪里，摔倒在地，一会儿雪橇又卡住动不了。似乎再也想不出比这更累人的活儿了。可是这还不算真干活，这不过是活动活动筋骨。在维切格达河口还要把十立方木柴装上雪橇，原班人马用原样的都具，（列宾不在了。这对于我们新时代的画家已经算不了可以发挥创造性的主题；这不过是实景的粗陋的素描）把雪橇拖回递解站的家园。在这种情况下已经不必再谈你的什么劳改营了--到不了劳改营你已经完蛋。（干这些活时的作业班长是柯鲁巴耶夫，当过拉车牲口的有电气工程师德米特里耶夫、后勤部中校别利亚耶夫，还有一个就是我们已经熟悉的瓦西里?弗拉索夫。其他几个人的姓名现在已经说不全了。） 阿尔扎马斯递解站在战争期间给犯人吃的是甜菜疙瘩，而让他们干的劳动却是长期性的，它附设了缝纫厂、擀毡制靴车间（在滚烫的酸性液中擀制毛胚）。 一九四五年夏天我们自报奋勇地从红色普列斯尼亚的闷热窒息的监室里出去干活；这是为了取得一整天呼吸空气的权利，为了取得在安静的板条钉的厕所里不慌不忙、不受阻挠地蹲一会儿的权利（这可是一种常常被忽略的鼓励手段！）。八月的阳光（这正是波兹坦和广岛的日子）把厕所晒得暖洋洋，可以听到一只孤单的蜜蜂的安详的嗡嗡声。我们也是为了取得晚上多领一百克面包的权利。我们被带到正在卸木材的莫斯科河码头。我们的任务是把原木垛倒到别处，重新码起来。我们花的力气远远超过得到的报偿，可是我们仍然高兴到那儿去劳动。 青年时代（我的青年时代就是在那里面度过的！）的回忆常常逼得我脸红。但是凡使你沮丧者必给予你以教训。我发觉，在我肩头总共才摇颤了两个年头的那一副军官肩章，竟在我肋间那块方寸空地上抖落了大量的有毒的金粉。在河运码头上--它也是一个小型的劳改营，也划出了一个四周设有了望塔的隔离区--我们是外来人，是临时工。根本没有听说过可能把我们留在这个小型劳改营里服刑。但是，当我们第一次排好队，派工员在队前走过用眼睛物色临时作业班长的时候，我的卑微的心房简直要从毛料的军便服下面蹦出来：指定我吧！I!I! 没有指定我。可是我为什么要当这个？那只会使我做出更加可耻的错事。 哦，和权力分手是多么困难哪！这是必须懂得的。 红色普列斯尼亚曾经有一个时期几乎成了古拉格的首府--不论到哪里去都不能绕过它，正如不能绕过莫斯科。那个时期在国内旅行，无论从塔什干到索契，还是从切尔尼戈夫到明斯克，最方便的路线是通过莫斯科。运囚犯也一样，不论从哪里来到哪里去，都要沿铁路线拉着他们经过普列斯尼亚。我在那儿的时候正好赶上了这个时期。普列斯尼亚苦于人满之患，正在盖一座新楼。只有运送反间谍机关判处的犯人的直达闷罐列车沿着环城线路绕过莫斯科，它们恰巧在普列斯尼亚旁边通过，说不定在过站时还向它鸣笛致意呢！ 如果你是从外地到莫斯科中转的普通旅客，手里总归是拿着车票的，总归有希望或早或晚登上所需方向的列车。然而战争末期和战争结束后的普列斯尼亚，不仅被运到这里的犯人，就连最上头的人，就连古拉格的头头们，事先也说不出谁该往哪里去。监狱的秩序还没有像五十年代那样定型化，谁的档案上也没有写明途径路线和目的地。顶多有个工作上的附记："严加警戒！""只可使用于一般作业！"押解队的中士们把用散乱的细麻绳或者纸绳随便捆了一遭的装着监狱档案的破烂卷宗夹子一擦一棵地抱进监狱办公室的木头房子，胡乱地摔在书架上面、桌子上面、桌子下面、椅子下面，或者干脆扔在过道的地板上（就像它们的本主地横七竖八地躺在监室的地面上一样）。这些公文松了捆，散乱了和混淆了。一间、两间、三间房子堆满了这些一团糟的档案。监狱办公室的女秘书们--穿着花里胡哨的连衣裙的肥胖懒惰的自由雇用人员--热得汗流浃背，成天扇着扇子跟监狱里的及押解队的军官们调情逗笑。她们既不愿意也没有力量去翻腾这些乱纸堆。可是每个星期都要发出几次红色列车。每天还要用汽车运出上百号人到较近的劳改营。每个犯人的档案必须随人一同发出。这件伤脑筋的麻烦事谁来干？谁去把档案分类并且组配递解的批次呢？ 这种事情委托给几个派工员去完成。他们是从递解站杂役里头挑选的--这些人是一些"母狗"、或者"半带色的"。他们可以在监狱走廊里随意走动，随意进入办公楼。是把你的档案随手放进坏的递解批次还是费心劳神地找出你的档案以便塞进好的批次，这全要仰仗他们。（新进来的犯人打听出有一些恶劣透顶的劳改营，这个情况他们没有搞错，但是他们以为还有一些好的劳改营，那可是受骗上当了。不可能有"好的"劳改营，只可能在劳改营中谋求某类较好的命运，不过那只能就地去争取。）囚徒们的整个前途依赖着另一个跟他们身份一样的囚徒的态度。人们盘算着是不是该找机会跟这个人谈谈呢（哪怕是通过浴室服务员拉拉关系）？是不是该给他塞点东西呢（哪怕是通过财物保管员的后门）？--这可真不如听天由命的好。存在着这样一种捉摸木定的机会--一件皮外套可能把诺里尔斯克改换成纳尔契克，一公斤咸肉可能把泰谢特改换成银松林（皮外套和咸肉也可能白丢）--它徒然给已经疲惫不堪的心灵增加痛苦和不安。也许有人真的得到好处，也许有人真的换来如意的安排--但是最幸福的还是那些无可奉献或不愿为此惶惶不可终日的人们。 听天由命，完全排除自己对自己生活前途的意志，认识到预测吉凶非但无用而且很容易导致你走出将使你遗恨终生的一步。这可以使一个囚犯获得某种程度的解脱，使得他比较安详，甚至比较高尚。 这样，当囚犯们横七竖八地躺在监室里的时候，他们的命运也高如山积地堆放在监狱办公室的各个房间里，而派工员们则是从容易下脚的地方取出卷宗。因此．一部分犯人要在这个可诅咒的普列斯尼亚恭候两三个月，而另一些人则可能以流星的速度从这里一闪而过。由于犯人的密集、办事的匆忙、案卷的混乱，在普列斯尼亚（在其他递解站亦如是）有时竟然发生刑期替换的情形。五十八条的犯人们没有这种危险，因为他们的刑期，用高尔基的说法，是大写的刑期，天生是漫长无际的，即使看起来好像快到头了，实际上永远到不了头。但是，惯偷、杀人犯如果把自己的刑期和一个傻头傻脑的"普通犯"替换一下，倒是有一点意义。他们本人或者是他们的帮手出面向这样的人凑近乎，关心地问东问西。那个人不懂得，短期犯人在递解站决不能透露自己的底细，他可能一五一十地告诉人家：他的姓名，比方说，是瓦西里?巴尔菲内奇?叶甫拉施金，一九一三年生人，住在谢米杜比耶，是当地出生的。刑期一年，一0九条，"玩忽职守"罪。过后，这个叶甫拉施金睡着了；也许没有睡着，是因为监室里太嘈杂，车门上的送饭孔旁边太拥挤，无法靠近，听不见门外走廊里宣读本批解犯名单的人嘀里嘟噜些什么。站在门口的犯人们向监室里传呼了一些姓氏，可是没有叫到叶甫拉施金，因为走廊里刚刚念到这个姓氏便有一个贼骨头立时巴巴结结地（在需要的时候他们可会这一手啦！）朝门外探出他那嘴脸，用又快又低的声音回话："瓦西里?巴尔菲内奇，一九一三年生，谢米杜比耶村，一0九条，一年"--接着就跑去取东西。真叶甫拉施金打了哈欠，又在板铺上躺下，耐心等待明天再叫号。一周过去了，一个月过去了，这时候他终于鼓起勇气打扰一下看守长：为什么他老是不起解？（而同时各个监室每天都呼唤着一个姓兹维亚嘎的人。）又过了一个月或者半年，当有了空闲时间用还累点名的办法对全体解犯进行了一次大清查以后，只剩下一个兹维亚嘎的案子找不到人：累犯，两次杀人，抢劫商店，十年；另有一个自称为叶甫拉施金的怯生生的囚犯找不到案卷。凭照片根本看不清，那么就暂且把他当作兹维亚嘎好了，那么就该把他关进伊甫查里惩戒劳改营去。不然的话，就得承认是递解站摘错了。（已经解出去的那一个叶甫拉施金现在已经查不到下落，名单没有留底。况且他是一年刑期，现在已经被派到营外去干免除看管的农业劳动，正享受着一天算三天的折减。也许他已经逃亡，早就在家里呆着。更大的可能是又进了监狱，正在服另一次刑期。）也能遇到这样一类怪家伙，他们为了换取一两公斤成肉，甘愿把自己的短暂的刑期卖给别人。他们估计反正以后会弄清楚的，会查明他的身份。这个主意也不完全错。 有一个时期，囚犯的案卷上不注明递解目的地，在那些年代，递解站变成了奴隶市场。递解站里最受欢迎的客人是买主，这个名词在走廊上和监室里是经常挂在人们嘴上的，并不带任何讥笑的意味。正如各工厂不能坐等中央统配物资而要派出自己的催办人员一样，古拉格也有类似情况：各岛屿的土著在渐渐绝灭，他们虽然不值一文钱，但却是有统计数字的，因此需要自己设法弄进些人口来补充，以免完不成计划指标。买主须是一些精明干练、很有眼力的人。凡要带走的犯人都必须仔细过目，免得让人家塞进一些老弱病残充头数。不中用的买主才凭档案挑选犯人，正经八百的商人要求货物活生生、光溜溜地在他们眼前走过。货物这个词儿不是当笑话说的。"喂，这回运来的是什么货？"布蒂尔卡交接站上，一个买主发现了十七岁的伊拉?卡林娜，一边上下打量一边问。 人类的天性即便能够变化，也不会比地球的地质面貌变得更快。二十五个世纪以前奴隶贩子在女奴市场上体验过的那种好奇、玩味、品评的心理当然也支配着一九四七年乌斯满监狱中的古拉格官员们。他们--身穿内务部制服的二十来个男人--分别坐在几张铺着床单的（这是为了显示隆重，不然总归有点不好意思）桌子后面，女犯们在旁边的隔离室脱光衣服。她们必须赤身露体、光着脚在他们面前通过，朝他们转过身，停下来，回答他们的问话。"把手放下来！"这是对那些采取古希腊雕像的遮羞姿态的女犯们发出的命令（要知道，军官们正在为自己和自己的同事们认真地挑选姘妇）。 新囚犯到达递解站时精神上感到的一些天真无邪的快慰也会被明日劳改营中那一场苦战的浓重阴影所笼罩。 普列斯尼亚监室里关进了一个专用犯人，他在我身边睡了两夜。"专用通知单"是总局开具的一张随犯人转送到各地的通知单。他就是按照这样的通知单的规定解送的，那上面写明他是建筑技术人员，各地必须按他的专业使用他。专用犯人途中乘坐普通的"