Chapter 36 Chapter 7 Aboriginal life-1

It seemed easiest and simplest to describe the apparently monotonous life of the islands.But it's also hard.This is the same as introducing any other life. It needs to tell the whole process from morning to morning, winter to winter, birth (first entry into the labor camp) to death (death).Also include all islands, large and small. Of course, no one can cover all of these things, and what's more, things written in large volumes may be very boring to read. The life of the aborigines is nothing more than labor, labor, labor; nothing more than hunger, cold, slippery, and hiding.Whoever is incapable of pushing others away and placing himself in a comfortable position will for him be what is called ordinary labor, that is, building a socialism above ground while driving ourselves underground. that kind of labor.

There are countless types of "general labor" jobs, and no one has such a long tongue.Push cart ("OCO type machine, two handlebars, one wheel").Carry the stretcher.Unload bricks with bare hands (fingers wear off quickly).Carry bricks with a piggyback.Open-pit quarrying, coal digging, soil extraction, and sand extraction.Use a pickaxe to dig out the hexagonal gold ore and transport it to the screen.Or simply dig the soil and gnaw the ground (rocky soil, and in winter).Dig coal underground, dig metal ores - aluminum, copper.Can also crush copper ore (sweet taste in the mouth, dripping water from the nostrils).Sleepers (and your own body) can be soaked in creosote.Can dig railway tunnels.Pave the foundation.Peat can be harvested from the swamp by standing in waist-deep muddy water.Can smelt ore.Molten steel can be cast.Can be mowed on mounds in flooded pastures (under the calf is better than in water).Can be a breeder, a cart driver (and steal oats from the horse sacks to put in his own pot. The horse is an official horse, and it may hold up if it is fed with grass, and it will die if it dies!), or on a labor camp farm Do some farm work (it's the best work: you can always get yourself something out of the field).

But the father of all things is still our Russian forest with a truly golden trunk (from which gold is mined).Among the various types of work in the archipelago, logging is the oldest.Anyone wants this job, and any kind of people can arrange it, even the handicapped (send people without hands in groups of three to step on the half-meter-thick snow).The snow was as deep as his chest.You are a carpenter.In the first step, you step on the snow around the trunk yourself and bring the trunk down.Then, you struggled back and forth through the snow, hacking away all the branches (you had to reach into the snow to find the branches before trying to reach them with the axe).Then, still in this soft snow, the branches were pulled together and piled up, and burned in piles (they were only smoking, not hot).Now, you have to saw the logs and stack them according to the specified size.The daily quota for one person is five squares, and for two people ten squares. (Seven squares at Breebolom, but stubby logs at the base must be split in half.) By this time your arms can no longer lift the ax, and your legs can no longer move.

During the war years (under the condition of eating wartime food), the labor camp prisoners called the logging work for three weeks as "dry shooting". You will hate these forests, the beauties of the land that are sung in poetry and prose.When you enter the cloaked vault of pine or birch, you feel a shudder of disgust.Decades later, when you close your eyes, you will still see the stubby logs of spruce or poplar, which you carry on one end and drag the other end on the ground, and transport them to the train wagon hundreds of meters away.You get stuck in snow, you fall, but you hold on to it because you know that if you slip, you'll never have the strength to pick it up from the snowdrift again.

Hard labor in Russia was for decades governed by the Code of Building Works, a code of 1869 for free men.Consider when assigning work: The physical strength and proficiency of the worker. (Can people believe such a thing today?!) The prescribed working day is: seven hours (!) in winter and twelve hours and five minutes in summer.In the harsh Akatui hard labor prison (Jakubovich, 189), everyone except Yakubovich easily fulfilled the labor quota.The summer working day there, including walking, is only eight hours, but from October onwards it is shortened to seven hours, and in winter it is only six hours. (And this was before any struggle for a universal eight-hour day!) As for the Omsk labor prison where Dostoyevsky spent, any reader can easily see that there was nothing but idle food.Labor is easy and pleasant.The prison authorities even made them wear white linen underwear!What else can I do?There is a saying in our labor camp: "You can sew a white collar!" It means that the labor is so easy that there is almost nothing to do.But even the clothes are white. The convicts in the "House of the Dead" still take long walks in the prison compound after work.It shows that they are not half dead from exhaustion!In fact, the censors did not want "Notes from the House of the Dead" to be published because they worried that the lightness of life described by Dostoevsky would not help prevent people from committing crimes.So Yangstoevsky wrote some new chapters specially for the procuratorial organs, pointing out that the life of hard labor is hard after all!In our labor camp only the handymen took a walk on Sundays, and even they were ashamed.Shalamov also found in the "Notes of Maria Volkonskaya" that the labor quotas set for the Decembrists in Nerchensk were: one man mined and shipped three poods of ore (forty-eight kilograms) a day. ! It can be lifted at one time!).But Shalamov of Kolyma was prescribed eight hundred poods.what!Shalamov's book also says that sometimes their summer workdays stretched as long as sixteen hours.I don't know what the taste of sixteen hours is, but many people have tasted the taste of thirteen hours.So it was with the earthworks in Karlage, and with the lumberyards in the north.What is mentioned here is pure labor time, and the walking time of the five kilometers into the forest and the five kilometers back is not included.In fact, there is nothing to dispute about the length of the working day. You must know that the labor quota is one level higher than the length of the working day.If the work shift cannot meet the quota, only the escort team will change shifts on time, and the workers will still stay in the forest, working all night under searchlights, and can return to camp before dawn.If you eat dinner and breakfast together, you have to go into the woods again.

No one can now describe these situations in detail, they are all dead. There is another way to increase the quota and prove that it can be completed: the temperature drops below 50 degrees, and the working day can be written off according to the regulations, and the record is: the prisoner did not work that day.However, they were actually driven out to work.The percentage is increased by apportioning the oil and water squeezed from them on such days to the accounts of other days. (The zealous health center will naturally write off the accounts of those who froze to death in this climate for other reasons. Those left behind on the way back to the camp who were unable to walk, or those who sprained their legs and crawled on the ground, the escort team will kill them on the spot. Lest they take advantage of the opportunity to escape before coming back for them.)

What do you feed them for such a job?A pot of white water, pour in some small potatoes that are not peeled, which is good, otherwise it is black cabbage, sugar turnip sprouts and all kinds of things that should be thrown into the trash can.Then there are peas and wheat bran, these things are willing to give up. (In water-scarce areas, such as the Samarka labor camp near Karaganda, the vegetable soup is just enough for each person to drink a bowl a day, and another two jars of bitter and muddy water are sent out.) If it is better, it must be judged by the officers ( See Chapter 9), handymen, and thieves steal to enjoy.The cooks are all terrified, and they rely on obedience to keep their jobs.Meat oil, meat "substitute food" (that is, not real food), fish, peas, cereals, etc., were taken out of the warehouse in a certain amount, but very few could be put into the cauldron.The chiefs in remote areas even withheld salt for their own pickles. (In 1940, salt was not removed from the bread and vegetable soup distributed on the Kotlas-Vorkuta Railway.) The poorer the quality of the food, the more chances it fell into the mouths of prisoners.Sometimes it is a feast to eat the meat of the dead horse, even if it cannot be chewed.Ivan Dobriak now recalls: "At that time, I stuffed a lot of dolphin meat, walrus meat, seal meat, red fish meat, and other messy sea animal meat in my stomach. (I insert Sentence: We also ate whale meat in the Kaluga prison in Moscow.) Animal excrement does not scare us. As for willow leaves, lichens, chamomiles—these are even more superlative dishes." (Obviously these are The game he collected himself.)

According to the gulag's ration, it would not be able to feed a person who worked for thirteen hours or even ten hours in the severe cold.What's more, it is even more impossible to do this when all the real useful things in the food have been stolen.At this time, the Satan's mixer invented by Frenkel was inserted into the boiling cauldron: some coolies' rations were used to fill the stomachs of other coolies.The pots and stoves are divided into various grades: those who complete less than 30% of the quota (the standards are different in each labor camp) eat confinement stoves: 300 grams of bread and a bowl of vegetable soup a day; those who complete 30 to 80 percent eat Punishment stove: 400 grams of bread, two bowls of vegetable soup; those who have completed 81% to 100% eat production stove: 51600 grams of bread, three bowls of vegetable soup; There are also differences: 71800 grams of bread, plus one or two servings of porridge, and a reward dish-a pea stuffed bun made of dark and bitter rye flour.

In order to obtain this watery soup that cannot compensate for the physical exertion, people worked desperately and exhausted their physical strength.Assault workers and Stakhanov workers go to the ground earlier than those who feign illness and do not go to work.Old reform-through-labor prisoners know this, they say: "I would rather you give me less than a spoonful of porridge, as long as you don't tell me to go to work!" Then you can secure the "guaranteed" ration of six hundred grams.But if you go to the canal site dressed in "season" (that's the famous Gulag expression!) -- even if you smash a sledgehammer into a vertebra on the frozen ground, Three hundred grams of bread can be mixed in at most.

But it's up to the prisoner whether to stay on the bunk... In order not to fall to the end, he has to run to take over. (For a while in some labor camps the last ones were shot.) Of course, the food is not so bad everywhere, nor is it always so.But in Kraslage during the war, the above mentioned figures are typical.At that time, the Vorkuta miners’ rations were probably the highest standard in the entire Gulag (because the heroic Moscow relied on their coal for heating): 80% of the ration underground or 100% of the ration above the well, and one kilogram of bread and three hundred gram.

But what about before the revolution? --Dark and murderous Akatui, on days of no work ("lying on the bunk"), 2.5 Russian pounds (one kilogram!) of bread and thirty-two "Zolotnik" (a One hundred and thirty-three grams!) Meat.On working days, three pounds of bread and forty-eight "Zolotnik" (two hundred grams!) meat were given.Isn't it higher than the ration standard of our frontline army?Prisoners there poured vats of vegetable soup and porridge to the guards to feed the pigs.Even the buckwheat porridge (!--the Gulag had never seen such a thing!) found "indescribably bad taste" to Yakubovich.The convicts in Yanstoevsky's book were never threatened with death from malnutrition.If geese (!!) swagger by in their prison yard ("in the camp") and the prisoners don't pounce on them and break their necks, what is there to say?In Akatuy Prison, bread was placed on the table to eat freely, and everyone was given a Russian pound of beef on Christmas Day, and there was unlimited butter mixed in porridge.Prisoners who were mining and building roads on Sakhalin in the Tsarist era received four Russian pounds of bread (one kilogram and six hundred grams!), four hundred grams of meat, and two hundred and fifty cereals a day during the most intense month of labor. gram!The meticulous Chekhov also investigated whether such a ration is really enough to eat. Maybe it is actually not enough due to the poor quality of baking and cooking?If he had looked into the bowls of our Soviet coolie prisoners, he would have lost his mind in no time. Who at the beginning of this century could have imagined that "after thirty or forty years" not only on one island of Sakhasen, but on the entire archipelago, people would be eager to eat a more sticky, dirty, raw, adulterated God knows what bread!Can something like 700 grams become a coveted ration for assault workers? ! No, there are more than that!Collective farmers all over Russia are still envious of such prisoner rations! --"We don't even have this in the countryside!..." Even the tsarist mines of Khalchensk paid extra for all the fruits of labor above the official quota (which was always modest).For most of the years since our labor camps existed in the archipelago, they paid nothing for the fruits of labor, or paid only enough to buy soap and tooth powder.Only in individual labor camps, and during the brief period when economic accounting was introduced for unknown reasons (giving prisoners one-eighth to one-quarter of their real wages), prisoners were able to buy a little bread, meat, and sugar.Suddenly you can see such a strange thing: there is a small piece of bread left on the table in the cafeteria, and no one reaches for it after five minutes. How do our natives dress? All the archipelagos look like an archipelago: blue waves, coconut groves, and the island's administration does not have to pay for the clothes of the islanders--they are barefoot and almost naked.And our archipelago be damned, it is impossible to imagine what it looks like in the hot sun: it is always covered with snow and ice, and the snowstorm is always howling over it.So all the 10 to 15 million prisoners in this bottomless pit had to be clothed and shoed. Fortunately, they were born outside the archipelago, and they are not naked when they come here.They can be made to wear the original ones -- to be more precise, the leftovers picked up by social affinity elements.It is only necessary to tear off a small square to mark the archipelago, just as the wool from one ear of a sheep is used as a mark.Cut a beveled edge from the hem of the military coat, and cut the top from the Budyonny cap just to make an air vent on the forehead.It's a pity that clothes from outside are not eternal, and shoes and socks wear out in a week on the stumps and mounds of the archipelago.So the natives still had to be provided with clothes, even though they couldn't pay for them. All this will one day appear on the stage of Russia!On screen!Jackets with one color on the front and back and sleeves of another color, jackets with patches where the original base can no longer be seen, and "flame" jackets (the rags droop like flames).Or trousers patched with parcel leather, on the corner of the patch, the address written in chemical pencil can be read after a long time. On my feet were the tried and tested Russian bark shoes, lacking only the good foot-coverings to go with them.Maybe a piece of car strap tied directly to a bare foot with wire or wire (the poor have their way...).Perhaps it is a "felt boot" made of a ripped cotton vest sewn into a tube, with a layer of felt and a layer of rubber as the sole. The head of the "work alone" point heard the prisoners shouting cold at the gate early in the morning, and answered them with gula-style witty words: "You don't see that my goose has been walking barefoot all winter, and it's not too cold at all. Of course, the feet are red. But you are all wearing overshoes." In addition, the black and gray faces, teary eyes and red cheeks of the prisoners will appear on the screen.Pale, chapped lips with pustules.A stubble of gray hair that has not been shaved for a long time.A thin peaked cap with two earflaps sewn on for the winter. I recognized it!Here you are, inhabitants of my archipelago! But no matter how many hours of work there are, the peons always return to the work shed. Shed?But some places are underground houses.In the north, there are more... tents, although they are randomly surrounded by thin boards and filled with soil.Kerosene lamps are often used instead of electric lamps, and sometimes pine seeds are used for lighting, or cotton twist seeds soaked in fish oil are used. (In Ustvim I have not seen kerosene for two years, and even the headquarters shed is lit with cooking oil from the food warehouse.) Now let us see the ruined world in this bleak light . Two-story board shop, three-story board shop, and the so-called "small carriage", that is already a sign of luxury.Most of the bed boards are bare, with nothing on them.There is too much stealing in some dispatch points, so no public property is sent to the prisoners, and their own things cannot be kept in the work shed: small pots, vegetable pots, etc. must be carried with them when they go to work (even rucksacks) You have to carry it, carry it on your back to dig soil), and those who have a quilt should roll it into a circle and wrap it around your neck (good shot!), or send it to a guarded work shed and ask a handyman you know to look after it.During the day, the shed was empty, as if no one lived there.It would be nice to wear wet clothes during labor to dry before going to bed (there is also a drying room!), but lying on bare boards without clothes will freeze!Or let it dry on itself.A man's hat or a woman's hair can freeze to the tent cloth in the middle of the night.Even the bark shoes had to be hidden under the head, so as not to be ripped off the feet (Blebepolom, wartime).In the middle of the shed is a gasoline barrel with a hole dug to use it as a stove. If it can burn red and fill the whole shed with steam that smells like foot wraps, then you should be thankful.In some sheds there are so many kinds of pests that even using sulfur yellow for four days will not help.In the summer, when the prisoners hid in the open fields in the camp to sleep, the bedbugs would follow them and find them there.The lice in the underwear were cooked in small pots after the prisoners had eaten. All this is something that could only have happened in the twentieth century, and there is no comparison in this respect with the prison history books of the last century: nothing like this has been written before. All of the above needs to be supplemented with a picture: the bread of each work class is transported from the bakery to the cafeteria on trays, and the best members of the class need to be escorted with sticks.Otherwise, they will be snatched away, knocked down to the ground, and run away after taking everything away.I would like to add another picture: I received the package from the package delivery place, and was knocked down on the ground as soon as I went out, plus I was often worried that the chief would cancel the holiday again. (The "Ukhta State Farm" did not give a day off in the year before the war, so there was nothing to say during the war. People don't remember Karlage from 1937 to 1945 One day off.) On top of these pictures, there will be a layer of oil paint reflecting the eternal restlessness and convulsive changes of labor camp life: now it is heard that it will be transferred; I don’t know what the transfer of prison is for the hard labor in Ji’s works. People serve ten or twenty years in the same prison, which is a completely different kind of life); There's a need for "movements"; there's a "medical exam"; there's an inventory; there's a nighttime raid where you're stripped and your rags are ripped apart again; there's May 1st and November 7th. A thorough search before Christmas (I have never heard of such things before Christmas and Easter in hard labor prisons in the last century).He has to enter the "bathing" room three times a month for murder. (In order to avoid repetition, I will not write here. Shalamov's book has a detailed introduction and research, and Dumbrovsky also has an introduction.) Then there is the state of not being able to be alone, of not being able to be alone, of not being able to exist as an individual but only as a member of a homework group, which always entangles you tightly (it is very painful for intellectuals), and the state of having to live all day, all year, and all the long The sentence is based on the needs of the work class and cannot act according to one's own decision. Also keep in mind that everything said above is in terms of permanent labor camps that have been established for more than a year.And labor camps always have to be started by someone (who else but us hapless bastards?) at some point: the procession goes into the icy forest, a barbed wire fence is drawn around the tree trunks... who will survive to the first batch Once the work shed was completed, he would know that the work shed was built for the guards to live in.In November 1941, the first solitary labor station in Kraslag was opened near Lesotti Station (it grew to seventeen ten years later), and 250 people who were expelled from the army in order to stabilize the morale of the army Combat soldiers were escorted to this place.They felled wood and built wooden frames, but they had no materials for roofing, so they had to build iron stoves and live in open-air houses.The bread brought in from other places was frozen into stones, split, smashed, and kneaded into fine crumbs with an axe, and handed out to them in handfuls.The other food is northern trout, which is bitterly salty and burns in the mouth, and it feels like a fire under the weight of snow when swallowed. (When commemorating the heroes of the Great Patriotic War, please don't forget these people!...) Such is life in my archipelago. Nowhere have philosophers, psychologists, or medical scientists observed with such detail and quantity the narrowing of man's intellectual and spiritual horizons and his peculiar process of descent into the animal state, the process of living and dying, as in the labor camps.But the psychologists in the labor camps largely forgot to observe: they themselves fell into the current that dissolves individuality into dung. Party orthodox factions, who survived the camps unharmed, now ask me brilliant questions: "How low are the characters and minds of the heroes of "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich"! Where are they?" The thoughts of the victims on the historical process? The article is full of food rations! Vegetable soup! After all, there is much more unbearable pain than hunger!" Oh, is there?Oh, much more unbearable pain (the pain of orthodoxy?)?Gentlemen of pure orthodoxy, of course you do not know hunger in the clinics and in the storage rooms! For centuries it has been known that the ruler of the world is hunger! (By the way, the whole advanced theory is based on hunger, that hungry people seem bound to rise against well-fed people.) Hunger rules over every starving man unless he consciously seeks death.Hunger drives the honest man to steal.Hunger drives the most disinterested man to look enviously at another's bowl, and painfully reckon the measure of his neighbor's ration.Hunger makes a man dizzy and does not allow him to pay attention to, think of, or talk about anything other than eating, eating, eating.Hunger that can’t be avoided even when you sleep: you want to eat when you fall asleep, and you want to eat when you can’t sleep, and soon you can’t sleep at all.A hunger that can never be satisfied afterward: a person becomes a straight-through pipe, and everything swallowed comes out from below in its original form. All living things cannot survive without excreting waste.The same is true of the archipelago, which cannot thrive without draining its chief waste, the dying, to the bottom. Everything built on the archipelago is squeezed from the bones of the dying (before they become dying). from. Russian screens should also feature scenes of the dying waiting at the kitchen door, squinting at their competitors with envy, waiting to empty the trash into the slop pit.They swarmed up, fought each other, and searched for fish heads, bones, and cabbage in the pit.How a dying man died in the scramble; how they washed, cooked, and ate the rubbish afterwards. (Curious photographers can continue to take pictures, so that the audience can see how in Daolinka in 1947, how the Bessarabian peasant women transported from outside the prison rushed to the prisoner with the same intention. Warm puddles searched by the dying.) The screen will also show how unshattered skeletons lie under the covers of inpatient beds, how they die slowly, almost motionless, and are carried out.In general, it can also let the audience see how easy it is for people to die: when they are talking, they fall silent; when they are walking, they fall down;How a fat-headed social kinsman sent workers to drag a man off the bunk by his feet and tell him to go to work (Weng Ri, Nuuksha Correctional Centre).The man was dead, his head hit the ground with a slight thud. "Smelly meat, the ball is dead!" The dispatcher kicked him happily. (During the war, there were no medical assistants or hygienists in the labor camps, so there were no patients. Anyone who wanted to pretend to be a patient had to go to the forest with the help of his companions to work. They carried a board and rope with them so that they could drag the dead body back and save effort. .While working, put the sick man next to the campfire, and everyone, including the prisoners and the escort team, hoped that he would die soon.) What the screen cannot reflect, will be described for us in slow and careful prose.It can distinguish the subtle differences between the various death paths.Some are called scurvy, some are called pellagra (pellagra), and some are called malnutrition.A bite of bread leaves a bloodstain - that's scurvy.The next step is teeth falling out, gums festering, ulcers appearing in the legs, chunks of muscle tissue falling off, the body of the living begins to stink, and the legs are contorted with huge lumps.The hospital does not accept such people, they crawl around on their knees in the camp.The complexion turned dark, as if sunbathed, the skin peeled off, and severe diarrhea—this is pellagra.Diarrhea must be stopped. The main way is to eat three small spoons of chalk a day. It is said that if you eat a full meal of salted herring, the food can stay in the stomach.But where to get salted herring?Man grows weaker every day.The bigger the body, the faster it decays.This man has been so weak that he can't even climb up the second floor of the plank, and he can't even cross a log lying on the ground. He needs to hold a leg with both hands, or crawl across on all fours.Diarrhea takes away strength, loss of interest in anything - other people, life, self.He became deaf, stupefied, and lost the ability to cry.As he was tied to the sledge and dragged, he no longer feared death, he entered the rosy state of resignation.He crossed all boundaries, forgetting the names of his wife and children, forgetting his own name.People who are dying of starvation are sometimes covered with purple-black pea-shaped particles with pus-tips smaller than the tip of a needle.On the face, hands, legs, torso and even the scrotum.The whole body was in unbearable pain, and I couldn't touch it at all.The small pustules gradually rotted, ruptured, and maggot-like thick pus flowed out.The man rotted away. If black head lice are crawling in panic over your slatted neighbor's face, it's an unmistakable sign of death. Pooh!How naturalistic!What do you keep talking about? Those who have never suffered by themselves, those who have killed someone themselves, or those who have just washed their hands and put on an innocent expression, generally say to me today: "Why do you want to recall these? Why do you want to touch the old ones?" Scars (their scars!!)?" Leo Tolstoy has already answered this question by Biliukov ("Conversation with Tolstoy"): "Don't you understand why you need to remember? Except, I will always recall it with pleasure. Only when my illness remains the same or is getting worse, when I want to deceive myself, do I not. If we recall! Our new atrocities today will also be exposed." These pages of introduction to the dying I would like to conclude with H? K? F's account of the engineer Lev Nikolayevich (whose name is probably in honor of Tolstoy)?E. E can be regarded as a theorist who studies the dying.He found that the mode of survival of the dying was the most convenient way of preserving life. On a hot Sunday, in a remote corner of the camp, Engineer E survives this way: a humanoid sits on the slope of a large pit filled with brown peaty water.Fresh fish heads, fish bones, crispy bones, bread crusts, porridge balls, rotten potato skins, and other things whose names could not even be named were littered around the pit.A blackened soldier's cauldron hung from a bonfire on a sheet of iron.Soup is being cooked.It seems to work!The dying use a wooden spoon to scoop out a dark soup from a small pot, and drink it with potato skins, crispy bones, and fresh fish heads.He chewed very, very slowly and mindfully (it is the common misfortune of the dying to swallow without chewing).His nose was hard to see in the dark gray hair that covered his neck, chin, and forehead.His nose and forehead were sallow, and the skin was peeling off in places.Eyes dripping tears, blinking constantly. When he found outsiders approaching, the dying man quickly collected the unfinished food in front of him, hugged the small pot tightly to his chest, fell down, and curled up like a hedgehog.Now hit and push as you like, he will not move on the ground, will not walk away, and will not hand over the small pot. H? Press? V spoke to him kindly, and the hedgehog let go a little, knowing that he was not here to beat him and win the pot.Then they chatted.Both are engineers (H? I's a geologist, E a chemist). E speaks openly about his beliefs. He cites data on the chemical composition that has not been forgotten, proving that waste from kitchen waste All the necessary nutrients are still ingested. All that is required is to overcome the aversion and do everything possible to extract nutrients from it. E was still wearing several layers of clothing on a hot day, and it was extremely dirty. (Here is also particularity: it has been proved through experiments that lice and fleas cannot reproduce in very dirty clothes, and they seem to be dirty. So one of his underwear was even picked out from the cleaning machine market in the repair workshop.) Look at his appearance: the peak of the Budyonny helmet has become like a black candle stub; With a few strands of flax.The strips of cloth on the back and sides of the jacket were hanging down like tongues.Patch, full of patches.Half of the clothes were covered with tar.The cotton lining hangs out of the hem like a fringe.The sleeves of the jacket were torn to pieces below the elbows, and when the dying man raised his hand, it looked like a bat spreading its wings.On his feet were overshoes glued with red inner tubes. Why is he dressed so hot?First, summer is short and winter is long. This outfit is prepared for the winter, but besides wearing it on the body, where else can it be kept?Second, and the main thing, relying on these things as body protection and air cushions, it doesn't hurt when you are beaten, and you don't get bruises from kicking or beating with sticks.This is his only means of self-defense.All you need to do is to find the person who wants to beat him in time, get down on the ground in time, draw your knees to your abdomen to protect it, tuck your head to your chest, and hug it with your arms in thick cotton clothes.People can only hit the soft parts of his body.To not get hit for too long, it needs to give the hitter a winning feel quickly.For this purpose, E learned to growl like a piglet from the first blow, even though he felt no pain at all. (All labor camps have a habit of beating the weak. Not only dispatched workers and operation monitors are like this, ordinary prisoners also like to do this in order to get the feeling that they are not the weakest. Since people can’t believe that they don’t do some cruel things If you have power, what can you do?) E found his chosen lifestyle to be perfectly bearable and perfectly justified.Furthermore, it does not require you to sully your conscience!No harm to anyone. He counted on living to maturity. The visit to the dying ends here. Tomas Scovio, old Kolyma (Italian born in Buffalo), asserts: "The quickest to become a dying is an intellectual; all the dying I know are intellectuals. I have never seen Ordinary Russian peasants turned dying."