Chapter 71 Chapter 11 Groping Forward, Breaking the Chain-1

The trench that separated us from our defenders has collapsed into a ravine.Both of us stood on the slopes on both sides of the deep valley and looked at each other, thinking about it.what's next To say that we "stand" on a slope is of course a figurative statement.In fact, we still go to work every day led by our new squad leader. (The new squad leader is either secretly elected and agreed in advance to serve everyone; or he is still the same person, but has become very reasonable, friendly and caring for the masses.) We are not late for work, and everyone tries not to give up. Others create difficulties, and no one refuses to work.Complete work quota every day.It seemed that the camp owner could treat us to the point of recovery.We also seem to be content with them, since they have lately stopped yelling and threatening at all, and have stopped confining people on the pretext of trivial matters; nor do they seem to notice that we no longer take off our hats when we see them.Nowadays, Major Maximenko usually doesn’t get up until after the morning dispatch, and when the work is over in the evening, he often waits near the watchtower, making a joke or two with the criminals while we wait for the search.He eats as much as he hugs.He looked at us cheerfully, just like the herdsman in Tavelia looked at the countless flocks of sheep returning from grazing on the grassland.Occasionally show us a movie on Sunday. However, the labor of building the "Great Wall" is still very heavy.

Still, both of us were nervously thinking: what to do next?It is impossible to maintain the status quo for long: both we and they feel inadequate.There is always one side to attack. But what else do we want to strive for?Now, we can say all the things we hold in our hearts without any scruples in the open. (Real freedom of speech, albeit only within the confines of the labor camp ghetto, is still sweet, albeit so belatedly in one's life!) Can we hope to extend such freedom beyond the ghetto , or take it out into the world?No, of course not.What other political demands can we make?I can't even think of it!Not to mention that it's hopeless or doesn't work, just can't think of it!Being in a labor camp, we certainly can't demand total change in the country, and we can't ask it to abolish the labor camps, or people will drop bombs on us from the planes.

The only natural and reasonable demand we can make is that our case be reopened and that the sentence imposed on us without reason be revoked.But it also seems hopeless.In the present stench of horror which is permeating the country, and is growing thicker, the judges will feel that the judgments of the greater part of us are just, and they seem to have succeeded in convincing us of it!Besides, the re-examination of the case seems to be mentioned in a very non-specific way, so that the masses can neither see nor touch it. It is easiest to use "re-examination" to deceive us: promise, delay, and then send someone to "investigate" again. It can drag on for years.Even if it is suddenly announced that someone will be released and taken away from the work shed, how do we know that he is not taken to be shot, sent to another prison, or sentenced to a new sentence?

Didn't the scene performed by the so-called "committee" in the previous period fully demonstrate that all these can be played?At that time, they even pretended that they planned to let us go home without "re-examination"... There is only one thing that everyone agrees on and there is no doubt about: demand that some of the most injurious practices should be abolished - lock the shed at night, remove the toilet; remove the number on the body; our labor should not be completely unpaid; Twelve letters a year are allowed (in fact, all this is already done in ordinary labor camps, where even twenty-four letters can be written a year, but is it possible to live there?)

Are we going to fight for an eight-hour workday?There isn't even a consensus on this one...see, we're so used to not being free that we don't even want to go after it... We also carefully considered the method: how to make these requirements?What to do?It is obvious that we cannot deal with a modern army empty-handed, so our path cannot be an armed uprising, but a strike.During a strike, for example, the number bib can be automatically removed from the body. But there is still slavish blood in our veins.The fact that everyone is tearing off their dog-number bibs seems to us a very brave, daring, desperate act like taking to the streets with a machine gun; It sounded so dire that it had to be supported by a hunger strike: we felt as if we would strengthen our moral right to strike if we started a hunger strike at the same time as the strike.It seems we have some sort of right to hunger strikes, but strikes? ... Generation after generation we have always believed that the word "strike" is extremely dangerous and, of course, counter-revolutionary, in the same category as "Entente, Denikin, kulak sabotage, Hitler". "_In this way, we ourselves decide to start a hunger strike quite unnecessarily, tantamount to voluntarily expending in advance the physical strength we need in the struggle (fortunately, no camp since ours has repeated the mistake of our Ekbastuz camp ).

We considered every detail of the hunger strike.Not long ago, our whole labor camp began to implement the "punishment" system. We knew that their answer to the hunger strike must be to lock us all in the work sheds and not allow us to go out.So how do we communicate with each other?How to discuss the next step and communicate opinions between various workshops?Signals should be devised and negotiated for communication between the sheds, how to communicate from which window to which window, and so on. All details may have been negotiated between various venues and workgroups.Everyone agreed that a strike was inevitable.Also both want it to happen, but at the same time.Because I am not used to it, I feel that this seems impossible.It's hard to imagine a day when we all get together, weigh things up, make a decision, and just...

And the people guarding us are formally organized layer by layer in the form of a military organization, and they are more accustomed to taking action.They don't worry that taking action will lose more than doing nothing.So our guards attacked first. In this way, everything will continue to develop... We greeted the New Year of 1952 quietly and comfortably in our long-accustomed "carriages", in our long-accustomed homework classes, and in the corners of the sheds.On January 6th, Sunday, the eve of Orthodox Christmas, the people of Western Markland are preparing to celebrate the show; cooking some traditional honey rice, fasting before the stars come out, and singing Christmas carols together after the money.However, after roll call this morning, we were all locked in the workshop and not allowed to come out.

No one thought of this trick!It was prepared secretly by the authorities, really cunning!We see through the window.In the adjacent work shed, about a hundred convicts took their belongings and were escorted by the guards to pick them up towards the post. Are you going to take another group of people away? ... At this time, the guards and several officers came to our work shed.Cards in hand.They list people by card. "Come out with all your belongings! . . . and your respective mattresses!" Oh, it turned out to be a reorganization of work classes and work sheds!Guards have been set up at the opening of the "Great Wall", and tomorrow the opening will be blocked.Hundreds of us were driven outside the watchtower, each holding bags and mattresses, like people whose homes were on fire, bypassed the foreign merchants in the camp, passed through another watchtower, and entered another isolation area.A group of people from that district were driven to our district.

Everyone is racking their brains to judge.Who were the people who were taken away?Who is under the sun?What does this discipline mean?The owner's intentions became clear very quickly: only Ukrainians, about two thousand, were left on one side of the quarantine zone (Second Division).Prisoners from all our other nationalities were taken to the other side (1st Section) and there were about 3,000 people in total here, including Russians, Estonians, Lithuanians, Latvians, Speedmasters, Caucasians, Georgians , Armenians, Jews, Poles.Moldavians, Germans, and a few other peoples who happened to be caught on the battlefields of Europe and Asia.In short, this is a "unified and indivisible" family. (How interesting: the idea of ​​the Ministry of Internal Affairs was supposed to be articulated in terms of non-nationalist socialist doctrine, yet today it is developing along the old path of "dividing nations".) - An old homework class was disrupted up.The newly formed team has to go to the new construction site to work, live in the new work shed, and completely change!This change did not take place on a single Sunday, it continued throughout the week.Personnel were disrupted, many relationships severed, and a strike that seemed to be in place was disrupted... Well done!

Now, hospitals, cafeterias, and clubs are all in the Ukrainian branch, and our branch has only strengthened control sheds.The most dangerous troublemakers, the Ukrainians and Banderas, were separated from the hard-pressed work sheds.Why is that? _ We quickly figured out why.There was a credible word in the camp (from the "coolies" who delivered vegetable soup to the forced labor sheds) that the spies were at it again in the "Bertz Room": the camp sent people they suspected (Catch two or three from each team) Hand them over to them, and the eyeliners torture these people in their own rooms, pointing at the neck.Beat them, force them to confess, and say "Who killed everyone??".The intention of the battalion was fully understood at this time: they were conducting torture!Not by the police dogs themselves (probably causing trouble without the approval of superiors).Instead, I entrust the eyeliners to do it: whoever killed you, find out by yourself!Naturally, they don't need encouragement from others.These parasites want to show that they are not free.The Bandera elements were separated from the strong control shed to prevent them from breaking in.For us, it is more reassuring: we are tame, a multi-ethnic group, and we cannot talk together.The troublemakers are all over there.There is a four-meter-high wall between the labor camps.

How many profound historians there are in ancient and modern times.There are so many esoteric books, but none of them foresees that such a mysterious flame will burn in people's hearts, and that such mysterious power may emerge from society.Not only did they fail to foresee it, they even failed to explain it after the fact. Sometimes the ignited hemp was stuffed under the firewood, stuffed, and the fire could not be ignited even after stuffing it for a long time.However, a small spark from the chimney flying into the air may turn the whole village into ashes. The three thousand of us have no plans to do anything, no preparations.However, one day after returning from work, the people in the shed next to the enhanced control shed suddenly removed the rectangular wooden beams and cross joints on their beds, and ran away at dusk (the side near the enhanced control shed had no sunlight and was already very dark) In the past, he slammed the wooden implements in his hands against the solid wooden walls of this labor camp prison.The people had neither axes nor iron bars, which were forbidden to be brought into the living quarters. There was a sound of knocking on wooden tools, as if some carpentry class was working hard.Several boards on the fence were broken, and people went to take them apart. The creaking sound of the 12-centimeter-long nails nailed on the boards could be heard throughout the camp.Although it was not the time for carpenters to work, it sounded exactly like the sound of labor, so the sentinels on the watchtower, the guards, and the people in the other work sheds paid no attention to it.Life in the labor camp in the evening was as usual: some homeworkers went to eat dinner, some were walking back from the cafeteria, this person went to the infirmary, that person went to the storage room, someone went to pick up the mail package... However, the guards finally realized that something was wrong, and some people followed the noise and ran to the dark place behind the enhanced control work shed to check.If you don't look at it, you're done. If you look at it, you can't see it, so you turn around and run to the battalion office shed.Some prisoners saw the guards and chased them with sticks.At this time, it was in full bloom: someone smashed the windows of the battalion shed with stones or sticks.The window pane shattered, the sound was crisp, light, and menacing! In fact, people's original intention was not to riot, or even to seize the strong control shed, because it was not easy.They originally only planned to smash open the window of the eyeliner's room, pour gasoline into the room through the window, and then throw the fire in, meaning; try our strength, we are not so easy to bully!A big hole had been opened in the wall of the strong control shed, and more than a dozen people broke in.People run around, looking for the room where the eyeliners live (can't be mistaken!), knock out the "cage mouth" outside the window, climb up on their shoulders, and pass the gasoline can.At this moment the machine guns on the watchtower opened fire on the camp.Finally, there was no time to ignite. It was the guard who ran away and the chief of the labor camp, Maciekhovsky, who reported to the guard battalion (Machekhovsky was also chased by someone with a knife. He ran from the warehouse of the General Affairs Office to the corner of the fence Under the watchtower, while running and shouting: "Qianlita, don't shoot, it's me!" It was difficult to pass through the front area).The battalion headquarters of the guard battalion (where do we go now to find out the name of the commander at that time?!) Immediately called the watchtowers to use machine guns to shoot - towards the 3,000 unarmed and ignorant of what happened in the entire camp. People open fire! (For example, our class was in the cafeteria and it was very strange to hear the sudden sound of machine guns.) Is fate mocking people?This event happened to happen on the 22nd of January in the new calendar, that is, the 9th of January in the old calendar. Until the previous year's calendar, this day was sadly framed in black as Bloody Sunday.We're on Bloody Tuesday this time.As for the venue, this time it was much more spacious than in Petersburg: not a square, but a steppe, and there were no witnesses, neither journalists nor foreigners. The sentries fired indiscriminately at the camp in the dark.True, the shots were not long, and most of the rounds were probably high up, but not a few down low: would it take a lot of rounds for everyone?The bullets going through the thin walls of the sheds hurt not those who stormed the prisons of the labor camps, but people who were completely unrelated, as is often the case in the world.But the wounded man didn't dare to go to the infirmary to get bandaged, so he had to hide the wound on his body and let it heal on his own like a dog's wound, because he was afraid that the owner would judge him as a riot participant based on the gunshot wound.The authorities have to find out some of these people who look the same and punish them!In No. 9 workshop, an old man was beaten to death on his bed. His ten-year sentence was about to expire, and he would be released in a month.He had two sons who served in the same unit as the soldiers who shot at us from the watchtower. Those who rushed by rushed out of the prison yard and fled back to their respective work sheds in all directions (the wooden beams and cross joints had to be hurriedly reinstalled on the beds so that no trace could be seen).Some, upon hearing the shots, thought they should sit still in the sheds, while others, on the contrary, hurried outside and walked blindly around the camp, trying to figure out what was going on. At this time, there was no shadow of a guard in the entire camp, and all the officers were gone.The room in the battalion headquarters was empty, with the broken glass windows gaping open, a little terrifying.The machine guns on the watchtower fell silent.A few curious people wandered aimlessly in the camp, trying to find out the real situation. The gate of our labor camp was suddenly opened, and a row of guard soldiers rushed in with submachine guns, firing a few rounds at will.The submachine gunners fanned out as soon as they entered the gate.They were followed by a group of angry-looking guards, holding iron pipes, wooden clubs and other casual weapons. They were searching the entire camp, approaching the sheds in waves.The submachine gun fell silent, and the soldiers stopped.At this time, the guards ran forward, caught some wounded or hiding in corners, and beat them severely. I learned all of it later.At that time, only dense gunshots were heard in the camp area, and I couldn't see or understand anything in the dark. There were a lot of people crowded at the door of our shed, and the prisoners were scrambling to get into the shed as quickly as possible, but no one could get in (not that people think the wooden walls of the shed can prevent bullets, but because they are no longer rebels in spirit. up).I was standing on the doorstep at this moment.I remember very well my feelings at that time: I felt a disgusted indifference to fate, and for a moment seemed completely indifferent to salvation or death.Why do you damned bastards keep pestering us?We were born in this unfortunate country, and spent our whole lives in your big prison, should we deserve to die in front of you?The hideous life of convicts has made me think and tire of everything.Even the unrecorded poems and plays that I had so carefully cherished in my heart did not matter now.Therefore, when Death approached me from the camp gate under the soldier's greatcoat, I didn't think at all to squeeze in the door.This is the basic psychological state of the prisoners of the hard labor camp that the authorities force us to develop. The doorway was clear, and we were the last to go in.At this time, I suddenly heard a row of gunshots behind me, because we had already entered the house, the gunshots seemed particularly loud.Three bullets grazed us side by side on the door frame.A fourth bullet floated up and hit the glass, piercing a small hole with many tiny cracks around it. The persecutors did not follow us into the work shed, but locked the door behind them.They continued to search and beat those who did not have time to run back to the work sheds in the camp area. About 20 people were shot and wounded.Some people concealed their injuries, and some were sent to the infirmary. The next fate of these people is: prison, and tracing the process of participating in the riot. However, this was only found out later.The work sheds were locked that night, and the next day, on the morning of January 23, people from each work shed were not allowed to meet in the cafeteria: they were worried that we would connect with each other and find out the situation.No one was injured in a few work sheds, and they didn't know about beating people to death, so they went to work again this morning, including our work shed. We went to work, but not a single job class came out after us.Factory production lines are empty.The dispatch workers did not come to dispatch the workers, we were cheated! We didn't have the mind to work at the machinery factory that day.The partners wandered between the machine tools, or sat together and guessed what happened yesterday.At the same time, we are also discussing: When will we end up acting like a cow and swallowing our breath?However, the old prisoners who have been bent down forever asked: What can I do if I can't bear it?Has no one ever been crushed and crushed before? (This was the philosophy of life of those arrested in 1937.) When we came back from work in the evening, the camp was also empty, and no one was moving around. The spies quickly got back the news from the windows of other work sheds: Worker No. 9 had two people killed and three injured. And the shed next to it has not been started this morning.The masters told them about our work, expecting them to work tomorrow.But now it's clear: we won't be working tomorrow either. I also threw a few notes to the Ukrainians on the other side of the wall, telling them the news and hoping they would support this action. An unprepared, not even intellectually mature hunger strike began without a command center, without an agreed contact signal, underdeveloped Later, the practice of other labor camps was to seize the food warehouse first and then refuse to work, which of course was much smarter than ours.We did it less wisely, but more boldly: three thousand people refused bread and work at the same time. In the morning, none of the work teams sent people to the bakery to pick up bread, and no one went to the cafeteria to eat ready-made porridge and vegetable soup.The guards were completely puzzled. They came here again and again to urge us to eat, sometimes threatening to drive us away, and sometimes persuading us: for the time being, they only asked us to go to eat first, and did not mention the issue of labor. But no one went.All lay on their beds in their clothes and shoes, silent.Only the few of us who were the squad leader (I was the squad leader in this year of fierce struggle) had to answer a few words, because all the guards said it to the squad leader.We too lay in bed and just answered them resignedly from the head of the bed: "Sir, look, no way!..." This silent and unanimous disobedience, against the orders of a regime that has never forgiven anyone and anything, this long and obstinate disobedience, seems more terrible than running and shouting under the hail of bullets. Finally, the guards stopped exhorting and locked the door of the shed. In the next few days, only the duty personnel went in and out of the work shed. They went out to empty the toilet and bring drinking water and coal.After public discussion, it was decided that only those who were lying in the infirmary were not allowed to go on a hunger strike, and only prisoners who worked as medical staff and health workers were allowed to stop working.The kitchen cooked food, but no one ate it, and threw it away; made it again, and threw it away again; so the kitchen stopped cooking.The handymen and helpers everywhere seemed to have gone to the head of the labor camp on the first day, explaining that there was no way for them to work anymore, and then they walked away. In this way, the hosts can no longer see us and know what we really think.A real gulf opened up between the overseers and the slaves. These three days and nights in our life are something each of us hunger strikers will never forget.We didn't see the comrades in other work sheds, nor did we see Chen's body waiting to be buried there.However, it seems that there is a steel chain passing through the empty isolation area, closely linking the people in our various work sheds together. It's not a well-fed person with subcutaneous fat stores who declares a hunger strike.These were all skinny, exhausted, perennially hungry people who managed to maintain a sort of homeostasis, people who would immediately feel ill after losing a hundred grams of food.And those who were dying of emaciation also went on a hunger strike with everyone, even though they knew that three days of starvation would be enough to push them to death irretrievably.The food we refuse to accept, the food we used to think of as beggar rice, now becomes a rich delicacy in our disturbed hunger dreams. These people who announced the hunger strike have been educated for decades in a ruthless, survival-of-the-strongest law, always thinking that "you die today, and I will live until tomorrow!" It is only right and proper.However, they have completely changed now. They climbed out of that smelly personal muddy pond and formed a common heart, believing that it is better for everyone to die together today than to live like this tomorrow. In the sheds, in the rooms, a certain solemn and friendly relationship took place among the people.Whoever kept the little leftover food, especially those who often received postal packages, is now handed over to the public, and it is all placed on a piece of rags spread out. According to the decision of the group, some things will be shared today, and some will be shared Save it until tomorrow. (A few people who often receive postal packages may still have some food in their private food storage room, but one has to go through the camp to get to the storage room, which is impossible now; moreover, not all people are willing to take out all their savings: Some people still expect to have a good "replenishment" after the hunger strike is over. Therefore, like any prison, the hunger strike is not an equal test for everyone. Those who have no reserves and no hope of recuperating in the future are the ones who show their true strength at this time. heroism.) If there was barley, it was made into porridge and eaten with a spoon.In order to raise the fire more vigorously, the wooden planks were removed from the bed and burned.Since his own life may not last until tomorrow, is he still reluctant to part with the public bed? No one can predict what countermeasures the masters will take.They might even shoot at the sheds from the watchtower.They have little hope of conceding.Never in our lives have we seen them make any concessions.Our hunger strikes evoke a kind of hopeless pain. But there is also something comforting in this despair.It is indeed a useless and risky step that we are taking, and it will lead to nothing good.That's all right.Our bellies are hungry and our chests ache, but there is something else, some higher need, being fulfilled.During these three hungry, long days and three nights, the three thousand people were secretly thinking about the sentences of all the three thousand people, the families of the three thousand people and the destruction of some people's families, thinking about what happened in the past and what might happen in the future. happened.Although there may be all kinds of feelings in these many chests, and there may be regrets and disappointments, the overriding feeling is the feeling: This is how it should be!You have to do it with them!If there is no good result, there will be no good result!It's okay if there is no good result! This is another law that has not been thoroughly studied-the law that the emotions of the masses rise up in violation of ordinary reason.I myself experienced this emotional uplift very clearly.I only have one year left in my sentence.It seems that I should feel sad and remorse for being involved in this incident, because after participating in this incident, the sentence will not be re-sentenced.However, in fact, I didn't feel the slightest regret: the dog raised it!Sentence me again as you please! ... The next day we watched from the windows several officers going from one shed to another.The guard on duty opened the door of the shed, walked from one end of the corridor to the other, and leaned into each room to greet people (the attitude became very friendly, not like the old days when he shouted at the cattle); We started talking.It is not the class leader who decides the problem, but the whole class.People go from room to room to consult with each other.We were in a precarious state at the time: while a few eyeliners were indeed cleared, there were still a few suspicious individuals, and there was even an eyeliner for sure, the bold and cunning auto repair squad leader Mikhail Generalov It may very well be one of them.Moreover, life experience tells us that many strikers who are on hunger strike for freedom today may be divided and divided in order to live a quiet life of slavery tomorrow.So those who led the strike (of course there were) did not appear in public.They have not come out of secrecy, nor have they held power openly.The squad leaders also refused to take responsibility at this time.So, on the face of it, this appears to be a spontaneous strike with no leadership and left to its own devices. Finally, somewhere, unconsciously, a decision was made, and the half-dozen or seven of us squad leaders walked down to the hallway at the entrance of the shed to meet the camp leaders who were patiently waiting there. (This is the entrance to the punishment room of the No. 2 work shed where the tunnel was dug earlier, and their tunnel was dug a few meters away from here.) A few of us huddled in the corner, looking at the floor, like stone men silent.We look down because no one wants to look at the masters with the flattering eyes of old, and it would be unwise to take the eyes of the rebels now.We stand like naughty students who are called to the teaching office of the school: we are weakly crooked, put our hands in our trouser pockets, tilt our heads, and face to the side. There is no way. However, the corridors on both sides of the entrance were already full of people at this time, and the people standing behind who were covered by the people in front spoke loudly what we wanted to say: our answers and various demands . The officers (some familiar, some new) wearing blue epaulettes pretended to only see and speak to a few squad leaders.Their speech was reserved and restrained, they were no longer threatening, but they had not yet fully adopted a tone of equality.They said that it seems to be in our interest to resume work and stop the hunger strike. If we resume work, they will not only give us today's rations, but also reissue yesterday's rations.This is something that has never happened in the history of the Gulag Islands! (They know from their own experience: hungry people are easy to buy!) They never mentioned punishment, but they didn't answer our request, as if we didn't ask for anything. The guards stood on either side of the officer, all with their right hands in their pockets. Someone in the corridor yelled: "Punish the culprit of the shooting according to the law!" "Do not lock the shed door!" "Take off your number bib!" Others have called for the resumption of public trials of cases decided by the Extraordinary Chambers. And those of us monitors are like naughty students standing in front of the principal, thinking: when will he be so wordy. The hosts walked away.The shed was locked again. Although many people were severely afflicted by hunger, their minds could no longer think, and they were groggy all day long, but no one in the work shed said they would give in, and no one showed any regrets. We're guessing, how high up will word of our trouble get?Of course the Ministry of the Interior already knew, or should have known by today at the latest.But what about that mustache?You know, this butcher wouldn't hesitate to order all five thousand of us to be shot. In the evening, we heard the roar of the plane not far away, although the clouds were very thick that day and it was not suitable for flying.Everyone guessed that a more senior figure must have flown in. The Gulag's son, Nikolai Khlebnov, an experienced old prisoner, had been in the camp for nineteen years, and he had always gotten along well with our classes.Now he is a handyman in the kitchen.On this day, he went through the camp and boldly stuffed us a small bag of millet through the window, which weighed about ten kilograms.Our seven classes divided it equally, and in order not to let the guards bump into it, we had to wait until night to cook it into porridge. Khrebnov also brought us a heavy news: the Ukrainians in the second division on the "Great Wall" side did not support us. They went to work as usual yesterday and today as if nothing had happened.Undoubtedly, they have received the note we threw over the partition wall, and they will also hear that there has been no sound on our side for two days. There was no one moving around, and they hadn't encountered our commuting team in the field for two days. They knew it, but they didn't show their support!That is to say, we were not five thousand, but only three thousand... (We learned later: the leaders of the Ukrainians were young people who did not yet understand real politics, who believed that Ukraine had its own destiny, It is not the same as the fate of the so-called "Moskali" - that is, the Russians. They were so enthusiastic about the common cause, but now they have retreated from us. So we are not five thousand, but three thousand people.) The second night, the third morning, and the day, the claws of hunger were tearing at my stomach. But when on the third morning a larger number of Cheka workers came to the shed, they called the monitors to the door, and we, who were full of resentment, incomprehensible, and weary of everything, crowded together again. When we were in the corridors on both sides, our unanimous decision was still: no concessions!Our struggle has created inertia. The masters have only added strength to us today, as one of the new chiefs told us: "The Bischante Labor Camp Administration requests the prisoners to eat. The Administration accepts all your complaints. It will ascertain the causes of this conflict between the administration and the prisoners and will take steps to eliminate them." Are our ears useless?Ask us to eat!Not a word about labor!We stormed the prison, shattered glass and street lamps, and chased the guards with knives. All this turned out not to be a riot, but a conflict between two equal parties, two equal sides, the administration and the prisoners! It seems that only two days and two nights of our solidarity are enough to change the tune of those who rule us all!In all our lives, not only when we are in prison, but even when we are free men and members of trade unions, we have never heard such sweet words from our masters! However, our people dispersed slowly and silently.Because no one can make a decision here, or even promise to make a decision.The squad leaders also bowed their heads and walked away. Although the head of the special labor camp called everyone's name to try to keep us, we still walked away without looking back. This is our answer. The shed was sold again. From the outside, the owners see the sheds are still silent and unyielding.But within it, a very intense discussion is going on among the various work classes.The temptation is too great!The kind tone of the hosts was far more than a threat, and these simple and never demanding people were deeply moved.Some voices advocated for concessions.Indeed, what better result could be achieved? ! ... We are tired!We want to eat!The mysterious law that united our affections and raised them to heights seemed now to tremble and begin to sink. 但是，有一些几十年来紧闭着的口、生来就一直沉默或许本来要沉默到死的口，这时却张开并开始说话了。人们倾听着他们的话，当然，那些尚未被杀死的眼线也在听。这个刚刚开始发音的喉咙（在我们屋里是德米特里?帕宁），这条喉咙发声了，只说了几分钟，可是日后它却不得不为这几分钟的讲话付出重大代价：要加判刑期，要在那为自由而颤动过的喉咙上套上绞索。但是，不管怎样，这条喉咙里的声带总算第一次尽了它的天职。 现在让步？这等于凭口头保证而投降。谁的口头保证？是监狱看守的，劳改营鹰犬们的口头保证。有多少座监狱，有多少座劳改营啊！难道这里面的人曾经履行过哪怕一次诺言吗？ ! 多年沉积在心底的痛苦、委屈、受人戏弄的往事的沉渣一齐翻腾上来了。是啊，我们刚刚第一次走上正确的道路，难道这就退让？我们才初次感到e已是人，难道马上就要投降？仿佛一阵炙人的、凶恶的旋风使我们打了一个寒战。必须坚持下去！Stick to it!他们还会说得更好听呢！他们还会让步I（可是，到底该在什么时候相信他们的哪一句话呢？这一点仍然不明确。被压迫着的命运就是这样；他们最终不可避免地要相信、要让步……） 苍鹰）。我们全室二百人的情感凝集成的这只苍鹰。似乎又击翅高飞了！它又翱翔在晴空！ 我们又全都躺下了。为了节省自己的力气。我们尽量减少动作，不说闲话。我们还有许多事情要做，还要思考。 工棚里剩下的一点食物早已吃完。谁也不再煮东西吃了。屋内一片宁静，谁也不动，只有几个俯身在窗口担任观察任务的年轻人时而说一两句话：向大家报告营区内的动静。这几个刚二十出头的年轻人激情满怀，战胜饥饿，宁愿在刚踏进生活之门时死去，也不肯屈服。他们这种决心引起我们的爱戴和钦佩，我们羡慕他们，深感自己的头脑理解真理太迟，自己的脊梁骨已经僵化于弯曲状态了。 我想，现在可以举出其中几个年轻人的名字了：亚涅克?巴拉诺夫斯基、沃洛佳?特罗菲莫夫，还有钳工博格丹。 突然，第三天傍晚，当夕阳快要沉入地平线的时候，观察员们用遗憾的激动的声音向大家报告： "九号工棚！九号工棚投降了！……九号的人正朝食堂走去！" 大家立即从床上跳起来。对面一排房间的人也挤到这面来。我们趴在上下层床铺上，隔着前面人的肩膀、透过窗上的铁栅栏往外看，一声不吭地看着这支队伍的可悲的行进。 二百五十个本来已经是黑暗的、在夕阳反照下显得更加黑暗的人影，排成一支可怜、驯顺、屈辱的长队，斜穿过营区朝食堂鱼贯走去。他们的身影一个个在夕阳的余辉中闪过，像是一根连结得不牢固的没有尽头的链条，像是后面的人抱怨前面的人走去，因而才无可奈何、满心不快地跟着走去似的。有一些严重衰弱的人由别人扶着或拉着走。他们那蹒跚的身影，就像许多引路人牵着许多盲人走去一样。不少人手里拿着小锅或茶缸。拿着这可怜的劳改营餐具，是指望今天的晚餐对于已经收缩的肠胃来说将过于丰盛，吃不下去，所以要把剩下的带回来。因此，像乞丐讨饭盆一样伸到面前的小锅和茶缸使人看了尤其感到奴隶般屈辱，尤其令人痛心。 我感到眼泪夺眶而出。我擦掉它，往旁边瞟了一眼，同伴们的脸上也挂着泪水。 第九号工棚的意见是决定性的。他们那里被打死的人从星期二晚上开始已经在工棚里停尸四昼夜了。 他们向食堂走去，这就是说，为了一份口粮，为了一碗粥，我们决定宽恕那些杀人犯了。 九号工棚是个饥饿的工棚。那里的作业班都是干各种杂务劳动的，他们很少有人收到邮包。那里有许多干瘦得快死的人。也许是因为怕工棚里增加新的尸体才投降的吧？ ... 我们默默地离开窗户。 这时发生的一件事使我真正懂得了什么叫波兰人的骄傲，懂得了他们历史上那些充满自我牺牲精神的起义是怎么回事。前文提到的那个波兰人工程师尤里?文格尔斯基现在在我们班里。他的十年刑期已经到最后一年了。他平常总是彬彬有利，和蔼可亲，甚至在他当施工员时也从未听到他对谁高声说过话。 可是现在，他的脸突然变色了。一看见这个走去请求施舍的队伍，他愤怒地、轻蔑地、痛苦地扭过头去，挺起胸膛满腔愤恨地高声喊道： "班长！不要叫醒我去花晚饭，我不去！" 说着，他爬上"小车厢"躺下，转脸朝墙……再也没有起来。我们晚上也去食堂吃饭了，可他没有起来！他从来没有收到过邮包，他孤独一人，经常吃不饱，可是，他没有起来！对他来说，热气腾腾的稀粥的影象遮不住无形的自由的高大形象！ 假如我们所有的人都这么骄傲而坚强的话，世界上哪个暴君还能够维持住他的宝座呢？ 第二天，一月二十七日，星期天。可是并没有赶我们去劳动以弥补耽误了的工作（劳改营头头们肯定在担心完不成计划），只是给我们吃饭，发给前两天的粮食，让我们散步。大家在工棚间串来串去，互相谈着这几天是怎样度过的，总的情绪是欢乐的，似乎我们赢了，而不是输了。何况已变得温和些的主人还答应满足我们的一切合法要求呢！（但是，什么是合法的？这由谁来判断？……） 这时发生了一件小事，但它预兆不祥：有一个叫瓦洛吉卡?波诺马廖夫的"母狗"逃跑到岗楼里去了。这些日子这个家伙一直和我们在一起，他听到了许多人的谈话，看到过许多人的眼神。那就是说，他是去出卖我们的，而且想留在生活区外躲过我们的刀子。 波诺马廖夫的逃跑使我彻底认清了刑事犯的本质。他们那虚假的义气，实质上不过是他们帮派内部彼此应尽的义务。而当他们被卷进革命旋涡时，他们肯定要干出卑鄙勾当。他们只能理解力量，而不可能理解任何原则。 可以预料，正在准备逮捕肇事者。但是宣布的却恰恰相反，当局宣布：已从卡拉干达、阿拉木图、莫斯科派来专人组成的委员会。要对这次事件调查处理。在滴水成冰的严寒里，营区中部摆起一排桌子，几个穿白色短大衣和毡靴的军官端坐桌旁，听取囚犯们的申诉。许多人去了。申诉了。记录下来了。 星期二早点名之后，又把班长们全召集去"提意见"。其实，这不过是一个卑鄙的新花招，是另一种方式的侦讯：他们知道犯人们憋了一肚子活，所以先让人们把话说出来，然后便可以更准确地进行逮捕。 这是我当班长的最后一天。我身上的肿瘤近来生长很快，我一直拖下来没去动手术，总想等到一个比较"合适"的时间。一月间，特别是绝食的那些不幸的日子，肿瘤几乎每日每时都在增大。这样，它本身就替我作出了决定：现在是最合适的时刻。所以，绝食刚结束，各工棚一打开，我马上去看病，医生决定立即给我动手术。现在我就是作为班长去参加这最后一次"提意见"会的。 会场设在浴室的脱衣间，这里比较宽敞。一排理发椅子前面摆了一张长桌作为主席台，在主席台就座的有内务部的一名上校，几名中校，还有几名下级军官，我们劳改营的长官坐在他们背后的第二排，根本不显眼。第二排还有记录人员，整个会议期间他们都在紧张地写。第一排有个人专门向记录员重复发言者的姓名。 主席台上比较突出的是特别处或是机关里来的一名中校，此人聪明伶俐、思想敏捷、善于抓住问题，是个奸诈的、干练的坏蛋。他那高高的额头、狭长的面孔和敏捷的思路，说明他远远不属于这群昏庸无能的官僚之列。 作业班长们都不愿意讲话，他们几乎是从密密麻麻的会场里被硬拉起来讲话的。每当他们开始讲到自己的"案情"，主席台上就打断他们，请他们解释：为什么这里的囚犯们要杀人？罢工的目的是什么？ ……假如某个倒霉的班长试图认真回答这些问题，说明杀人的原因和囚犯们有些什么要求，那么，主席台上的几个人就会一起扑向他：你怎么知道的？那就是说你也和匪徒们有联系喽？请你说说他们是谁！ !