Execution by Hunger (16 page)

On the twelfth night of the journey, the train stopped. No sign of a settlement could be seen through the cracks in the walls but increased activity by the guards suggested that it was not a usual stop.

In the morning, the door was opened, and instead of passing the usual daily rations of food and water to everyone, the guard ordered all to leave the car and line up beside it. Those who were not able to do so were carried out and placed on the snow. The usual chain of security troops surrounded the train and its cargo. The majority of the soldiers were from Central Asia.

 

As soon as the unloading was finished, the empty train left. To the arrested families who remained behind in the endless solitude, the disappearing train symbolized the end of everything. Vasylyk's first thought was that this would be his grave; that they would all be executed on the spot.

There was no sign of life around: no roads; no town; only a snowy plain which stretched for miles in all directions. Only a few snow-covered weeds and shrubs interrupted the monotony of the Artic expanse. In the distance loomed the silhouette of a forest, which would be the destination of the prisoners.

The officer in charge passed the warning that anyone attempting to leave the column would be shot. After roll call the column was set into motion. The sick who could not move were left behind on the ground under guard. No one ever saw them again. The children who could not walk were carried by their parents. Since there was no road, walking was extremely difficult and everyone had to follow in the tracks of the guards who led the way into the forest.

It was the coldest time of the winter in that region, and a blizzard blew violently from the north. Walking through the deep snow made the prisoners' feet wet, and soon they began to freeze. Many could not walk very far, and these were left behind.

Vasylyk's father had become sick during the train journey, apparently with pneumonia. Vasylyk helped his father along as much as he could, but in his sick and weakened condition, the old man collapsed. Another man in the column helped pull his father up, and Vasylyk began to carry him. It was difficult doing this through the deep snow, but he wouldn't leave his father behind. The officer in charge noticed them, and ordered Vasylyk to abandon him. He did not obey the order; he could not leave his father to die in the snow alone. The officer called the guards, and two huge Mongols came up and knocked Vasylyk down, wrestling his father away from him. Only then did he notice that his father was already dead. At gunpoint, he had to abandon his father's body in the snow.

After three or four long hours of difficult stumbling and walking, the column reached its destination deep in the woods.

It was peaceful all around: there was no sound, and no visible motion. The ground was covered by a blanket of snow. Huge, dark pine trees stood all around, their branches weighed down by snow and ice. Beneath and among them, at some distance, were several small huts, the only sign of human habitatation. Those facilities were built especially for the guardsmen, the inmates learned later.

The officer in charge explained that this place was to be their new home. He pointed out that as “enemies of the people,” they should have been executed, but the government had decided to let them live in the hope that they would start a new way of life. He then said that the prisoners were to be divided into three labor groups.

The first group, consisting of the young and strong, would work in the forest as woodcutters; the second group would fence the settlement with barbed wire; and the last group was to build dwellings. This latter group included all the women and children. The officer assured the prisoners that the necessary tools would arrive at any moment. There was no food either, and even though he knew the prisoners had not eaten all day, he considered this a trifling matter. He was certain they could wait until the food arrived the next morning. Then he ordered the heads of families to make shelters and build fires for the night that was fast approaching.

It was only the dim hope of survival, and perhaps a return to their homes someday that kept these villagers alive as they prepared themselves for that first Arctic night in the forest. All who were still able to walk, rushed into the woods. Although they had no axes or other tools, by sheer determination they erected temporary shelters and fires were lit before nightfall.

Vasylyk joined a family of his acquaintances to build a shelter out of pine branches, but it didn't give too much protection against the Arctic weather. Everyone sat huddled around their fires all night long as a blizzard raged and the wind howled. The snow threatened to extinguish the fires.

Morning finally came and the storm had quieted. The officer then ordered all the prisoners to come to the middle of the camp. Everyone had to stand in line for the roll call, including the children and the sick. Many people had died during the night: some from exposure, others from exhaustion and starvation. The officer in charge ordered the corpses brought to the center of the camp and piled up in front of the line of prisoners, because even they had to be counted and identified.

After the roll call, a soldier read the list of assignments to various brigades. Then the food rations were distributed for the food and tools had arrived during the night.

Vasylyk was assigned to the brigade of woodcutters, and that morning was sent out into the forest to work.

He was still determined to escape and find and bury his father's body, for he was sure it was still lying in field where he last saw it. He also hoped that on the way back home he might find his sister who had been abducted in Alexandrov. However, his several attempted escapes were unsuccessful, as the guards were too watchful and experienced to allow an “enemy of the people” to escape easily, and he was severely punished for each attempt, but the punishments could not deter him from his intention and only increased his determination.

It took Vasylyk more than two years to finally escape.

In May 1932, while Vasylyk was still working as a woodcutter and his brigade were loading wood unto a train, he met a railroad man, also a Ukrainian, who had been exiled to the region earlier. This newfound friend gave Vasylyk clothing and a pair of shoes. Thus, disguised in more or less ordinary clothing, he was able to elude the guards.

Hidden in the locomotive as a stoker, he reached Arkhangelsk, which was in the opposite direction from his destination. From there, he sent us an anonymous letter, hoping to mislead the authorities. Then he started his journey homeward, traveling mostly by freight trains.

On the way, he stopped in Alexandrov to look for his sister, and the grave of his mother, but in vain. The cemetery attendants could not remember burying a woman of his mother's description. He was also unable to find his father and had no success in locating his sister. He finally realized that his search for his family was futile.

A new acquaintance, introduced to him by his Ukrainian friend, advised him to go to Moscow. The friend said that it would be much easier for him to outmaneuver the militia in that large city. So Vasylyk decided to try his luck there, although it was prohibited to enter Moscow without special permission. He got there by catching a moving freight train.

But Moscow was not the place for Vasylyk. He could not speak Russian well and looked too much like a Ukrainian farmer, all of whom were being hunted like rabbits. Besides that, it was impossible for him to find work. Every place he applied for a job, he was asked to present identification papers. Therefore, to avoid being captured and arrested again, he decided to return to his homeland, Ukraine.

Having had experience in traveling by train without tickets, he reached Kiev safely. There he repeated his endeavors to find work, but was again unsuccessful. He was recognized everywhere as a farmer, and farmers were prohibited from leaving their villages without official permission.

He finally decided to return to his native village. That is how he arrived at our home. Vasylyk lived with us for a few weeks, but, eager to work and to avoid staying in one place for long, he decided to move to the town. After another unsuccessful attempt to find work in town, he returned to our village only to meet his death at the hands of Mayevsky.

A
S SOON AS we returned to the village, Comrade Mayevsky woke up and ordered me to stop near the village soviet. He then informed the first militiaman we met that I was under arrest and ordered him to put me in the jail.

Since the eviction of the kurkuls, my Uncle Havrylo's house had become the office of the village soviet. Surrounded by neat auxiliary buildings and beautiful trees, it was very attractive from the outside, and roomy enough inside to accommodate the village government. Its location in the center of the village was another reason for its being chosen. Having settled down comfortably in the new office, the village officials established a hitherto unknown institution in the village, a jail. My uncle's pantry had been quickly remodeled with everything used for storage purposes thrown out, and a hole made in the wall for a window.

Once in jail, I realized that I would be charged with helping an “enemy of the people” escape from “Soviet law and the will of the working people.” When my eyes became accustomed to the darkness in the room, I could recognize my fellow prisoners, about twelve farmers. I knew most of them personally, including Dmytro, my neighbor and a distant relative. It so happened that while plowing a field, he had run across a stone, thereby damaging the plow. Although this was a very common occurrence, the brigade leader said Dmytro had done it on purpose to slow down the work and lessen the output of the collective farm. At first, Dmytro thought that the brigade leader was joking, but when he realized that the man was serious, he lost control and punched the leader in the nose. As a result Dmytro was put in jail.

Only about five years before, Dmytro had married a beautiful girl, and three years before his arrest, he had become a father. He told me that had been the happiest moment in his life. Now his happiness, and probably his life, were coming to an end.

A similar incident led another neighbor of mine to be sent to jail. The horse with which he had been working in the field stumbled and sprained a tendon in its foot. This too was a common occurrence, but Comrade Cherepin thought differently. He claimed that the horse's foot was sprained because of carelessness and had my neighbor put in jail with no hope of returning to his sick wife and four children.

I also met the father of a school friend there. I called him “Uncle Petro”. In the village he was known by his last name, Shost. I was not surprised to see him in the jail because he was one of the farmers in our village who had refused to join the collective farm.

Shost was poor, and in a way he typified the Ukrainian farmers of that day. He owned about fifteen acres of black land, two plowhorses, a cow, one or two pigs, and perhaps a dozen fowl—chickens, ducks, and geese. His farm buildings were quite rundown, and his house was old. The interior was divided into two sections: one was used for storing grain and farm produce, and the other part served as living quarters. This consisted of only two rooms: the front room was a combined living room, kitchen, dining room, and washroom. The other room was a bedroom where the whole family slept. The furniture was crude and primitive. There was a bench along one wall, and a table with a couple of homemade chairs stood in a corner. Icons were hung on the east wall, and on the front wall were the family photographs.

Seldom was a real bed to be found in a farmer's quarters, and this was true of Shost's. The sleeping space for his family was a wide wooden bench and the oven top. The floor was clay; the roof was thatched; and the interior was whitewashed.

Shost never hired help, for his farm was only big enough to support his family. In the years when his harvest was small, he would do other work to earn enough to see his family through the winter. He would journey to nearby towns and work on the roads or do other jobs, eating and sleeping with the other laborers in hovels in order to stretch his small wages and buy more food for his family.

With the coming of spring, he always returned to his beloved land. He believed in the land as he believed in God. Day and night he labored in the field and found happiness in watching his crops grow. One way or another he kept bread on the table.

He was an honorable man, and like all Ukrainian farmers, he had great self-respect and an intense love of freedom, both inherited from the Cossacks.

When the Communist government started the collectivization of the villages, Shost showed himself to be a strong and obstinate man. He refused to join the collective farm. For generations, his land had been the property of the family of Shost, and he intended to give it to his son when old age forced him away from his plow. Then eventually, his grandson would own the land, and so on, as it had always been.

The Shosts had survived many wars and foreign occupations on the same piece of land. They had grown up on the land and went out into the world, sometimes never to return, but they always thought of this farm as their home. Asking farmer Shost for his land was like asking for his very life.

To break his spirit, the village officials and the collective farm organizers hesitated at nothing. The most powerful weapon in their hands was the tax. They levied taxes payable in kind and money. Every time Shost thought he had paid all that was required, more items were taxed, and more of the produce of his land was taken from him.

Finally, the day came when he had no more money or grain. His horses were taken, then his cow, and then his implements. Shost resisted, a broken man, but not a beaten one. One day, men in uniform came and arrested him. He had been declared a kurkul and, of course, labeled an “enemy of the people.”

Now he was in jail. He asked me to continue my friendship with his son, Ivan, if I should be freed from jail. He believed I would be freed because I was still a minor. In case something happened to his wife, he begged for my mother to take care of Ivan and his daughter Varka. Those were his last words to me. Then I heard his heavy breathing and sobbing.

It was already dark when we heard the clattering of keys and then the voice of a militiaman calling the names of those who had received food from home. Only then did I realize another tragic aspect of prison life.

When I had spoken of being hungry, I was told by my fellow prisoners that there wasn't any chance of getting food unless somebody brought it from home. I was also informed that there was no regulation with regard to food or other comforts of the prisoners. The food and the sleeping commodities were the concern of the prisoners themselves. If someone had a family, he had the hope that he would receive his daily meal; but those who were alone were left at the mercy of their fellow prisoners. It was a time of famine in the village. The only food available to the villagers, and thus to the prisoners, was vegetables and fruit.

When the militiaman finished calling out names, and locked the door, leaving the cell in darkness, I could sense that not all the inmates had received their supper. I didn't receive mine, but I did not expect it, for I knew that my mother had not yet heard of my imprisonment.

Fortunately, I was not in the jail long. Sometime after midnight, I was awakened, and ordered to leave the jail. My mother was waiting for me outside. On the way home, she told me that when I failed to appear at home after sundown, she had become alarmed and decided to search for me. She found my whereabouts easily, but it wasn't that easy to find Comrade Mayevsky, who had ordered my arrest. She finally found him in the company of a young woman, and asked for my release. He refused to listen to her, constantly repeating that there was no difference between a minor and an adult “enemy of the people.” But, after my mother's persistence, he finally agreed to write a note to the village militia authorizing my release. Mother thought he had done it only to show his mistress the power he had in the village.

I told Mother about the murder of Vasylyk and, after some discussion, we decided that early the next morning, my brother and I would look for his body and bury it properly.

It was extremely dangerous for us to do this. Vasylyk had been the son of a kurkul, and the political atmosphere was such that anyone who associated with people of this group was treated like a kurkul himself.

But Mother disregarded the danger for us all. Vasylyk had to be buried in a decent way, no matter what might happen to us.

Long before daylight, Mother awakened us and gave us her final instructions. And, as we were about to leave the house, she placed a piece of paper in my pocket. She told me that it was a prayer, and that I was to read it over Vasylyk's grave after burying him. She warned me that I had to destroy it as soon as I had read it, for it was a dangerous piece of evidence. Then she kissed us and we left the house on our sad mission.

As we approached the place where Vasylyk had died, a beautiful day dawned. The eastern horizon became red, and the sun emerged like a huge ball of fire. The wheat fields were silent, except for the morning song of the quails.

It did not take us long to find his body. It was lying not far from the road in the midst of the tall wheat. The ground around him was stained with blood, and flies, ants, and other insects were swarming on and around his body. We immediately started digging. It was a difficult job for two young and hungry boys to dig a grave in the hard ground, but we finally managed to do it. We dug the grave slantwise, so we could roll the corpse into it with a minimum of effort. On the bottom of the grave we spread some straw. Then we wrapped the body in a blanket we had brought from home, and slid it into the hole in the ground. We quickly covered the body and hole with earth; made a cross from wooden strips Mother had provided; read the prayer she had given me; and then, after destroying the piece of paper, wended our way back home with heavy hearts.