Entry 24 Arrival in Tumen

24


It was Saturday night when finally our train reached Tumen: a voyage
of eleven days by rail, by snow sledge, by foot, and again by rail,
was at an end. God! What a sojourn, what people, what disorder! People
full of onions, parasites, wounds, dirt, misery and fear! But still,
in all of their misery, amiable and sympathetic, at first always
desirous of helping the other fellow. Saturday night, and the church
bells were ringing sadly, desperately, as if they knew nobody would
come and pray. To whom? God had proved to be so far away from these
people....

(pages missing)

... The city,--and I shall continue to call it a city,--was dark and
dreary, and so cold that I resolved to spend the night at the depot
where it was warm at least. I bought some hot tea and a large loaf
of bread at the buffet, and, as a sick and poor soldier who knows his
place, I sat in a corner.

There were some people in the station--mostly peasants, one could
easily recognize such in them; quietly talking and drinking tea with
dignity and care and biting their sugar with the force of explosions.
They never put their sugar into the tea-tumblers. Later a man with a
disagreeable face entered the room and looked around. This was not
a peasant, I said to myself,--he would not take off his hat. The
newcomer was evidently looking for me, as when he noticed me, he first
bought some tea and a sandwich, and then, as if there were no other
place in the room, picked out a seat near me. "An enemy," I thought to
myself and buried my face in my supper.

The man wanted to talk, but evidently felt embarrassed.

"Cold outside, isn't it?" he asked.

A foreign intonation. No accent, however. A Pole or a Russian-German.

"Hm, hm, very!"

"Yes, severe climate, dog's cold. Going to stay in Tumen, or plan to
go further?" he asked after a pause.

"Going to stay, or going further,--what do you ask for? But if
it interests you--going to stay for a while. If I croak here, or
somewhere else--you aren't going to attend my funeral. So what's the
big idea?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! You see I am a stranger here and lately
live practically at the depot. Am looking for a man by the name of
Vysotsky, so I ask almost everybody for the man."

"Vysotsky?" I asked, assuming an air of astonishment, "Vysotsky?"
(Marchenko and his crowd flashed through my mind, especially in
connection with my mission)--"no, I don't think that I know anyone by
that name."

"Here, here," the man laughed, shoving me with his shoulder, "lay it
out, old man, you must know him"

"No, Comrade" I responded. "You probably take me for some one else,
indeed. I am Syvorotka of the 7th Hussars. We had a man by name
Vysotsky, a sub-lieutenant, but I don't think it's the one you are
looking for: the Vysotsky I knew has been taken prisoner, at Lvov,
or at the Sziget Pass ... yes, at Sziget Pass, of course. Vysotsky,
Vysotsky, what was the Christian name, perhaps that would help me
out?"

"You white-collared trash!" my man suddenly became angry, "you can't
fool me about his first name. Don't be too slick. I'll tell you" (he
started to whisper very low and knocked on the table with his finger)
"they will jail you right now, if you don't tell me why in the devil's
name you came here. Aren't you going to tell me? No? Very well, I'll
fix you for life, you damned Russian swine! Hope you'll choke on your
tea!"

That's how he ended his friendly wishes, and left me in a fury.

But when someone threatens and is in a fury there is no immediate
danger, I know. It is true in every case of life. So I was quiet for
the night. I put my overcoat under my head and slept all night.

Next morning I began to work ... (several pages missing.)