Gulag Letters by Arsenii Formakov Emily D. Johnson

Author:Arsenii Formakov,Emily D. Johnson [Formakov, Arsenii]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yale University Press
Published: 2017-03-04T05:00:00+00:00

Portrait of Arsenii Formakov done in the Krasnoiarskii Labor Camp (Kraslag). Pencil. Dated and signed by the artist, [Evgenii Karaulnyi]; September 1, 1945. Hoover Institution Archive, Arsenii Ivanovich Formakov Papers, Box 2, folder 12.

October 1. I did not finish packing up [the books] yesterday, so I stayed back from work today as well . . . About our possessions again: if there were a guarantee that I would spend the remainder of my term here, I would ask for some other items from what we own, but, as things stand, I am afraid to do so: even on a “good” move to a site 150 kilometers away, everything will get lost or stolen, and you torture yourself trying to haul it all.

We are again receiving bread according to the old ration: 750–850 grams. The hot food is good: sometimes I can’t even eat it all. The fall weather is especially mild this year. Today it feels like a real Indian summer day outside. I am worried that the censors won’t let the crosswords through. On the 26th and 27th, our central cultural brigade premiered the show A Bottle of Rum, which included three of my songs. They were a hit, as was the rest of the show, which was very well staged. To thank me for the songs, the brigade’s designer, Evg[enii] Karaulnyi, drew a portrait of me from the waist up, which, along with the portrait by Mochalinskii, which I already sent you, will give you the chance to imagine what I look like now: somewhere between the two arithmetically.

October 3.

Once again I have received lavender heather

From the hands of my beloved

As a symbol of the happiness that

Flashed away inexorably before we drained it.

I composed this at work yesterday. I worked without my jacket on almost all day—that is how warm it was in the sun—and I remembered how five years ago on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross it was just as sunny and, while I was out on my walk [in the prison yard], I heard a voice from the tower: “Ars[enii], everyone in your family is alive and well. They send their greetings.” What a miracle and a joy this was! I have no idea who this unknown friend was and whether or not he said anything to you about this. Last year in November it was already 45 below here.

I am dragging my heels with this letter, because I am expecting one from you any day. But it hasn’t come, and tomorrow I will hand this over to be mailed. Please do not write to Arsenii things like: “We are used to getting word from you every fifteen days.” I have told you more than once that he writes every three months. Everything else is from me (“Papa”). It is a good thing that up to now no one has noticed this. By the way, on all of Arsenii’s official letters, there is a round stamp that indicates local inspection. The telegrams are also from Papa.

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