Eyewitness to the Truth ...
THE VERANDAH > > > I think of the rotting floorboards of the verandah > where the lieutenant used to come out for a smoke. > grapevines trailed over its outer reaches > and inside, just one typewriter > after all, the scripts came from the Center > all preprinted. > all you had to do was fill in the name. > and then you send them out to the low bunkers > with three tiers of beds piled one on another > and get them up at 5 am > and make sure they eat their soup and bread. > > Most days, you look out over the vast plains' > and see the horses tails in the sky > and then go back inside > and fill in some more names in the blanks. > all arranged beforehand > no need even to think > just prisoners > millions of prisoners > and vast steppes as their confinement > get some production out of it too, coal mostly > but it is the satisfaction of dominance, really > thats what the labor camps were all about > such power, so easily exercised > and no fences, that was the thing > no need for fences and guns > there was nowhere to go > if you tried, you starved or were frozen > > So it seemed that the cold came on > in the clear cirrus of an orange sky > partly hidden by black crazed branches of dead trees > and the disappearing smell of icy stunted pines > I would go out and look at it. > Inside the samovar with hot tea. > Very quiet there - the prisoners always well behaved. > We had a little club > Playing cards in the evenings > keeping the woodstove stoked with wood > enjoying not needing blankets > and not hearing men coughing. > > > As time went on we got a few > musicians, and organized a group > they played jazz. > It helped us pass the time on the veranda. > They were lucky - they made it. > One day new orders came > Just like the old orders > all preprinted from the Center > > > But instead of fill in the blank > and send this one to death > and that one to hard labor > and all these to irrelevance > these orders said, > Open up the train station > give them better clothes > and tell them to go home. > And so we did. > > > Funny thing, though > most stayed. > Their relatives were dead > their homes no longer existed > their populations had been transplanted > their distant relatives lost without a trace > these arid steppes had become home. > We were their family > There're still here, you know, here let me show you > just walk down that lane over there > the bunkers are gone, new houses have been built > but this is the old street of the camp > > > Most of them are spread out now, on this farm or that > not in the mines anymore. > Some of their sons are in the mines > and the jazz band, it is still here. > > > You know what amazed me in all this? > Noone hates us. > We still live in the house > where the orders went out for death > the same grapevines, the same veranda > and noone hates us. > We see to taking care of them in a way. > That is how they look at it. > This is what amazes me most. > > > Now what I do, I am in charge > of going through the old records, > a monument of sorts - > Here are 234 trials in one day. > Names, names, names. I remember > just bring them through, fill in the name. > You see what I am doing now > is finding out who these people were > I never knew back then you see, > they were just the next case. > > > And I can find their records from > far off places, all that is left of them and > their people there ... just the paper in our offices. > The people are gone. > And I see, this was a person with hopes and dreams > and some new thing he was busy doing > before life stopped > and I complete our file here, > which was really just that name > filled in the blank, nothing else, all the rest > was complete fiction in our file you know that > And I spend some of my days out interviewing > the ones that are left, > and they tell me stories of before and after. > and i write them down - it is much easier now > we have a word processor. > > > Having been the executioner > I am now the historian > > > Well, here, you can look at the records ... > make yourself comfortable at this table by the window > Here is a cup of tea ... > Let me show you this one, this is one of the > most moving, I think, this story began long ago: > > > > > end ...
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