2. The good shepherd
I remember our garden, where there was an apiary, and Papa walking near the hives in a beekeeper's suit. Although I had no net, I of course crawled toward the hives also. I was three years old, and the bees gave me a good stinging. Then I remember well how on Pascha Papa would bring a bucket of dyed eggs, and of such varied colors... Then there is a gap... Papa's gone... The mood at home was terrible. This took its toll on the children, although we didn't understand everything. In 1929 Papa was taken as a "minister of a cult" for "re-education," and Mama was left at home with five children, from three months old to ten years old.
Suddenly there is joy — they released Papa for a few days before the court case (at that point this was still being practiced). [1] I remember that moment well. This was a great holiday for us, since we loved Papa very much. He brought us colored pencils and paper. But they soon took him away again and tried him. The parish was not far from the city of Vinnitsa.
This is how Mama recounted it: "Papa stood up in court, crossed himself, and said that he was not an enemy of the people, but a friend that he was being tried for the fact thet he believed in God and preached His word. He was ready to suffer for Christ." All the people in the courtroom wept. When they were taking him away, a policeman kicked him in the back so hard that he almost fell down the stairs. And when that reprobate did it he said, "You're done for." [2] And that was to a priest in a ryassa [robe]! And so, Papa was taken to the White Sea Canal construction for three years.
It must be said that he was an exemplary man, someone to emulate. He was very kind, responsive and talented: he sang beautifully, played the violin, drew, knew several languages, and was a wonderful gardener and beekeeper... God had bestowed every talent upon him.
Papa related that when he was placed in a cell in which there were thirty criminals and murderers, for the first few days they stole his bread ration. They said that a priest wouldn't live long anyway. After a couple of days Papa gave them the bread himself, breaking it into pieces, and not even leaving crumbs for himself. After this they gave him their bread and began to protect him, so that no one would beat him. He would gather them all in a corner, where he would read them the Gospel and teach them prayers, and the prisoners began to be drawn to him.
Before Papa was arrested, a large tax was levied on him—a ransom. The family collected everything and the parishioners helped too, thinking that the authorities would leave Batiushka alone. But that's not what happened. They levied an even bigger tax, and since there was nothing with which to pay it, they seized my father. It was very hard for Mama—she did day-work, leaving us alone. But not everyone would hire her. They were afraid: after all, she didn't have the right to work. But who would feed the children? And we were like any other children. They began to drive people into the collective farms. They appropriated everything everywhere, carrying it off in pots and sacks. They took grease, butter, lard, and dried bread.... They closed the churches and removed the bells from all the churches, taking some away and leaving others. They sent whole families off to the North, so that they wouldn't hinder them from building socialism. They built a "paradise" that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. People wandered about like shadows, not knowing what to do. There was only one question in everyone's mind: "When will this finally come to an end?" But it was all just beginning....
I remember how some people with long sticks were walking through the garden, looking for grain hidden in the ground, poking the sticks here and there. They even looked in the pots that were in the ovens... Everything had to be given to the government. I remember how we went into the forest in the spring and got stuck in the swamp. We barely pulled our feet out and, leaving our shoes there, returned home barefoot. And I fell ill with pneumonia. I was very sick and had no desire to eat, but Mama fed me with a spoon and tried to persuade me to eat, saying that otherwise I wouldn't see Papa. I tried with all my might to swallow... I was evidently at the point of death, since, when I opened my eyes, I saw many people with candles—it was as if they had come for a Pannikhida [3] for me. This was so interesting to me that I suddenly sat up, and they all ran away. More than half a century has gone by since that time, and I'm still alive.
[1] By that 1930s prisoners were no longer allowed to see their families after arrest.
[2] The expression used here was a crude statement, literally meaning that he was going to be made into soap.
[3] Memorial service.