“Yes,” I said, watching him write, his eyes remaining down. “Like I said, we are going to die in here anyway. That is part of their plan, what, with the way they feed us. They don’t want us to live, just as you’ve said. They want to replace us. This possible mission is my only hope.”
“Then let me ask some more questions,” he said.
“Okay, but first I have one more request. I must be transferred with my son to a camp near my wife and daughter before I leave for Berlin. I must be able to confirm with my own eyes that they’re alive. Of course I know that you can’t mention that you’ve already told me where they are. But I need to see them alive. Can you pretend not to know and ask them to find out where they are?”
“I’m writing this all down,” he said, talking into his pen, pausing in between each written word. “But… in… the… meantime… you… must… survive… these… next… weeks… or… months. You know, until we receive word, because, of course, this is all only between you and me, and those commanders out there overseeing this camp, the ones higher ranking than me, have complete authority, as you understand, to kill you or your son without reason. They don’t know that I like you. So… stay alive, Comrade Sweet.”
Two days later, I saw before me a sight that required the willing suspension of disbelief. I was in the passenger’s seat of a large cargo truck, and we were just beginning to make the short drive down to the ship dock at the bay, where we were to retrieve some recently imported machinery. Just as we began to turn east, something caught my eye to the left. A rather small group of zeks was heading toward our camp from the west. They were walking the Road of Bones, but going the wrong direction, perhaps returning from mines. And they were all white men, save for one. I squinted to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me, and they were not. Interspersed amongst the zeks was none other than one Lovett Fort-Whiteman.
As we continued toward the bay and lost sight of them, the lump in my throat stayed with me. My close friend looked beaten and weathered. I wondered just how and when he’d been imprisoned. Perhaps they were sending him to my lagpunkt, and if not, I certainly intended to speak with Koskinen about Lovett, to somehow convince him that my friend was as astute as me when it came to engineering, even though he wasn’t. Still, I knew that his expertise in science might be enough to convince Koskinen to let him work with me. After all, I had a little bit of leverage now.
Six days passed and I’d seen no sign of Lovett, although I knew he was probably slaving away somewhere within our Magadan camp. I’d told Koskinen about him and he’d agreed to look into it, but that had only been some twenty-four hours ago, as it was now Monday.
With the day’s work complete and our ration of hot water consumed, James and I were lying in our bunks resting. Many of the zeks in our barracks were loud and constantly instigating fights and arguments with others over the most arbitrary of issues, everything from a missing sock to a stolen cigarette or ruble. And on this particular night, I was on the receiving end of a bothersome false accusation from a zek named Max, who was about fifty years old, short, and considerably bonier even than the rest of us. His skin looked like wrinkled, filthy leather, the deep crevices on his face filled with a sort of green-black grime.
“Comrade Sweet?” groveled Max. “Do you know the name of this new zek who is sleeping below you?”
“Yes,” I said, eyes closed. “Roy. He’s an American.”
“Okay. Thank you.” He kneeled down and turned his attention to Roy. “Hey, Comrade Roy! What is—”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” said Roy.
“I just wanted to know if you stole my toothpaste,” said Max.
“Get away from me!” said Roy.
Max stood again.
“Did you take my toothpaste, Comrade Sweet?” said Max, grabbing my foot and shaking it so I’d open my eyes.
“No, Max!” I said, eyes still closed.
“I think you did,” he said.
“I didn’t. Why don’t you continue making your rounds! I saw you earlier accusing Douglas, Richard, Chris, and Wendell of the same thing. Do you have something against the American zeks?”
“How could I?” he raspily said, clearing his throat and spitting on the wood floor. “You know I’m an American, too.”
“Yeah,” I said, realizing this was the first time I’d spoken English in a long time, even James and I only speaking Russian to each other. “I do know you’re American, Max, and that’s why I’m puzzled at your choosing to pick on your fellow countrymen first. Go hassle Anatoly or Stanislav!”
“They only steal pencils,” said Max. “By the way, where did you get your pen?”
“How did you know I had a pen?” I said, turning on my side and opening my eyes.
“I saw you showing it to James the other day.”
“Koskinen gave it to me,” I said, looking at his rotten teeth, wondering if he’d ever even used toothpaste in his life. “By the way, where did you get toothpaste, Max? I haven’t seen or used any in a year.”
“My aunt sent me some rubles from Moscow. She is Russian. That’s how I ended up in this shithole. Visiting her!”
“Do they sell toothpaste in the commissary?” I asked.
“Sometimes. Usually the guards buy it all. But I got lucky. But now someone stole it.”
“It was probably Timofei or Yegor,” I whispered. “They’re the ones doing all of the stealing of rubles in this barracks. I heard that zeks like them—you know, actual hardened criminals—are being asked to do some of the policing for the NKVD. This has them feeling empowered to steal what they want from us politicals, as they know we can’t say or do anything about it. They take what they want.”
“Shit!” said Max. “And they already feed the criminals more than us politicals. I’m going to go find them.”
“You must have a death wish. I can tell you exactly where they are. They’re in the south corner beside the toilet room playing cards with those other eight, as always. Don’t you know this?”
“Yes,” he said. “I meant I’m going to go find them… as in… confront them. I’m going now.”
“Do you speak Russian? Because that’s all they understand.”
“No,” he said.
“I didn’t think so. Good luck, Max.”
He walked away and I shut my eyes again, letting the chatter and clinking throughout the barracks put me to sleep. These had once been the sorts of noises that kept me from sleeping, but now, on each night, after having simply survived the day, it all sounded like soothing rain. I knew this must also have been the case for James because he was already sound asleep up above me.
Having earlier sloshed the last bit of hot water around in my mouth to wash it, I lay there rubbing my teeth with my finger, trying to get the gunk off with my nail. A man’s gums and teeth rotting was a forgone conclusion in Stalin’s prisons. I was just trying to keep mine from eventually falling out. So far they were fine.
About an hour later I felt a tap on my arm. I opened my eyes to see Lovett standing there stone-faced. It scared me, so I jumped up. I knew I wasn’t dreaming, though.
“Easy, Bronzeville!” he said, many of his front teeth missing. “It’s just me.”
“My God!” I said, shocked as could be.
I rolled out of bed and stood. Both of us stared at each other. We were overcome with joy, pain, sadness, and disbelief. I felt tears forming in my eyes and could see some welling up in his, prompting both of us to break down and embrace. We must have stood there hugging for a good minute. My friend, like me, was much skinnier now, his beard bushy, specks of gray in his full head of nappy hair, a far cry from the slick, bald look he’d previously sported.