“Of course not,” I said.
“As soon as they found out I had a background in studying fish breeding, I was sent there. Guess they thought I might be a magic nigga! They quickly found out I wasn’t. After only two weeks they had my behind tilling soil through the rest of the summer. Shit was like quicksand. The lot of us damn near died ten times a day from exhaustion. And, as you can see, I’ve barely eaten. Now that I’m here and the State’s newest band of scientists is in place there, I’m likely headed to the mines very soon. These new scientists are apparently all Soviets and equipped with some mysterious groundbreaking methods. Please! It ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of damn pseudoscience. But enough about me! How in God’s name did you two end up in here?”
“You mean us four,” I said. “They arrested Loretta and Ginger, too. They’re at some camp near Finland. And to answer your question, I still have no clue as to why we were arrested. They simply said we’d been involved in counterrevolutionary activities, a far too common and devastating label it seems.”
“This is pure evil… what’s happening here,” said Lovett. “I don’t even think the rest of the world knows about it.”
“They know people are being tried and arrested, but they have been shielded from the true horror taking place. Can you imagine if a reporter were privy to this? As far as myself, I’d simply allowed myself to become brainwashed by the State. I can’t believe it happened to me. Maybe I didn’t want to see it.”
“Maybe Loretta had convinced us not to see it, that somehow we were on the good side, that the bad guys, you know, the enemies of freedom and revolution, were the ones being arrested. I must admit, Stalin’s propaganda machine is extraordinarily powerful and convincing. He has everyone fearing that so many czarist families in exile are plotting and about to return to enslave the proletariat. Shit, he’s the one doing the enslaving!”
“Yes,” said Lovett. “What he’s masterfully done is convince so many that Trotsky is the devil incarnate. It took him a while, but he managed to pull it off. Every single soul in the Soviet Union, including members of the Central Committee and his own Politburo, are scared to death of him. I had an NKVD Trotskyist tell me as much while I was in exile. And I know that members of the CPUSA, both here and abroad, have grown fearful. Stalin’s reach, his spies and assassins, are quickly spreading across the globe. He’ll soon have one of them kill Trotsky. Mark my words. And the U.S. Government is infested with his spies. Shit, I know some of them. There was a time when I was willing to become one.”
“According to my friend Bobby, there are many famous and important Americans who may not have joined the Communist Party, but are unapologetic in their support for communism. If only they knew what was happening inside these fences. They’ve probably heard hints of it, as we had, but don’t believe it. You have to admit it was hard to imagine when we were on the outside. And I certainly had no idea that so many Americans were being purged.”
“We see what we want to see, Bronzeville.” He touched his half-cutoff ear and looked down at his muddy shoes, his frazzled garments, and filthy hands. “We see what we want to see.”
“True. All I can see now is my wife and daughter. I’ve had some very disturbing images running through my mind about them ever since Commander Koskinen told me what often happens to women in the camps. It’s killing me.”
“The only thing that’ll kill you is that Road of Bones out there,” he said, pointing west.
“I have a plan,” I whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to talk about it out loud, but just trust me. I’m going to try to get you out of here with James and me.”
Later that night, as I lay in my middle bunk, I penned a letter to Loretta—one that Koskinen had said might or might not ever reach her. He claimed that Colonel Ivan Zorin, the head of the camp where she was near Finland, was a brutal, evil son of a bitch. Not allowing prisoners to receive any letters was something Koskinen said was “likely” in the case of Zorin.
I’d heard him loud and clear but wanted to send the letter anyway, for I had the distinct feeling that Loretta and Ginger were in serious trouble. Each night, as of late, I’d been having terrible nightmares about their condition, both of them on the verge of death. It was haunting me. Perhaps I was hoping this letter would reach her, if only so it might be the last words she ever heard from me. I’d always trusted my instincts, and they were telling me that time may have already run out for them. So, with the heaviest heart I’d ever had, I put pen to paper and wrote the following:
Dear Loretta,
My God, my love, how I long to see your face, touch your skin, and smell your essence again. Our lives turned upside down in the blink of an eye. Tell my daughter I love her beyond this universe. Tell her to look up at the Russian sky and search for the brightest star, for that is the one I see tonight, and it reminds me of her, my sweet Ginger. I have died a thousand deaths since being ripped away from you two. Yet I must have a thousand and one lives because my heart still beats and my mind still imagines the moment we will be reunited. Your son is so strong, this young man we created. He has seen far too much ugly, cried too many tears, felt too much pain, but he is still whole and full of life and hope because he was raised by you, an awesome, relentless, spirited, artistically transcendent woman. My weakest, darkest, pain-filled moments are always replaced with strength, light, and joy when I think of you, my gorgeous Loretta. I will never give up on you, on us, on the dreams we have for our children. I will stay alive for us. I will hold you again. I will make our family whole again. I will make love to you again. Life will begin again. I promise.
18
Moscow, Russia
May 1936
MAY 16, 1936, BROUGHT WITH IT SOME BIG NEWS. NOT ONLY HAD Bullitt’s tenure as ambassador come to an end, much to his delight it appeared, but Bobby had also accepted a higher-ranking post as Minister in Argentina. Loretta and I had just found out and hadn’t discussed whether we’d be joining the Ellingtons, even though Bobby had already invited us. Everything was happening so fast.
This was also another important and exciting day for Loretta. Two of her paintings had been chosen to be displayed at Tretyakov Gallery across the river from the Kremlin. Tretyakov was known as the premier depository of Soviet art in the world. Bobby, Dorene, Loretta, and I had chosen this night to dress up and tour the gallery before heading to a black-tie dinner at the French Embassy.
As we walked the gallery, we came upon one painting that Loretta told us to stop and enjoy. It was a work by Boris Ioganson, a famous Russian artist.
“This will go down as Boris’s greatest painting,” said Loretta. “It’s called Interrogation of Communists. I believe it has been displayed here for three years now. I actually met Boris a year ago while visiting the All-Russian Academy of Arts in Leningrad. He was so nice to me, and we’ve been friends ever since. He visits Moscow often. I consider him a mentor.”
“Oil on canvas,” I said, kissing Loretta on the cheek. “Just like yours.”
“How old is Ioganson?” said Bobby.
“I believe he’s around forty-three,” said Loretta. “Five years older than me. Yikes! That’s so weird coming out of my mouth. Feel like I’m getting older by—”