“And you love it,” said Loretta. “I’ve never gotten the sense that you’re trying to prove anything, so that part is indeed a subconscious thing.” She turned to Bobby and Dorene. “I think he gets inspired by the characters in the novels he reads.”
“Let’s just say I’m very hirable,” I said, provoking laughter.
“What about the subject of law, Prescott?” asked Bobby.
“Now that… I hate.”
The two ladies laughed at Bobby, knowing he’d worked hard to earn his law degree. But, as always, he took it in jest.
Dorene held up her glass. “All I know is that we are the two luckiest women in Haiti, married to two gorgeous men. Bobby, my dear, you do know how perfectly handsome you remain, don’t you?”
“Thank you. I try.”
“You do more than try, dear. You run every day.” She began rubbing his chest. “And it shows on all six feet of you.”
“I just wish I were a wee bit taller, say six feet two, like my translator friend there. Does he remind you often how fit he is, Loretta?”
She rolled her eyes. “You just don’t know. The man loves one thing more than me. A mirror.”
“Stop!” I said.
“He’s always posing and primping and strutting around the bedroom. He was six-two when I met him, but I think he continues to grow because he stretches himself every day after doing that stuff with the kicking and the punching and—”
“Kodokan Judo,” I said. “And don’t make fun. Perhaps Dorene would like to know more about the benefits of meditative, physical routines.”
“He still does it every single morning without fail,” said Loretta.
“You’ll have to show her on the yacht,” said Bobby. “You’ll have quite the captive audience. I would love to see my wife learn hand-to-hand combat. This trip to your parents, dear, can’t come soon enough.”
5
Vladivostok, Russia
September 1937
THERE HAD BEEN MORE TRAIN STOPS ALONG THE WAY, MORE BLACK bread, an occasional cup of soup, and yes, a few more private, hearty meals for me with the guard. We’d been traveling for weeks now, and had finally come to the end of our journey, at least all of us prisoners thought so upon hearing the guard’s initial words to us. “The train is stopping for good now that we are near Vladivostok,” he said, the lights coming on inside the car, as he stood outside of our compartments. “There is no more land to travel. The train cannot keep going into the Sea of Japan.”
He and the other guard snickered at his comment before he continued.
“But this is not your final stopping point. This is a transit camp. Don’t ask how many days you will be here because I will hit you with the hammer again. Some will leave sooner, some later. It is not freezing season yet, so you will be okay to stand inside the fences until we take you to the ships. From there we will take you north to Kolyma. Then you will be finished traveling. When you are not in the barracks or in roll call line, this transit camp is wide open for you to walk and sit and pray and cry and die. No! Don’t die! Too many scum have already died on the way here because they were too weak. And now… we don’t want to have to shoot anyone because you try to run away over the fence. Do you hear me?”
We all let out a rather weak, collective, “DA!”
“Good!” he said. “Many out there are political prisoners, counterrevolutionaries. And others are rapists, murderers, and robbers. It doesn’t matter to us. You are all in there together. And don’t worry about your filthy smell. It rains a lot here this time of year. You will get a nice, long bath when the clouds come.”
Moments later we filed out into a vast, flat area. There was mostly dirt under our feet, but off in the distance in all directions was green vegetation, and I could smell the sea. Perhaps this portion of oak wood trees and ginseng plants had been carved away just for prisoners like us. We couldn’t yet see the camp and were told to line up parallel to the train. I had my eyes almost completely closed, as the morning sunlight was excruciating.
“Listen, zeks!” said one of the guards. “You are car number twenty-eight for the entire time you’re at this camp. You will be assigned to a specific barracks, too, once we are inside. Beginning later in the day, when we release you from the lines, you can walk around and try to build some strength. But if you hear the horn, you must line up for roll call.”
After he finished lecturing us, he took roll and checked our papers and passports. Then our group, along with the other few thousand, began to walk toward the rear of the long train. When we were able to, we crossed the tracks and walked east, along a trail lined with oak woods. Once we were out in the open again, we could see wooden structures in the distance and dots of men. The closer we got, the more unbelievable the scene.
There were an astounding number of prisoners already waiting inside the holding camp, some of them in rows, some wandering about. It was a shock to my eyes, this sprawling corral of men that seemed to stretch to infinity. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the number were close to a hundred thousand. It was a massive collection of filthy, hungry, emaciated souls.
As we were herded inside the barbed wire, I focused on the many wooden barracks beyond the zeks. There were rows and rows, but perhaps not enough to house us all. I wondered where some of us would sleep when it got dark, but then I realized I was doing the one thing a prisoner here should avoid—trying to think rationally about our circumstances. We were of course going to lie down right on the ground and sleep, or at least attempt to.
Once we were about halfway inside this so-called tranzitka, we were told to stop. I was struck by the uniformity of all the prisoners. The long, perfect rows of downtrodden souls resembled those one might see on a military base.
“Listen to me!” said our guard. “I’ve just been informed that you have been given barracks number twelve. But you are to remain in line here until further notice. Once we take roll again you will be free to move about. But you are to stay away from the barracks until nightfall. When we release you here shortly, you can use the latrine. Remember, later when the horn sounds, you better be in line for roll call. No one better be shitting or pissing then. That will be very bad for you… very bloody for you!”
The rest of that day was miserable. We never were allowed to move about, as we were forced to stand in line until dusk and watch the other prisoners near the barracks, those who’d been here a while, roam around freely. The only positive was that it felt like good exercise just being able to finally stand for a long period of time. We were getting the blood out of our asses, the numbness out of our backs and legs. The only time we were interrupted was when some nurses came by and examined our teeth and pinched our buttocks for dystrophy. They were obviously checking to see which of us were still suitable to work.
Studying the camp, I noticed a long fence that separated the right set of barracks from the left. I was guessing that our guard had lied to us, and that these were two separate zones, one for political prisoners and one for common criminals.
With the sun about to dip below the oak woods in the distance, we were finally led to barracks number twelve. Inside the dark, filthy room that smelled of vomit, wooden bunk beds—each set stacked five high—lined the walls. After we all used the latrine and ate some rye dumplings with herring, I secured a bottom bed for myself, and one for James just above me. There was no talking on this night, only a long attempt to sleep through the filthy smell of the thin, sticky, straw mattresses and the itchy bites of mosquitoes and bed bugs. Nightmares would come easy, but sleep most certainly would not.