During this half year, I realized how misguided we have been, what kinds of illusions we have cherished. It seems to me I can put my finger on the very places out of which the illusions grew, the places where departures from the truth began. All of us will have to acknowledge what has been, and this realization will be the only thing that remains.
My dearest wife, the mistake in the Bible was that Eve was not made from Adam’s rib, but that she was cut out of his heart. I feel this place in my heart physically. I am grateful to fate for you. Please forgive me for all the difficulties I have involuntarily caused the people I most love in the world—you and Genrikh.
Jacob BIYSK–MOSCOW JACOB TO MARUSYA
JUNE 19, 1934
My dear, marvelous, TRUEST (as you signed your letter) friend! Today I celebrate, because I received the first letter from all of you (express mail). It is the first letter I am able to read alone, without intermediary readers, in all these months. I’ll try to write about everything in as much detail as possible, as you request.
After Moscow, the second half of the journey began. It was terribly sad to leave. My need to be with you had never felt so deep. Along the way to Novosibirsk, I read Gorky, partook of the delicious provisions you brought for me, and at the same time experienced conflicting feelings—sorrow for those I had left behind at the station, pleasure in my state of semi-freedom, the unknown future that beckons, and thirst, an enormous thirst for labor. We arrived in Novosibirsk in the evening. Although I was prepared for it, all the same I felt a strong sense of disappointment and deep sadness: it’s like a repeat of Stalingrad, but a worse version of it. The worst thing of all is the dearth of books and cultured people. It was just by chance I had the book by Gorky, which I reread, but I realized I just couldn’t read it a third time. During the hour of labor, I made a chessboard and pieces and played a game against myself. My only comfort is eating one piece of chocolate every evening from Eva’s box. As they say, sweetness overcomes great sorrow.
I spent eight days in Novosibirsk. Only one interesting thing happened during this time—I met a young engineer, a former Komsomol member. He turned out to be a first-class chess player. I lost five games to him in record time, but there was compensation. For the first time in my life, I played a “blind game”—that is, looking at an empty board, with no pieces, you both call out your moves and write them down. I thought I wouldn’t be able to play half the game. Imagine my surprise when it turned out I won! If Genrikh is interested, I can send him the move list with the moves explained.
In Novosibirsk, they gave me a choice of several places to settle, and I randomly picked Biysk. I arrived here at twelve midnight. After going through all the formalities, I walked along the sleeping streets to a hotel, which had received notice of my arrival by telephone from my supervising officer.
Today I’m sitting at work in the Fuel Plant, where I began work by writing a personal letter to you. I’ll get three hundred rubles; but instead of distributing bread ration cards, they give you vague promises. Though they do sell commercial bread here, the lines are terribly long; the wait is too long for a solitary individual. I don’t consider this work to be real work: it has nothing to do with my basic vision or goal.
Planning. En route from Novosibirsk to Biysk on the train, I thought for a long time about how to regulate my life so that I don’t get sidetracked, but establish continuity with my former work in economics. I was a proponent of the idea of monographic research in industry. Now I must apply this idea to the regional economy. It is mandatory that I carry out economic research on “the Biysk region and its economy.” In order to do this, I’ll have to work in the Regional Planning Office. As soon as I arrived, I went there. I was received well, but the next day it became known that the budget is already exhausted and they can’t take on a new person. I was doubly discouraged, since it seemed my primary goal was thwarted. I had to take another job; but not only did I refuse to give up on my plan, I actively started carrying it out. The library and museum are good here. In the Regional Planning Office, we agreed that I would transfer there in a few months. Now all my efforts are directed toward finding a room. There’s a little hovel, and if nothing better turns up tomorrow, I’ll have to move into it temporarily, because the tourist hostel has eaten up all my finances.
My work on the book is fascinating. I’m already contemplating with pleasure the different parts or phases of the work. I think that it will be unique in economic literature, something between economic research and a feature story or essay.
Biysk is a small town. The Siberian Biya River is cold, and the waters are ample. It is probable that there are few cultured people here. I am expecting solitude and intensive work. There are occasional tourists. I play the piano in the tourist hostel, and remember my entire repertoire. The city is built on a plain. The high Altai Mountains are nearby, which is where the tourists go. But the Biysk region itself is not mountainous—it’s flat—and it is not a very rich subject for an economic monograph. However, the scantier the subject matter, the easier it is to expand it in different directions. It must be exhaustive—that is my task. I have about six to eight months to complete it.
Well, those are the details you requested. Also exhaustive, it seems.
Tell Genrikh that I love him just the same as I always have and as I always will, no matter what he does or where he gets accepted, whether he writes to me or not—none of that has the slightest bearing on the deep affection and tenderness I feel for my son, who is also my friend. Let him study wherever he sees fit; he will always be my pride and joy.
Goodbye, my dear friend and wife; be strong and good. The motto of our life is: “The times of unhappiness will pass.”
I embrace you, my dear. J.
OCTOBER 12, 1934
My sweet, dear, wondrous wife!
Your letters are arriving regularly—the long one with your description of women’s matters, and the postcards—everything has arrived.
(1) How have you prepared for the winter? Why hasn’t the glass in the windows been repaired? Have you seen any mice? Why don’t you try to get rid of them when I’m not there? When I was there, I managed to drive them out completely—remember, I caught about forty of them, and after that they disappeared. Genrikh has to take my place, in large as well as small matters. I beg him to take over this task for me.
(2) When you happen to mention your past literary commissions, you always speak of them very warmly and positively. But now that they are offering you the possibility of devoting yourself to writing completely, you beat the retreat—“I want to have a profession; that isn’t a profession.” Incoherent and puzzling. It will give you more leisure time, and more satisfaction. Please, elaborate on your position. And send me some of your writings that are ready for publication, or something that has already appeared in print.
(3) Why did you need to join a Party-history study circle? All you have to do is read a book about it. All these little “rehashing” groups of the Party-history variety are unbearably boring and dreary, and a waste of time. I recommend you stay away from the group; just learn about it on your own if you must.
(4) About my health—you often ask about it. I am as strong and healthy as a longshoreman. I stopped smoking. I exercise in the morning. My hands are clear; the eczema has disappeared once and for all. I never considered it necessary to share all the details with you, but now I find I need to tell the history of my condition. When I was combing my memory, I realized that I had experienced the first symptoms in 1913. I had it treated by the doctor for the first time in 1917 in Kharkov. The disease spread, and I tried very hard to have it cured: X-ray treatment in Kiev; and, in 1924, Asya Smolkina referred me to the National Institute of Physiotherapy, for a course of d’Arsonval’s electrotherapy treatment. After that, I consulted neurologists (I was under Dovbnya’s care for a time—half a year). Then I had a relapse and was treated by Dr. Nechayev, using hypnosis again—to no avail.