Now I’m sitting in the well-heated room of the sergeant major, and I have no idea where I’ll be sleeping tonight. Perhaps here, in the sergeant major’s room. Don’t laugh—it’s a great honor for a soldier.
What I’m afraid of is that when you read my letter you’ll moan and groan from worry. Poor thing, what a life! etc. It’s not at all what you might think. There’s nothing squalid about it, it’s not a hard life. In all the places I’ve been so far—the adjutant’s regiment, the senior doctor’s, the junior doctor’s—I’ve been treated very well. They invited me to sit down—which is the greatest honor they can pay a soldier.
My letters will surely take a long time to reach you. After I drop a letter in the regiment mailbox, it will not leave Zlatoust until the next day. And from the station, it will take at least five days to get to you. So there may be times when you won’t get a letter for six or seven days.
Write me at the following address:
Zlatoust, Ufimskaya Guberniya
196th Infantry, Insarksy Regiment
Training Detachment
To: Volunteer Jacob Ossetsky
NOVEMBER 3, 1912
My duties have not yet begun. For the time being, I’m just observing my surroundings. I spend all my time in the office, together with one other person. I take my meals in the Officers’ Assembly. The food is quite tasty and cheap. I buy my breakfast in the regiment store. Now I can even read the newspaper. They will give me The New Times every day in the Officers’ Assembly. For the time being, I wear my own clothes. The accoutrements will be ready in a week. You must order two uniforms. One of them you give to the armory for safekeeping (for parades, celebrations, and campaigns), and the other is for everyday wear.
It’s a good thing I arrived in my student uniform. Everyone noticed it, the officers inquired about it, and today some soldier even saluted me. My superior in the training detachment asks: “Where are you studying? Are you in college? What grade are you in?” (That’s how much they understand about higher education.)
I’m so glad I brought books with me to read. I should have taken more, not just on specialized subjects. I’ve already done some studying today. There isn’t even a regiment library here, and the town is six versts away. The Officers’ Assembly only subscribes to The New Times and Russian Invalid. And that’s in an officers’ club, of all places. Maybe in the General Assembly there are a few more newspapers and periodicals.
The first day, I was very circumspect and cautious. I looked around me anxiously. I kept thinking they would grab me and send me to the guardhouse (military prison). In the evening, I sighed in relief and said my prayers—I’m joking, of course.
An officer I was conversing with said this to me: “There may be worse regiments than this one, but I doubt there are better ones.” Maybe he’s right.
THE NEXT DAY …
I got leave to go to town today. While I’m still not in uniform, I have a great deal of freedom. I don’t take part in training yet. I just walk around among the soldiery and observe. And I come across many things that interest me. Now I’m going into the city. I’ll send you this letter from there. If I mail it directly from the station, you’ll receive it a day earlier. Letters don’t leave the regiment mailbox until the following day … SEPARATE PAGE, TO THE KIDS
NOVEMBER 3, 1912
Dear kids! I got your letter in the mail. It made me very glad. Use my paper and ink wisely! Form a committee, choose a chairman, and make your own decisions. You have my approval, in advance.
You know that this place is called Zlatoust—meaning “Goldmouth.” But if you think that Zlatoust is full of golden mouths and that the soldiers ride around on cannons all day long, think again. So far, I haven’t even noticed any golden mouths, or even any golden mustaches. The mouths you see here are the kinds you’d never want to kiss! And the soldiers don’t ride around on cannons, because there are no cannons in sight either. Poor soldiers! If only they could!
They haven’t made me a general yet, and they haven’t entrusted me with a golden sword. But in time, God willing, both things will come true. You’ll see!
For the time being, though, I’m just a soldier. But you probably don’t know what this means. Let me explain. I open the manual for young soldiers, and this is what I read (page 16): “The word ‘soldier’ is a common one, familiar to all. Every subject who has sworn allegiance to the Tsar and who agrees to carry out the sweet and heartfelt obligation to defend the Faith, the Imperial Throne, and the homeland is given the name ‘soldier.’ He must do battle with both internal and external enemies.” That’s me. Attention! I’m everyman, and famous! I’ll defeat enemies, internal and external, with my gun! (Senya, I have a rifle, a real rifle. And it shoots.)
NOVEMBER 12, 1912
Perhaps you’re interested in my economic situation and domestic affairs, Mama?
I bought thick woolen socks in Zlatoust. I also got a mattress. That’s about all. I have need of a small basket—after one change of clothes, I keep my dirty linen in a large basket. When it comes time for a second change, I have things laundered. You aren’t allowed to keep more than two changes of linen in the basket.
I can’t wait for my uniform to arrive. It puts me in an awkward situation not to have it. When I meet an officer from my detachment in the street, I still have to salute. Yes, sir; No, sir; Good morning, sir—I already have that down pat. But it’s somehow a shame for my student uniform. In any event, I should be getting the uniform tomorrow or the next day. SEPARATE PAGE, TO THE OSSETSKY KIDS
Wait a bit and I’ll be sending each of you your own letter. But for now, this is how it has to be. I’m writing to the whole flock!
Senya, what books on the history of Russian literature are you talking about? You have to tell me the name of the author, not the color of the cover. What if you colored it yourself? Grisha, you haven’t written a word to me. And I’m so interested in your studies.
The city of Zlatoust is high in the mountains. The mountains are so high that you can’t even see the top. And they’re covered with forest, thick pine forest. You can’t collect rocks and minerals here, because the snow is very, very deep. In the summer, I’ll search for them, though, and by the first of November, you’ll receive them.
There are many Tatars living in this city. But they don’t sell old things; and some of them even sell very new things. So they aren’t called “rag-and-bone men” here. All the people here (Tatars included) walk down the middle of the street, not on the sidewalk. I don’t know why myself. Maybe you can guess? Could it be because there aren’t any sidewalks to walk on?
There are lots of soldiers here. So many that Rayechka wouldn’t be able to count them all. Or has she already learned to count to a hundred? Eva, write me about what you’re reading now. Who chooses books for you to read? And what Senya is reading, too.
A big hello, from Zlatoust all the way to Kiev and back. And that’s no small hello! It travels a thousand versts.
NOVEMBER 14, 1912
Slowly but surely, I’m settling into military life. It’s a very special field of activity, which you civilians have no inkling of. The soldier’s life has its own particular hardships and its own particular joys. And you can’t avoid any of them.
When I take a good hard look at the people who surround me (and they are all officers and soldiers), I have to consider myself to be the happiest of them all. The officers here are bored in the extreme. They curse both the service and Zlatoust. Soldiers are downtrodden, browbeaten creatures. They all suffer, and make one another suffer. What does it matter to me? In a year, I will have fulfilled my term of duty, and I’ll wipe it all from my memory. I’ll go home—and goodbye, Zlatoust. But they will all be staying right here.