Immediately I wrote letters to Barbara’s mother, her sister, and her brother, an Air Force chaplain, asking for more information.
My feelings were a mélange of concern, helplessness, guilt, and understanding. Coupled with the terrible uncertainty was the realization that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do. If I weren’t in prison, this probably wouldn’t have happened to Barbara. If I had been firmer with her about her drinking, when I first realized it was a problem, maybe this could have been avoided. If it hadn’t been for the frequent separations…. These recriminations changed nothing, yet I could not stop blaming myself.
Journal, October 14: “I am very upset and cannot get it out of my mind. If only I knew exactly what is going on, I think I would feel much better. I am sure that a great deal is my fault….”
Not for another thirteen days did I receive a letter. In the interim, in my desperation, I exhausted the possibilities. As I wrote in the journal, “I have even conceived the crazy idea of writing to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR to ask them to let me go home for a short while to see if I can help in any way…. I would promise to return. I realize it is a crazy idea, but it might work, because they could get a lot of favorable publicity from it.
“I know it is stupid, but I am grasping at straws. If I have no mail by early next week, I will try it.”
The next letter, from Barbara’s sister, was more detailed. Barbara’s drinking had gotten completely out of control. It had reached the point where her mother was no longer able to remain in the house with her because of the fights that resulted. Under these circumstances they had felt the best thing for her was medical help, and she had been committed to the Psychiatric Center of Augusta’s University Hospital. She had an excellent doctor, Corbett H. Thigpen, author of the book The Three Faces of Eve, and was receiving the best care possible. They were sorry they hadn’t been able to contact me first, but because of her condition they felt it best for Barbara if they acted promptly.
It was a very considerate letter, and it relieved my fears somewhat to know she was being helped. But I had the feeling they were withholding something; I wrote, begging for more information, asking that they not treat me as a child but tell me exactly what was happening. I pointed out that my imagination would create fears far worse than anything they could write.
On November 1 I received two letters. One was from Barbara. Although written October 7, she made no mention of being in the hospital. The other was from Barbara’s brother, the Air Force chaplain, who had handled the details of the commitment and who had been appointed Barbara’s legal guardian in my absence. He stated that she was now free to leave the hospital at any time she wished.
Another letter from Barbara arrived November 5, this one, written October 15, explaining that she hadn’t told me about being in the hospital in her earlier letter because she had not wanted me to worry. There was no mention of drinking; tension was given as the reason for her being there. She had high praise for Dr. Thigpen, although she complained about his strictness; he wouldn’t even let her have matches.
Although I was already well over my monthly quota for outgoing letters, I wrote Dr. Thigpen, as well as Barbara’s own doctor in Milledgeville, asking for more information. I hoped the Russians would let them go through.
Because of the delay between the time a letter was written and the time I received it, I was unsure whether Barbara was still in the hospital. The thought that she might be better, might even have been released, made living from day to day a little easier. That sort of hospital must be very like a prison, I thought, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.
Too, I now had something else to think about, which, though not unrelated, concerned me very much.
Following my conviction, I had been told that on completion of one half of my three-year prison sentence—or eighteen months—I could apply for an early transfer to a work camp, where the remaining years of my sentence were to be served. Such requests were by no means granted automatically but at the discretion of the court. My conduct as a prisoner had been good, so I couldn’t see this hindering the application. November 1 had marked the completion of my eighteenth month.
Yet, as I observed in the journaclass="underline" “This camp business has me worried. Here in the prison I have been relatively isolated. I have contact only with my cellmate. In a camp it is my understanding that all prisoners are free to mingle, and they more or less govern themselves. Of course, there are guards outside. It is my impression that they are set up somewhat like concentration camps during the war. I have heard that there are fights, and groups who oppose each other, and I do not know how I will fit into such a situation, since I cannot speak the language. I don’t fear any harm to myself, because I don’t think the Soviet government would want to cause an international incident by exposing a citizen of the United States to conditions which could result in his being harmed. It would be hard for them to explain why they could not protect their prisoners if word were to get out that something had happened to me.”
Then, too, there were some privileges I enjoyed in prison that might be revoked if I transferred to a work camp, such as my receiving the embassy packages, books, and unlimited amounts of mail. Also keeping my hair.
Zigurd tried in every way he could to keep me from getting my hopes up. He was sure the request would never be granted. The Soviets couldn’t risk the chance of having me killed by some patriot anxious to make a name for himself.
But there was one important factor in favor of work camp. I had heard that prisoners there were allowed to have their wives visit them for ten days every three months. If Barbara could come to Russia, even for a short time, perhaps we could discuss and resolve some of our difficulties.
On November 15 I submitted my application for a transfer.
Journal, November 21: “Last Saturday the colonel came to have a talk with me about the application to the work camp. He asked a few questions about why I wanted to transfer there, and then he said he would come back later with information about the questions I asked him concerning visiting privileges and the granting of a visa to Barbara. When I mentioned that it would probably be a long time before I heard anything from the application, he said it might be sooner than I think. I feel certain he knew much more about their plans for me than he let on….”
Journaclass="underline" “Today is Tuesday, November 28.1 expected some mail today but didn’t receive any. It has been over two weeks since I received my last letter, and over three weeks since I have had one from Barbara. Is the cure progressing as it should?
“I also have not received my monthly package from the embassy. It is almost two weeks late. I wonder if there is any connection between the missing package and the missing mail?
“Another thing that seems odd, since this is the first time it has happened, is that for about five days I have not received the Daily Worker. When it did arrive there were several issues missing, ranging from about the fourth to the ninth of November. (I do not remember the exact dates, because I thought very little of it at the time.) Yesterday I received the November 23 issue, but November 22 was missing. This is very odd, because I have been receiving this newspaper for many months and I have never missed getting an issue. They are often late but always come.”
Little things, but the mind fits them into a pattern.
“Today for the first time I realized there might be a connection between the missing newspapers and the absence of mail. The mail I should be receiving now and for the past week would have been sent from the United States about the same time the missing papers were printed. Could it be that something has happened to my wife or other members of my family and that mention of it was made in the papers and also in the letters? If so, it must be very serious to be withheld from me.”