Citations from “Ein Tag im Leben des Iwan Denissowitsch” by Alexander Solschenizyn
These are just rough notes to accompany the citations; the book was in German, but yours truly does not yet feel comfortable enough with his grasp of that language’s grammar to formulate the accompanying notes and thoughts in it. So, English it is. Apologies to all those who can only read half.
This small book quickly—so quickly—establishes the gulag life as normal that one hardly notices how restricted and miserable the lives of the inmates actually were because Schuchow’s[1] attitude was so generally positive and the day described was, relatively speaking, a very good one. It was on this day that he worked in Siberian temperatures in January that weren’t quite low enough to keep them inside. It was on this day that he managed more food than usual and that he and his team built a brick wall and did a good job of it, feeling themselves almost like men, almost like humans again. For a brief moment, they forgot where they were and worked only for their own satisfaction.
Later, a tumult of coincidences led to Schuchow getting a king’s feast throughout the day—from a portion of Cesar’s package to extra rations of hard bread to an extra soup. He eats what he must and saves what he can, lest he spoil his ravaged body with riches the procurement of which he can’t sustain. After all, if he could make his own luck, he would hardly be in Siberia in the winter. Schuchow is a hardened inmate, well aware of all the ins and outs, as he has served nine years of his ten-year sentence. Though he is completely absorbed with the minutiae of survival and has no time for any pursuits of the mind, he has not lost his basic humanity and does not waste time hating the guards or even fellow inmates for their petty behaviors. Even Fetjukow, whom he deems a “jackal” elicits pity in the end.
Here, for example, is a passage late in the book, describing a meal:
“Und Schuchow ißt den Kohl, der in dem Rest der Brühe schwimmt. Kartoffeln findet er in beiden Schüsseln nur eine einzige, in Zesars. Eine mittelgroße, erfroren natürlich, mit einer harten Stelle und süßlich. Fischstückchen fast gar keine, nur hie und da ein Stück Rückgräte, von der alles abgekocht ist. Doch auch jedes Stückchen Gräte und Flosse muß man ordentlich zerkauen und den Saft herraussaugen, den guten Saft.”
Page 112
Here he’s talking about the pleasure of sucking the delicious juices out of the extremely rare fish fin that one, on a good day, sometimes finds in one’s soup. It is a stark reminder that of you and, most likely, all of the people that you know, none of you has ever actually been hungry. You have, at worst, had a bigger appetite than usual. When you’ve gone for a whole six hours without eating, you’re not hungry yet. You’re most certainly not famished.
Further down the page, we see how economical one used to hunger is with bounty.
“Sein Brot rührt Schuchow nicht an. Zwei Schläge und dann noch Brot—das ist zu üppig, das Brot bleibt für morgen. Der Bauch ist ein unverschämtes Luder, gibt man ihm heute zu viel, schreit er morgen nach mehr.”
Page 112
A few pages later, he’s still completely absorbed in planning how he will best take advantage of his phenomenal luck.
“Hier waren vierhundert Gramm Brot, dazu noch zweihundert und dann noch mindestens zweihundert in der Matratze. Das ist genug. Zweihundert wird er jetzt verdrücken, morgen früh wird er neue fünfhundertfünfzig ergattern, die vierhundert nimmt er zur Arbeit mit—Schlemmerleben!”
Page 117
Schuchow has clearly adapted to life in the work camp. Again, near the end of the book, after describing his own mundane life in minute detail, he describes a completely new character, a silent man who represents the unbent prisoner, the man all of the others who have capitulated and sacrificed who they were and what they once stood for on the altar of simple survival look up to. Do not misunderstand: this hero is not unaffected by life in the camp, he is simply not destroyed, he is doing his time on his own terms, as far as that goes. The inclusion at the end—and only in the abstract—indicates that this man is likely a myth, but his description is haunting:
“Unter all den gebeugten Häftlingsrücken fällt sein Rücken durch Geradheit auf, und wie er so am Tisch sitzt—als habe er sich was untergelegt. Auf seinem kahlen Schädel ist längst nichts mehr zu scheren, die Haare sind ihm alle ausgegangen beim feinen Lagerleben. Die Augen des Alten huschen nicht hin und her, sie starren blicklos über Schuchow hinweg. Er ißt gemessen seine dünne Suppe mit einem zerschrammten Holzlöffel und bückt sich dabei nicht tief über den Napf wie die andern, sondern hebt den Löffel jedesmal hoch an den Mund. Zahne hat er weder oben noch unten. Statt der Zähne malmen die verknöcherten Kiefer das Brot. Sein Gesicht zeigt die Spuren der Strapazen, aber es ist nicht die zerschlissene Visage eines Wracks, es ist wie aus dunklem Stein gehauen. Auch seinen rissigen, schwärzlichen großen Händen ist anzusehen, daß er allerhand durchgemacht hat ein all den Jahren, die sie hin in Lagern und Gefängnissen herumgestoßen haben wie ein dummes Stück Vieh. Aber sie haben ihn nicht untergekriegt, er kapituliert nicht: Er legt seine dreihundert Gramm Brot nicht wie alle auf den dreckigen, bekleckerten Tisch, sondern auf einen sauberen Lappen.”
Page 113
Stephen King painted a similar portrait of Stebbins in his novella, The Long Walk. Stebbins was the outsider, a good walker, who was out to win on his own terms and went out on his own terms. Stebbins was not close with the main character, painted instead in the abstract as an ideal machine, unbent by the crushing situation.[2]
The harsh reality of life in the camp is made crystal clear when a fellow is consigned to the “hole” for a transgression. He describes it thusly:
“Steinwände, zementierter Fußboden, von Fenster keine Spur, das Öfchen wurde nur geheizt, damit das Eis von den Wänden abtaute, und das Ergebnis war dann eine Wasserlache auf dem Boden. Schlafen mußt du auf blanken Brettern, daß du dir die Zähne herauszitterst, Brot gibts dreihundert Gramm am Tag, Suppe nur am dritten, sechsten und neunten Tag.”
Page 122
No windows, barely any food and only enough heating to keep the water on the floor melted. Then comes the length of the sentence and what it means for the inmate that has to serve it:
“Zehn Tage! Zehn Tage Arrest hier, strenger Arrest und absitzen bis zum letzten Tag—das heißt, daß die Gesundheit fürs ganze Leben ruiniert ist. Die TBC ist dir sicher, und dann kommst du aus den Krankenhäusern überhaupt nicht mehr raus. […] und wer jemals fünfzehn tage strengen Arrest absitzen mußte—der fault schon unter der Erde.”
Even at only two weeks, consignment to the hole is basically a death sentence, either from TB or directly by freezing to death. Though Schuchow doesn’t mention why some of the prisoners should bother trying to extend their lives—he mentions many times that the “new ones” have the 25–year sentences, which are now standard regardless of infraction. It doesn’t occur to Schuchow that it could not be worth grasping for every extra breath.
Again, his positivism shines through and he ends with “So lange du in der Baracke lebst, danke dem Himmel und laß dich nicht erwischen!”
With the threat of the “hole”, the prison cells/barracks seems positively awesome, so count your lucky stars. Indeed.
[1] Schuchow is a nickname for the biographee, Iwan Denissowitsch.↩
[2] The Long Walk is about a near future America ruled by a military government. The people are harshly suppressed and one of the only hopes a young man has is to win the lottery and gain entrance to the “Long Walk”. The walk starts in Maine and heads south. The walkers must maintain pace and are accompanied by soldiers in vehicles to ensure that they do. There are no stops. Last one walking wins. Awesome story.↩