Seviarynets recounted how he was given an Easter bun in the colony and why it was dangerous

Illustrative photo

After Easter, in the squad, my bunkmate, let's call him Sergei, approaches me:

— Pash, listen, my father, it turns out, knows you. He said hello at the meeting, told me to share a homemade bun with Seviarynets, he passed it on…

And the conversation takes place by the bunks, under a camera.

— Sergei, — I say, — thank you very much to you and your father, my regards to him and wish him a happy holiday, but you know, I'm being watched, you can't pass anything to each other.

For those who don't know, in the camp's "Internal Regulations" there is such a clause — "Alienation". According to this clause, the transfer of any property, things, food, cigarettes between prisoners is prohibited. If you treat your neighbor, and it's seen, reported to the operational department, you're in trouble.

Of course, this clause is applied selectively (because life is life, food and cigarettes circulate through the zones as they should) — but concerning "political prisoners," targeting is set up.

If a "political prisoner" gives something to an ordinary inmate — it means bribing to win them over. If a "political prisoner" gives something to another "political prisoner" — that's solidarity, of course, it must be "suppressed." Well, and if an ordinary inmate gives something to a "political prisoner" — oh, this smells like a riot, a challenge to the administration. They crack down hard for such things in Shklov.

Control mechanisms — ubiquitous cameras, a network of informers, and detailed accounting of things and products, with accuracy down to a single item in inventories (everything is described completely, point by point, from the contents of the bedside table to the refrigerator). And specially trained people carefully monitor those who interest the administration.

So, my Sergei winces and says:

— But Pash, everyone shares, it's just a piece of bun… As you wish, I'll wrap it in a package and put it by your bunk, you'll come in and take it. That's it, happy holiday, otherwise I'll be offended.

He goes, rustles in his bag, there are a couple of people in the cubicle and a camera.

Damn it, I think, and he's a good guy too… But who knows, maybe it's a setup. In the zone, such doubts are kindly called "manechka," from the word "mania" — mild paranoia.

Okay, I think. I need to take the risk, because otherwise I'll offend the guy, and the package will be left lying around, and soon it's time for work, a round will come — whose is this, scandals, intrigues, investigations, violation of internal regulations… In short, I take it, go to the kitchen, unwrap it, eat a piece of delicious Easter bun and thank Sergei.

Half an hour later, it started.

The operational department bursts in:

— What was in the black package? Who gave Seviarynets the black package?

What black package, comrade chief? No one gave anything…

Camera review. Cubicle. Kitchen. Aha, eating a bun!.. Feeding political prisoners, are we?

Sergei was identified instantly. The next day they take him for punishment. Five days in solitary confinement (SHIZO).

In the squad, they scoffed:

— Five days for half a bun. If it had been a whole one — they would have given ten.

Sergei came out of SHIZO and, seizing the moment, approached me.

— Everything's fine. To hell with them. Was the bun at least tasty?

The Easter bun from the black package. Tasty?.. I still remember it. On my tongue, it was like the taste of communion bread. The body of Christ with wine that turns into blood.

• 9
• 0
• 0
• 1
• 1
• 3
• 1
• 4