Sevyarynets: At Midnight, It Seemed Death Had Come

“On the night of July 31 to August 1, 2020, almost immediately after lights out, I suddenly had severe stomach pain and started vomiting.

At midnight, it seemed death had come: I probably can't recall such wild pain and such faintness in my entire life. I crawled to the door, banged, demanded a doctor. The doctor didn't come until morning. I will never forget that night.

Well, I thought, that's it, it's over. They poisoned me, the bastards. They're enjoying watching me die. Here's your Charterhouse of Parma, a stinking corner in the basement of Akrestina. What a way to die. A week before the "elections". It's no problem for them to mix something into the food or drink. I prayed, vomited, writhed, prayed again, stopped banging. I no longer asked for a doctor — maybe they'd just finish me off with some pill, damn them.

What it was — I still don't know.

I lay there, vomiting and feeling faint, for two days. Didn't eat, didn't drink. On the third day, the door opens — they're transferring me.

Well, I thought, hold on. If they tried to kill me, then now it's round two.

But they lead me to the third floor of the isolation facility. They open a corner cell. Oh, but the room is filled to the brim with rolled-up mattresses. So that's where they stuffed all the "rubbish" from Akrestina! All the other cells are without mattresses, and here — a warehouse.

And two inmates. Both for deportation. One Bangladeshi, supposedly came from Moscow without a passport due to COVID and was stuck in Minsk for six months (this happened during the pandemic). The other — a "Russian" type, who spoke out against Putin and was awaiting deportation to Russia (well, that made me smile — the informers were quite fixated on the topic of Putin that summer).

Well, I thought, poisoning or killing with two witnesses, when it could be done without witnesses, is stupid. At lunch, I took my ration, ate. Normal. I exhaled.

Both deportees, like nabobs, on bunks with three or four mattresses. A resort! But right then, carefully inspecting the mattresses, I noticed lice. Of course, it was summer, "rubbish" from the entire isolation center, a special breeding ground. But I didn't care anymore. I lay down to get some sleep.

Every couple of days, a kind of inspector from the Migration Department (or operational division) would come to my informers, take them into the corridor or whisper with them by the food slot.

And for several days, the Bangladeshi and the "Russian," in whom I detected a slight Mogilev accent, tried to persuade me to "drop politics" because "Batka cannot be defeated." Alright, I thought, comrades, let's wait until August 9.

And on the morning of August 9, keys rattled:

— Sevyarynets, to vote!

— Vote yourselves, — I said. — There are no elections, you're substituting ballots.

They even took offense.

— No, but we have a commission.

We know your commissions, especially at Akrestina.

During the day, armed guards appeared in the corridor. "Reinforcements."

And from the city, since midday, an unusual roar of cars had been growing. Car horns. The rumble of trucks. Apparently, people were massively moving around the city awaiting results, while security forces were bringing in columns of equipment.

And in the evening, all of Minsk roared. And, as it started to get dark — crackling, like the sounds of distant shots, explosions, a rumble and whistle, as if in a stadium.

It had begun.

From the barred window of the cell, a piece of the yard and the fiery distance of Minsk were visible, from where a cannonade, like those on New Year's Eve, was carried. Only this one was incessant.

Even in prison, it was clear that the wave of protest was overwhelming.

I prayed to God and listened. Shivers down my spine.

And several Akrestina employees sat in the corridor with their radios, turned on the speakerphone – and we in the cell could clearly hear the commands, noise, and explosions from the scene of events.

What commands and what happened next — I'll tell you next time."

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