The another view from the political camp“Vietrieny”, Kolyma

It all started from the visit to granny fortune-teller. My friend Kost` heard the rumours, that she is good at fortune-telling.We drove off the town of Cherkasy to one of the neighbouring villages and found the granny quite soon,by an appearance - a usual peasant-woman. She has been telling fortunes by cards.

What was I impressed with in card's apportion, was the continuous blackness and the absence of "queens", about which, to tell the truth, dreamt each of us, being unmarried. One queen, trully speaking, there was - the queen of spades. But was she really a queen? I heard that she had another meaning - the EVIL. And what did the granny tell? As a matter of fact, I saw that the apportion of the cards shocked her, but the words were as usual -- " Look here, see, you will have a blackhaired lady, interesting meetings, a far road ..." In one word, nothing was left in my memory except one unexpected phrase : " You dream of reaching the West, but you won't manage".

A little closing definition: even if I thought about overseas lands, that was no more than a mere schoolboy`s dream of it on the geography lesson, while studying the valley of Amason river. Tropic, exotic objects? Certainly! Who does not dream of it? Not even without cherishing the idea of unleagal crossing of the boarder, but it was so long ago!

We had visited the granny in spring of 1978, so 15 years had passed since...

-15-

Autumn of 1962. Learned by heart the text of cipher note to one of the contrabandist's, who went to and fro Iran. Some sort of merchandise: gold or drugs - none of my business. I have to reach the West, because I see no prospects for me here. I've returned from prison not long ago, but they engage me only as an unskilled worker, although I have a diploma of a technician…

I shall take with me the only writting: misteria " 24 hours froma prisoner's life". There in the WEST, I hope, the freedom of a creation will give me wings.

I'm leaving for Turkmenistan. As the author of the note assured me, I would be guided to Iran without payment, though, as usually, they take for guidance 10 thousand note bills.

From the town of Tedjen on a south-west horizon the range of Copet-Dah are clearly seen.

Is there, beyond the mountains, a freedom?

…Kost` was disposed to a presaging sceptically and took me to the granny at my request. In consequence, he ignored her predictions.

- She can know nothing about the future. But, perhaps, she can telepatically read from yours head that a long before you've planned the march to Iran and has given it to us as an unfeasible idea in the future. This is only a projection of the past to the future. But in general, it's possible to get to the West. If you've had enough money then, you can be there already. True, in my opinion, you should march out deadly armed. As to her's twaddlings, you see,can not be any get-together with a lady of spades, of course. They are the same, all fortune-tellers.

And really, indeed, I didn`t meet any “spades lady”. So, maybe, all the rest is a lie too? All the rest is, certainly, the most important : to be or not to be… in the West? It looks like with that unexpected phrase, the granny brought back my thoughts for marching out the boarder. It's a pity that 15 years ago I knew nearly nothing about a frontier.

Is it secure to rely upon the smugglers? You must think logically: who are they? What are their laws?

Would not they fuss over me in a critical situation on the boarder? And , maybe they will give me up to soviet authorities as a bribe, for soviet would take no notice of their walking hike through a border line? Yes, one can not rely upon them.

What you will gain by yourself is only yours.

The heat is merciless. Today is the first of October. With some tennote bills in a pocket I reached Tedjen, yesterday, and made a temporary settlement in a recommended, by my turkmenian-friend, flat. I'm looking for a job, although the choice in this provincial town is pitiful. As I've understood from the host's explanations, the most acceptable work for me will be at the motor depot. As a fitter or turner. It is necessary to apply for a job and to avert an attention from my person, because I've noticed that some sort of strangers kept an eye on me without hiding. To appeal to guy-guiders is never late, but the principal is that the underground flat, mentioned in the cipher note, is in another city, very far from Tedjen.

…Finally began to work as a turner, strictly speaking as an apprentice, because before that I had a month of a turner practice only.I was given the second grade.

... Money is swiftly melting away. The largest blow caused to me was the foot-wear: that, what I had, suddenly torn to pieces, and I was forced to buy some new pair urgently -- the top-boots. The wallet has become empty. I had to pass on a ration system " tea-bread".

…I have been lucky to find 15 copecs on the road today. Even such miserable sum became an event to me, allowing to take in the canteen an supplemental portion of a porridge.

... I've received the first salary for short month -- thirty roubles, but 20 had been taken in advance.The trip to guys is out of the question: the one-way ticket costs nearlly 5 roubles. It's an especially great hazard. And besides, is this business reliable? Doubts gnaw my soul.

With HUNGRY eyes I'm peering into the south-west -- there is a freedom, beyond the mountain.

What you will gain by yourself is only yours. It's necessary to study the conditions. What waits me in the desert? From certain articles in periodical press the impression is formed, that the greatest annoying in Turkmenistan, except heat, are snakes and scorpions. How to avoid them? As if made for an order I came across the article about guarding against snakes: some or other shepherds always sleep on sheep’s pelts and never have any troubles with snakes. So, I’m in need to get a sheepskin coat or sheep’s pelt. At any rate , exactly at the time sheepskin coats were in fashion and it was hard to find them. I decided to start a planned search in all towns, were I occur to be on a mission. And with regard to -16-

scorpions is only to expect they won’t happen upon my way. What else is necessary? What to do with dogs on board? By this animal one will not pass by secretly even at night—dog will feel by a scent. Shall I get a pistol? It’s a loud thing and by the way, I don’t know where it is bought (on a backside-market – it’s known, but where and from whom?). Is there an assurance, that the seller of the weapon won’t hand you over to a familiar KGBist? There is no such assurance. The whole affair may break up even without beginning. Shall I take a knife? There is no experience, no skills at defence from a sheep-dog with a help of a knife. A small sword! Was I not a competitor in fencing for the championship of Magadan region? Even took the SIXTH place. Telling the truth, the number of competitors was as well six, but is it so important? I shall deal with a dog, not a fencer.

Preliminary investigator Batura : And if you met on your way a frontier-guard, would you prick him through by your small sword?

On suspect: Is it really possible with an armed by a tommy-gun frontier–guard?

Investigator: Here I’m asking. Do answer yes or no.

On suspect: O.K. Write down : if I had been attacked by an armed by tommy-gun frontier-guard I would prick him through by a little sword…

However, this was not written down..

As it turned out, the small sword is easily can be bought in a Lviv’s sportsshop. Nobody asked what for I’m going to buy it and didn’t demand a permit from an occupational regime. I had only to remake it somehow: a protecive ball on a point is good for nothing, moreover the top is very flexible. How shall I get this thing to theborder? I need to take a big suit-case (at a short distance to the border it can be thrown out), that’s why the length of the little sword should not exceed dimensions of the suit-case diagonally. On measuring my big valise I found it less than 70 cm! Well, then I have to curtail the little sword to 65 cm. For all that, it is incomparably better than with a knife.

A blue-greyish haze has enveloped the south-west. What is a border like? Maybe, hooked on wires, chained sheepdogs are running along the fence? If only I happen to get a field-glasses and examine through… Yesterday in the hostel, some unknown driver did cling to find out, why had I come to Tedgen and work for nothing.I’ve explained, that misunderstanding had been arisen before, the friend of mine told me that here there was an opportunity of big earnings. Besides that, his relatives were to help, but meanwhile they weren`t.

He didn’t believe. Surely he was examining on instructions from known authorities. Things are getting worse. The heat abates, instead of it a fear intensifies… Earnings of the next month scarcely amount to 45 roubles, precisely they handed in only 20, because 25 I was given in advance. Am I working bad? That’s not the matter. There are more expensive orders, which the foreman gives to a skillful turners, so I have to “ be left on” turning pipes. And the prices for them are simply ridiculuos, and it is impossible to get more. I’ve decided to work one month more and then, maybe, money will suffice for a trip to the ”guys”.

Recently I’ve left for, as diplomats would say, with a special mission to Kenigsberg, with a change in Vilnius. Niether there, nor here can be found something sheepy

(neither sheepcoat, nor pelt), there are no field-glasses too for examining through the boarder from a far and making a plan of crossing. Also I was unlucky on looking over the port on the case of an attempt of a flight on foreign steamer.

After returning from Baltic I began to workout in mind all the details. I have to fly over in an air-plane to Ashkhabad, then to take a train, that goes along the border in the eastwards direction, come through all frontier stations with forbidden get out and to alight in Tedjen, which lies beyond the borders of frontier zone. It goes without saying, that on riding from Ashkhabad to Tedjen it is necessary to look over the frontier locality from the carrige’s window as good as possible, because any additional information is useful.

What next? From Tedjen I need to go in the direction of West-South…How am I to do that? I’ll have to walk, however, in the night-time (and it’ll take me even more than one night), so I’ll need to have a compass with phosphoric face-needle with me.

I am lucky to find just the very compass in one Drohobych sports-shop. It has even been packed hermetically in cellophane. I decided to leave it sealed, because there is the Karakum Channel between Tedjen and the

frontier. Who knows, in what way I’ll have to cross it, what if I’ll have to do it by swimming? And one more thing: how is it to walk in the night? Each little pit, I`ll don’t notice it, may complicate my march in a fatal way…-17-

- Maestro producer! Could we also arrange such-and-so illumination?

- What about taking a lantern?

- What ever else will you say! To the frontier with a lantern?! To be noticed from afar?! You must be joking, mister.

-Well. We have also the moon. It’s not the property-master’s one, certainly. But in this case you’d better apply to the Heavenly office. -Thank you, Maestro. But I suppose there’s no need to bother Heaven, we’d better consult astronomical calendar.

- Does your calendar guarantee the absence of such a substance as clouds?

- Don’t complicate everything, Maestro. Don’t forget I’ll make my way through the desert, and the clouds there are as a queer thing, as the clear sky on the Poles.

I decide to call on Kost` for the advice… With traditional cup of a coffee I explain to him everything, I’ve learnt up to now, and give him the task to seek for probable obstacles. His first remark was concerning the channel:

- Let’s assume it’s not more than a meter and a half deep. You could cross it. But what will you look like when you get ashore? Leave along the things and the provisions, you’ll have with you.

- Yes, it might complicate my further way. We’ve got to think something out.

- How do you like the idea of an air raft? No, I don’t mean its manufactured variety. I’m talking about a score or two of cellophane bags you could puff up and tie hermetically, when you reach the channel. And afterwards, having been gathered together into a large cellophane sack, they could serve a perfect raft, don’t you think? And it weights nothing by the way. Even if some bag gets punctured by chance, the other bags will successfully keep the raft floating…

- It doesn’t seem to be a bad idea. But as for the size… How the required amount of bags and sacks can be calculated out?

- Well, you could try here some experiments without anyone’s suspicions.

- It’s too fussily. What if the channel is not more than a meter deep? It is the DESERT channel, anyhow.

- But you asked me to search for the probable obstacles, - he reminds me.

Kost’ is a self-educated astrophysicist. He is specialized in gravitation. To take each detail into account, to consider over everything - all that is the element of his. And that’s the reason he doesn’t want to risk, accompanying me. It’s impossible, you see, to take into consideration all the possible versions. There are too many “unknown quantities” - this way “physmathematicians” seem to express themselves.

- But there, anyway, still remains the factor of a certain risk, - I insist. - There is no progress without a risk.

- Don’t far fetch the arguments. Let’s better study the consequence of your “experiment”. Firstly: you can be hold when approaching the frontier and condemned. You may be given all the 15 years of imprisonment and 5 years of a settlement, as they will find the writings, hostile to them, by you. Secondly: you can be shot when crossing the frontier. As the humorist would say in that case: and no problems. Thirdly: you’ll manage to cross the frontier, but followed by a shot - it’s again the death or crippling. Fourthly: your crossing is successful. “There, beyond the mountain, is freedom”. Nevertheless, communist agents kill you (probable versions: arranging the car accident, empoisoning, etc.) somewhere in a quite ward of London. Fifthly: you’re succeeded to cross the frontier, but a) water supply, being not enough, you die of thirst; b) you die of a snake’s or scorpion’s bite; c) you are killed by Iranian maphiosy, drug-friends, religious fanatics, etc. Sixth: crossing is successful. Your life in London goes on with no special bother. And what next? Your works won’t amaze anyone there, as the whole volumes about the Kremlin crimes have been already written…

- All right. But concerning the last version: don’t I deserve at least any indemnification for what I’ve already come through?

- Indemnification, as well as punishment, is waiting for a person at the very finish, postmortem. And that is I remind you of the idea from the metaphysical sphere, from yours, that is to say.

- Well, it turns out, I’ve got six versions. What a raffle, isn’t it? “To be or not to be”.

- One thing to make it more precise: “not to be” is presented in FIVE versions, while “to be” - in ONE only.

Enough, that’s it. I’ve got to give “the guys” up at lost. Some scabs have hit my eye and I found myself at hospital. Scabs, having been -18-drawn out, my eye sees well, but am I not supposed to consider this set of failures to be the indication of the Lord’s disapproval of my plans? Isn’t it a warning?

I’ve spent three weeks at hospital - at the least I’ve been fed there. Although, I saved nothing as there was nothing to be save up. I see no other way out, except sending my people a telegram, asking them to send me some money, so that I could return home. And that will be all with it.

Is there freedom beyond the mountain? Maybe, but not for me.

- It’s high time to think of bread and salt… - Kost’ was waiting for my reaction with a sparkle of mockery in his eyes, as we have just had breakfast.

- Do you mean dinner? - I was easily trapped with the catch.

- No, I don’t quite mean dinner and not now, - he went on mysteriously. - What and how much do you have to take with you?

- Oh! It would be better not to say it at all. Do I know? The most essential thing is water, naturally.

- But how much? A pail or two? - Kost’ was evidently going too far, but gave up joking at once. - In my opinion we should be guided the average statistical human need in water: one and a half liter or two liters a day.

- Then, considering the distance and the time that should be needed to cover it, five liters will be quite enough. – I joined to the calculating eagerly.

- Possibly. Charging your reflections, you realize you won’t cover fifty kilometers during one night. But will there be any water waiting for you in Iran? Why must be the desert of Karakum certain to end at the boundary with Iran, in the mountains of Kopet-Dah? You may walk a hundred kilometers more through Iran looking for water.

- You are exaggerating, indeed, - I was indignant. - And what about people? Look, even if there are people here, in Karakum, so much the more they must be in Iran. And where people are - there water must be.

- OК. And what can you say about such a factor as race and religion?

- So what?Won’t a Mohammedan give you water, when you are thirsty?

- Who knows? I’m making suppositions. It was your request.

- We can`t take each detail into account. There will still be the factor

of a risk. To some extend we could also rely upon propitious combination

of evants.

Having me at a nonplus with that water, Kost’ decided to change the subject.

- And how are you going to communicate there?

- In English, naturally. And even if Iranian peasants don’t speak English, I could mime something or address to some policeman for help. Since Iran is a capitalist country, it must help a victim of the Communist Punitive System.

- Probably. But do you speak English good enough? - Not so well. But especially for that deal I could learn some separate statements beforehand. -We took a dictionary and set to searching essential words. The most important of them is “a refuge”,we decided. The word “political” sounds similar. Anyhow we’ve composed some sentences.

I jump off the hedge*, seize my bag and a staff sword and make a dash for running. But five meters further I find myself come across one more harrowed strip. Luckily, it has probably been harrowed long before, the marks of harrowing were not distinct, but to make myself sure I turn back to the system of “edging”*. I hardly cover this patch, when suddenly the searchlight flashes to the left and behind of me. Heaving bent down, I start running again. The searchlight, by good fortune, doesn’t rummage at the sides, and I could see me moving away from the light up strip meter by meter.

Having run a hundred of meters upwards, I realized - all it was a poor affair. Whatever it might threaten, I am not able to run aloft,so I just start walking as fast as I can at least. I come across a tightly thorny patch. It was something middle between grass and bushes, twenty centimeters high. I go by the direct way. Having barely covered ten meters, I noticed the shaken off dust smoking and a path on a thorny carpet looming, even by the moonlight. The movement was complicated too.

Am I still obliged to keep to the South-Western direction? I get out of that plot onto the stony ground. A slight swerving from the course - and such an incomparable advantage: it easy to walk and no traces are left.

I take a look around. The line of the hedges is brightly illuminated by the searchlight. If that car** didn’t arrive and the searchlight was illuminating the hedges all the time, have I dared to cross the frontier?

Long live lucky chance, lucky combination of evants!

*About a crossing the harrowed strip look in a short story“Oasis”. ** If you like, look on page 32 -19-

If only they didn’t aim the searchlight at me. I go on skipping along. Soon I reach the end of the climb. It’s a mountain-pass. I decide there is no need to run any more. Haven’t I reached Iran already?

I still go on carrying my bag in one hand, in the other one there’s a stuff sword. I could shoulder the bag; there are special breechings for straps sewed for that, but I don’t want to slack my pace as the slope starts. Having taking a glance at the end of the slope, I suddenly notice a line of telegraph poles. I strain myself immediately and peer at the foot of the mountain near the poles. It seems to be a road.

Where from? Where to?

I quieter down my foot-steps and go stooped. Is it HERE freedom, beyond the mountain?

When I had to use the words, I had learned, it turned out I forgot the proper stress in the most important one - in the word “refuge”. In my pronunciation it assimilated to “refuse”. But I was not yet conscious of it long after that, as well as I had no idea of the meaning of the word “trouble”, that I had heard from an Iranian officer. This last one has soon got a fatal and symbolic meaning…

Nevertheless, I didn’t pay any special attention tostudying English, and concentrated all my efforts on procuring particular and quite essential things, as I supposed.

The sheep’s skin! It’ll be a guarantee against the attacks (and against the bites) of snakes. Binocular! It’ll give the possibility to examine the frontier’s construction from afar. Where can it be bought? My searching was fruitless. But instead I decided to take with me a box of “makhorka”(the worst grade of a tobacco in “USSR”)and the mixture of black and red pepper, ground to powder: someone told me that could put the dogs off the scent… I was planning to take a record of all my writings. For a better guarantee of their preservation, I decided to keep them apart: the script - in the bag, and the tape - in the special pocket, sewed to the sports-shirt.

It was also a pity to leave my selection of separate works of an occidental authors in Ukrainian version. At that time my hand- books were: “The Planet of People” by Anthuan de Sent-Eqhsupery, “The Black Kite’s Dance” by Julian Kavalets, “The Wolf” by H.Gesse, “Selected Letters…” by L. A. Seneca, “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” by Hemingway and some other books. I decided to take the three last ones only in order not to overburden myself.

In specialized bookshops I studied all the maps of Tedjen region of Turkmenistan, and of the neighboring ones as well, in large scales - to make myself sure. I observed some divergences (and it was considerable) in the details of the boundary. Don’t the “Soviets” present these details distorted intentionally? It might be quite possible. When the idea ”not to let go” is dominant in the ideology - all means are good.

I’m very afraid of “lighting” upon some village or a farmstead, not marked on the map, when approaching the frontier… Finally, I try to predetermine the day of my expedition. I point out the most important conditions: 1) in order to be not too hot, I had to set off not earlier than in September; 2) it is necessary for the moon to shine (I’ll be guaranteed the cloudless weather,I guess), and for that purpose I study in various calendars the time of its rising and setting in different regions of the empire. The period after the 20-th of September will be the most suitable for that: the moon rises after 9 p.m., the phase of the moon is the end of the third quarter.

The occultists of all times and nations warn: one ought to set out forth by the rising phase of the moon (from the new moon to the full one). One also shouldn’t depart on Monday.

Don’t they examine with X-ray the valises “for weapon detection”, before loading them aboard the plane? Is it easy to get a ticket on the air-route to Ashkhabad (from Kyiv)? How will it be in the city Ashkhabad? According to the map, the city is located close to the frontier, but, no doubt, that’s no use trying to cross it here. It can not be admissible to wake suspicion in the very Ashkhabad before I reach Tedjen.

All these questions are to be answered beforehand, so the reconnoitreing journey is essentially needed. Moreover, since the time of my former residence in Tedjen in 1962 the conditions of the frontier regime could change. And it had to be cleared up beforehand.

The thought about the possible threat of being bitten by snakes and scorpions comes to my mind again. How could I protect myself? To tell the truth, I don’t feel like searching for the sheep’s skin too much, it is the unnecessary weight, anyhow. And, on the whole, am I disposed to bear heavy load and exactly how much heavy load could I bear? I must test myself in this too. The wisest thing I can think out is to fill the bag with some large stones and set off on the experimental journey. From Hrymailiv to Terebovlya (Ternopil region of Ukraine). Earlier I’ve sewed -20-

two breechings to the bottom of the bag and attached straps. I go out in the outskirts and shoulder my bag. I note down the time and rush off along the highway. I choose the pathless territory, not a pathway, in order to make the conditions as much approximate as possible to those in the desert.

I’ve hardly walked a kilometer, when a truck pulled up by me. Why it make me under stress?

- Get in. I’ll give you a lift.

The driver is unknown, and such friendly affability of his seemed suspicious. It used to be taken pretty much time until somebody stops to take you. And now - such a thing occurs to me.

- Thank you. There is no need in it. It is quite not far from here.

In reality, I’ve just started my way and, as far as I’ve

defined, I’ve got twenty kilometers ahead.

The truck sets off.

I come closely to the line of the telegraph poles. I see they are new, as there are even no wires hung up. There is also a lack of road: a strip, which seemed to be a road, turned out to be just another harrowed strip.

What can it be? Perhaps, the soviets decided to remove the frontier line (according to the agreement or without it) inland of the Iranian territory and have just started installing the telegraph line? What if it was some peculiar frontier loop and over there, beyond this strip, was the territory of the empire again? But I have no time on reflecting upon, so I cross the plot mechanically using the method of “edging” and proceed my way forward. To make myself sure I note down the time:22:36 a.m.,still Septem.21,1978.

The locality turns mountainous: a high rocky chain stretches southwards from the North to the left. I’ve passed the other one, yet more precipitous, when approaching the hedges rightwards. It has stretched from the East to the West.

And again I am almost running by the direct way across the mountains, having only changed (due to the compass) the direction southwards from the South-West.

I take a look around and make an attempt to clear up whether that new patch was not the frontier loop.I can’t be certain as the visibility was limited: the moon was yet too low above the skyline. I notice a path and the sheep’s excrement at the slopes of the mountains, but I decide to keep to the chosen direction southwards: what if the path will bring me to the frontier once again! And the mountains stand as if lined up on my way: when I`ve overcome one mountain,I face another one.I don’t venture to walk it round..

Dripping with sweat, in every half an hour I nestle one close to the paper-bag of a water mixture and also swallow some pills of glucose.

The hills are covered with grown poorer pedicels of faded grass, and are now and then embroidered with the folds of small chutes. I fit myself to one of those chutes directed southwards, and rush downhill, sniffing hard.

A SNAKE! I even succeed to define its length: some 30-40 centimeters. I was short of some second to have squashed… the frightened creature. “…I need to procure a pelt or a sheep’s skin, at least…the guarantee against the ATTACK…of snakes…”

Deuce takes it! Where am I after all? If that is Iran, why am I rushing as if something is burning, and during the night-time? And if I have already passed the territory of Iran over through the frontier’s line back, why am I to be in a hurry to be caught by soviet gang?

It was about one at night at my watch, September, 22, the day of

Autumn Solstice. Isn`t it insolent to go ahead of the sun? I choose a small chute at the slope, near the summit, and lie down to have a rest. What is fell to my lot - it will happen. -21-

- Right here I came across an interesting article - about glucose in pills, - started Kost’, when I wondered whether he had any new ideas as for my expedition abroad. I paid him my second (and the last) visit in August for a consultation. - Do you know the difference between sugar and glucose? For the organism to assimilate sugar the liver has to work actively for a long time, while glucose reaches blood almost immediately. Sportsmen are recommended glucose for instant refreshing of their energy. Won’t you have the same need during your journey?

- Certainly, pills are very convenient. I’ll need to

look for them at the chemist’s shop. But still what about the provisions?

- What if you take a piece of cheese? This product is

the best to bear the desert conditions. And it’ll be also good to take some fruit and chocolate.

- No, everything but chocolate. This product is too heavy for the stomach. Glucose will be enough. And as for water: won’t it be good to take mineral one?

- Sure. It seems to be a good idea. It has just occurred to me, how you will manage to lie in the sun the whole day, without any protection from the burning sunlight, after all you’ll have to make your way at night and sleep during the day-time. Only you had a tent…

- Well, my friend, you don’t take the weight into account. Who will carry it all? I tell you what, why don’t I take a piece of cloth of the protective color and four little wires to substitute little pickets. In such a way I’ll secure a shade for my head, while sleeping.

- That’s exactly what I’m talking about. A perfect mini-tent, don’t you think? In windless weather it’ll protect you best.

We set to looking through the atlas again and retraced the probable itinerary afresh. Ashkhabad is a frontier (restricted) zone. Then comes a free city of Tedjen, but there’s yet the channel between the city and the frontier. No matter what, I must set off on the experimental journey to study the true situation.

-You must take with you almost all the “accessories”, – remarked Kost’ making a stress on the last word. – As if it’s your real departure already. On your way to Tedjen you’ll have the opportunity to study the boundary itself through your carriage window. And in Tedjen you’ll need to go out-of-town to the desert and stay for a day there.

- Fine. I’ll make my experimental journey. But what about your going with me?

- There is one reason, you see. I consider - going unarmed to be a suicide. And as for obtaining weapon…

- And maybe quite the opposite? It’ll be a suicide to go against those “valiant” and armed to the teeth SNATCHERS on the frontier with some pitiful barker.

- This is my point of view. Moreover, why do you expect, that you`ll run down the whole pack of snatchers? Most probably you’ll come across one of them face to face, and then you will be much quicker to use your revolver, than he will use his submachine gun.

- On the whole, it’s not bad to have weapon to be on the safe side,- I agreed. - But searching for it may be too risky.

- That’s the thing. And because of that I consider it impossible to join you.

Well, it may be better in the long run. At least anyone’s tragedy don`t weigh upon me, in case my journey fails. Life of a hermit - is my lot, so maybe solitude is the doom of mine?

Having parted with Kost` without special formalities, I immediately went to the office of my organization and filed my discharge application. I did it in order to strike myself off the register and to save the society from the moral responsibility for me.

Among the documents I decided to take my passport (to prove my identity and not my citizenship), a military ticket and diploma. I also decided to take a thousand rubles I had saved, which I could exchange for English pounds with tourists. I also defined the date of my reconnoitering expedition: September, 9.

Complete silence, so rare for our industrial epoch, greeted my awakening. Beyond the very horizon a huge sunny circle was already staining red; opposite, yet quite high above the skyline there was a pale chipped moon. There was no single wind puff; the temperature was approximately 20 degrees. Idyll… I look at the North and stop dead with fear: in the north-east there is a watch-tower spread before my eyes. That very frontier watch-tower! It’s hard to define the exact distance; it might be a kilometer or even much less or more. I seize my bag and a staff-sword and, tempting my fate, I start up rushing downhill.

Did they notice me or not? This made me creep over my back and the back of my head: While running down I was expecting a shot. -22-

What a nonsensical idea to make a camp almost on the summit! Now strict following the compass southwards had to be left alone - the only thing, I could think of now, was to find myself as far as possible from that watch-tower.

Near the foot I notice a path, whirling among the mountains; for the traces and excrement it is well-seen now. “I am urgent to determine the average direction”, - it occurs to me… “I better don’t.”, - my intuition prompts me.

“How thoughtless of me it was”, - I go on my reflecting on, - “to climb a mountain after mountain at the dead of night just for the sake of the proper direction. Though, I still don’t know where I am at the moment, at whose side: of good or of evil?”

Behind each turning I peer into the distance with hope and anxiety; maybe somewhere there will flash a sign of some water, some settlement, and some people? But the scenery is almost moonscape: brownish grey slopes of the mountains with the same grayish blades of grass, faded in the sun. Near the pathway there is a stony river-bed, winding through the clough, having been polished by an old-time stream, who knows when. It’s half a meter wide and 20-30 centimeters deep.

It’s becoming stuffy. From time to time I nestle to water and swallow the pills of glucose: let it compensates my loss of energy. The water provision dwindles catastrophically, perhaps, not more than a litter remains, and the bag overburdens considerably, though it’s almost five kilograms lighter: the water has been drunk and the fruit has been eaten… What else could I get rid of? I was a pity to save myself from binoculars, though I’ve had no use of it up to now. But the case had to be thrown away. As well as this chlorophosus“Taiga”(“тайга”(Rus.) - Siberian forest, a region of political camps): if I’m in Iran, I’ll soon be received with hospitality and given some help. But if I am in the empire, I am guaranteed the taiga so much the more.

I draw the case and the chlorophosus out of the bag and leave them near one of the summits. Possibly, some shepherd will find the things and make some use of them.

The sun is getting higher; the shadows, created by hills, grow shorter. Finally, I come across a rocky mountain, one side of which is still in shade. I make another fatal decision: I lie down and have a rest in pleasant coolness. It’s half past nine in the morning.

“The music didn’t sound long”: it has merely passed half an hour, when the dazzling sun suddenly emerges from behind the mountain, sprinkling with flame: “Look, what a lazy-bone! Set out forth, you won’t hide now!”

Just now I begin to realize, how imprudent of me it was to lie down for a rest at night, when the temperature was lower than twenty degrees and I didn’t suffer from thirst. I make some gulps more and proceed my way.

Having passed one turn, then the other one, I finally see a hut in front of me. It was a quite small piteous mud-walled hut, lacking the roof. I draw nearer with the feeling of fear and curiosity. So, I’ll clear up my location at last. I look attentively at the path but notice no other traces except the sheep’s ones. In front of the very house there are some pits over a meter deep and less than a meter in diameter. Are they wells? But my hopes don’t come true: the bottom is dry and sandy.

“I might dig it up a bit; maybe there is some moisture beneath the upper layer of the sand”. - I am considering.

I give a glance at the doors and a feeling of joy substitutes my previous fear: some Arabian ligature is written all over the doors! No more doubt: I am in IRAN. I notice two round batteries near the doors too; I pick them up and read out gladly: “Made in England”.

Hrymailiv, September, 2, 1978.

Hello, Kost`! Though we have met recently, I decided to drop you a line. I’ve got good news: I’ve already told you formerly, that my legs were weak, so I could not cover marathon distances. But right yesterday I made one more attempt. The success was prodigious! I covered half a distance over the territory lacking roads, shouldering the load of about ten kilograms in weight. So, the Rubicon has been crossed.

Certainly, you may adduce various proofs to show, that my delight is premature for lacks of the enough argumentation. But I’m full of optimism and with no fear (let’s say, without excessive fear) I look into my future. Good-bye! And believe as I do: over there, ahead, is freedom!..

Inspector: What purpose did you for run away to Iran, having trespassed the state frontier of the USSR?

Suspect: According to the Declaration of the human rights, I am free to choose the country of my residence, and in my case the question was about searching the political refuge from constant repressions and persecutions in the empire. -23-

Inspector: You have been confiscated a note-book with the documents of anti-soviet gist. Could you explain us, when have those documents been copied into this pad?

Suspect: These are not documents, but works of art. I’ve copied them into my note-book approximately at the end of August.

Inspector: In the document titled “Recollections of the Future”,

when speaking about Lenin, you wrote: “Even being an ordinary demagogue in his lifetime, he can be made the idol, that will hide a decay and criminal nature of the whole system behind him.” Explain, what did you mean by that?

Suspect: My works of art are the creative comprehension of soviet reality, particularly of the past, the present time and, probably, of the future of Ukraine; and being the works of arts, they are beyond any discussion, and I mean, they can’t be examined as the arguments for the investigation.

Inspector: What for did you take with you abroad the note-book and the tape with copied and recorded documents of anti-soviet gist?

Suspect: After proper proof-reading I was planning to publish the script of my works of art in London. I’ve recorded them onto the tape for a better guarantee of their preservation

.

My reconnoitering journey is now left behind. I set much hopes on the opportunities to become acquainted with “the construction” of the hedges, but it was of no use observing them through the carriage window, though the train was sometimes only some meters away from them - in case if those were really the frontier paling. What could be there to explore?

But I’ve got quite unexpected experience in the possibility of survival in the desert, having spent just two hours in the heart of desert nature -24- (the future events have proved, - this experience was fatally pitious, superficial…).

Water! What an awful mistake it was to have taken mineral water! My mineral water was, perhaps, a trifle more limpid, than warm turbid slum in the carriage mess-dish. But the worst thing was - it didn’t quench my thirst. The truth opened my eyes during one long stop at the boarder-land. As it turned out, everybody was allowed to get off the carriage to buy some provisions from local chandlers. So I noticed some chandler inviting people to drink “good water”. It was the best I’ve ever drunk! And I was also lucky to learn the recipe from that Turkmen: you need the equal proportions of a whey and usual water!

Another surprise was waiting for me,when late in the evening in Tedjen, I tried to find the way to the desert, avoiding illuminated streets. My efforts were engirdled with a solid hedge of barbed wire. Though I could easily climb it over, it was impossible to stump onto the plots, flooded with water (for irrigation): my legs would sink into the mud. I had to go along the streets, risking to draw someone’s attention.

Let me recur to my staying in the heart of the desert nature. I camped in the neighborhood of Tedjen and soon the clusters of mosquitoes gave me to understand, I’d get it hot. As far as I realize now, it was a nearness of a water, mosquitoes’ nourishing environment, to worry the life out. It has not passed two hours, when I easily got convinced, that: 1) it was of no need to proceed the experiment, as everything was clear so far; 2) no doubt, for the real expedition the chlorophos against mosquitoes have to be taken.

The door is not locked, but it is corded. Silently I beg the host’s pardon and untie it.

On entering I draw my attention to two things: a heap of twisted wisps of straw covering a half of the room, and the remnants of the “bourgeois”- stove at the very entrance - properly speaking, it was a single frame, that has remained. I gaze at these both things with curiosity.

What can be that straw meant for? Perhaps, at the times of famine, flocks of sheep are able to grind all such “food”. The straw doesn’t seem to be eatable at all, but who knows, what a desert sheep would say for that. Having corded the doors afresh, I decide to go on moving.

But where do I have to go? There is a high mountain straight southwards off the hut: I can see a well-tramped path, smoothing to the East and to the West pass the hut. Both directions can bring me back, to the soviet, and the mountain southwards terrifies by its size.

I make up my mind to go eastwards, as I have noticed a donkey’s traces in that direction. Although it was impossible to clear up, whether they were hot or cold: a single drop of water have not fallen down and no wind have puffed here during the summer drought.

It took me quite little time to have got disappointed with the chosen direction - in some three hundred meters the path turned northwards. Oh no, comrade-friend, I’ve got the other way to go. I come back, pass the hut without stopping and go to the West. Finally the path swings to the desirable South.

The sun is parching mercilessly, the amount of water reduces in a catastrophic way (there is less than half a liter left), and my disappointment is growing. To die of thirst…I don’t remember whether there was such a possibility considered in my foreboding, but I distinctly recall the comfortable conditions, I used to have spent the nights in. Instead of walking at the coolness of the night - I was sleeping. The idea of lying down for a rest and waiting for a night to come, doesn’t even occur to me… It has already slip by ten o’clock in the morning, the path is whirling and I peer into the distance in vain: stable scenery burnt by the sun is peeping out far away deep into each new clough.

“Further, a little bit further, - I convince myself. - “Over there, to this mountain path and then I’ll drink some more water.” At last I’ve made some use of a staff-sword: more and more I lean over it, as if it were a walking-stick. During one of my recent respites I have wrapped my head with a protective cloth: now I look more like a Turk, not like a Cossack.

Before the very mountain-pass the path obviously becomes a wide country road, completely covered with the sheep traces. Leaning over my staff-sword hard, I climb so far the last meters.

I come to the mountain-pass. Disappointed, I raise my head: the brightly green sea strikes my tired eyes. Was it me to feel fainting with of a thirst? And, after all, it’s not a real heat at all. “Glory to my God “- I said, being moved deeply.