When we got to the work place men immediately went about moving dirt from one pile to another or so it seemed. I dug at the dirt, putting little effort in it. I was just going through the motions when one of the guards came over to me.
“What do you think you’re doing, you puke?” he said getting up in my face.
“Digging.”
“Don’t get smart with me or I’ll knock you into next week.”
“I’m not trying to be smart. That’s what I’m doing. Should I be doing something different with the hoe?” I asked.
“You are a real wise guy, aren’t you,” the guard said and slammed the butt of his gun into my stomach.
I doubled over and the guard brought his knee up and caught me in the face sending me sprawling in the dirt on my back. When I looked up the man was standing above me.
“You get smart with me again and I’ll rip your head off,” he snarled and was gone.
I lay there a second and then sat up. I had no idea what that was about. I looked around and no one was looking at me. They were going about their work. I looked at one of the others with a hoe and he was doing the same thing I had been doing. What in the world brought that on, I thought?
Blood was running down my chin from a busted lip. I was lucky; the guy could have caught me in the nose and broken it. I wiped my chin, picked up my hoe and went back to work.
I had just started working again when the work force leader came and stood in front of me.
“Are you going to be a problem for me?” he asked.
“I don’t even know what happened. I was just working and he came up and got on me. I don’t have a clue as to why.”
“I don’t need problem workers. When one of my people acts up it looks bad for me and I don’t like it when it looks bad for me, understand?”
“Honestly? No. I don’t understand one bit of any of this. No one explains anything. I don’t understand why he attacked me for no reason. I don’t understand why you are calling me a problem worker. To answer your question, no, I don’t understand.”
The work force leader stood there just frowning. He just started to say something when the bunk mate above me came over.
“Sir. If you will allow, I will explain how things work.”
The leader looked at him and then me.
“Alright. I suppose that will do in this case. I don’t want trouble workers on my crew. See what you can do for him,” he said and walked off.
I looked at the number on his shirt: 9433. It was the man who slept in the bunk above mine.
“You are off to a rugged start,” he said to me.
“I guess I am but I don’t get any of this. I don’t even know why I’m here to begin with. The patch says I’m a political prisoner but I don’t even know what I did. I was never charged nor had a trial.”
“Of course you did. You were tried and found guilty. That’s all that matters and you need to accept that. Nothing else counts. You are now a political prisoner. It isn’t important right now anyway. Surviving in here is all you need to worry about. I’ve watched you for the past two days. You are going to run into constant trouble if you don’t watch and see what everyone else is doing.”
“That can’t be it entirely. I mean take what just happened for instance. I was just doing what all the others were doing with hoes and the guard went off one me.
“See that’s where you are wrong. Watch what the guy is doing. See him dig with the corner of the hoe them scoop some of the dirt up and put it in a pile by the guy with the shovel?”
“Okay.”
“Were you doing that?”
“Not exactly like that.”
“There is your problem.”
“What? Just because I didn’t do it exactly the same?”
“That’s right. You upset the system when you don’t do everything the same way. When you didn’t put the dirt by the guy with the shovel he had nothing to move so you screwed up the system. Think back to yesterday. The guy with the hoe put the dirt in front of you so you had something to shovel didn’t he?”
“Yeah, I guess. It really didn’t register.”
“There you go.”
“Something like that is enough to get in trouble?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Now last night was just dumb. You didn’t use common sense.”
“Dumb?”
“Sure,” 9433 said, “No one mops a floor before it is swept. You need to use your noodle a little more.”
“So we are just moving dirt from one place to another with no real purpose.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course there is a purpose. It keeps us busy and doesn’t give us a chance to spend time thinking about ways to get out of here. By the way, don’t even think about it. No one has ever escaped or if they have, they didn’t live to tell anyone about it.”
“What about the barracks commander?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“Is he ISS?”
“No. He is one of us but has worked his way into a position of authority. He gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to sleep in the long room.”
“Long room?”
“Where we sleep. The barracks commanders have a much better place.”
“And just the one meal a day. Is that the norm?”
“One a day except special holidays. Then we get two.”
“That’s why people save part of their meal for the next day.”
“Exactly. Also don’t wait so long for the water bucket if you want a drink. Once they blow the whistle to get back to work, no one gets another drink,” 9433 told him.
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m 9433 and will probably be until the day I die or they let me go. Look, we have taken long enough. The work leader is giving us the eye. We need to get back to work. Remember to do exactly what the other hoe workers are doing.”
“Got it. Thanks,” I said but 9433 was already heading back to work.
I took my place and started doing exactly what the other workers with hoes were doing.
****
I sat down when the break whistle blew and took out the chunk of bread I had saved from last night’s meal. I watched as others got theirs out and split the bread into two pieces and placed the rice and beans on one half and made a sandwich.
I did the same and found that while not a culinary delight it was substance and somewhat filling. As soon as I finished I hurried and got a drink of water. I knew I was going to have to adapt if I was going to make it in this environment.
The day was hotter than the previous day and my shirt was stuck to my body with sweat by the time the work day was halted. We marched back and handed in our implements. I immediately went to building G and found a place to sit and wait until we were allowed in the building.
I had been there a few minutes when another man came up and kicked the bottom of my foot.
“That’s my spot,” he said in a low voice.
“Give me a break. Sit someplace else,” I said leaning back against the building.
“Get up,” the man demanded.
“Take a hike. I don’t see your name on this spot,” I said.
The man dropped down, straddling my legs. He grabbed me by the ears and started beating my head against the side of the building. I tried to get my hand around the man’s arms but it was practically impossible. I could feel myself blacking out then suddenly the man was gone and I heard a lot of yelling.
It was impossible for me to understand what was being said let alone know what was going on. I touched the back of my head and felt a large wet spot. I pulled my hand back and found it full of blood. Someone leaned down and said something to me that I didn’t understand. I was suddenly yanked up and two guards were dragging me along.
I was taken to the medical building and they had me lay down on a table. My head felt like it was going to explode. A few minutes later a doctor of some kind came and started checking me out.
�
��You are going to need stiches. Just stay there and I’ll be back.”
I looked around the room and saw a desk just a couple of feet away. I sat up and reached over and pulled the drawer open. Several pads of paper were in the drawer along with a note book. I slipped the note book in my pocket and grabbed a pencil off the desk.
My head might hurt like hell but at least I had something to keep a journal in. I lay back down and just closed my eyes. I was almost asleep when the doctor came back and started working on my head. When I got back to G building it was empty. Everyone was already at the mess hall. I wasn’t all that hungry so I just sat down and waited. My head hurt and all I really wanted to do was climb in bed but somehow I didn’t think that was going to happen.
I was right. When they came back we were immediately put to work cleaning the barracks. Evidently that was part of the routine that they went through every night. I figured it was more to keep us busy than anything. My job was to sweep the floor this time which I managed to do without getting yelled at.
I was sweeping an almost non-existent pile of dirt into a dust pan when the barracks commander came over.
“They get you stitched up?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. There will be an inquiry tomorrow so instead of reporting to work you are to go to the indoctrination building.”
“What kind of inquiry?”
“To determine what, if any, punishment will be handed out.”
“Punishment? That crazy guy just attacked me.”
“Don’t tell me, tell the tribunal,” he said and walked off.
Geez. What was there to tell?
CHAPTER FOUR
Day 3 – Journal Entry
As soon as I was dressed and everyone fell out for the daily work detail I was escorted over to the indoctrination center. There were several others including the man that had attacked me sitting in the room. I found a seat and sat down. I was half expecting the guy from yesterday to tell me that was his seat but he just looked straight ahead.
I sat for almost two hours before my number and the other guys were called. We were ushered into a room. Three men sat behind a table. There were no chairs for us to sit. Two guards were standing behind the judges.
“Case 205 and 12125 is now before the tribunal,” the man in the center said.
“205 tell us what transpired.”
“I was walking by and this guy called me a name. I asked what did he say and he repeated it. He said I was a filthy convict and probably a baby rapier. I went a little crazy and just started hitting him. I just snapped.”
“I see. 12125?”
“That is an out and out lie. I had never seen this guy before he started beating the hell out of me. He said I was setting in his spot and before I could even reply he straddled my legs and started beating my head against the building. I have seven stitches to prove it.”
“205, rebuttal?”
“It is against the rules to call other people names. Just because I have the white patch doesn’t give him the right to say those kinds of things.”
“12125, rebuttal?”
“All I can say is that he is not telling the truth. I never said one word to him. You can ask anyone who was around at the time. I was just minding my own business and he jumped me and started bashing my head in.”
The three men talked among themselves for several minutes then they sat back and faced me and the other man.
“There is a disparity in the testimony given at this tribunal. Calling other’s names is strictly forbidden. No matter what patch a person wears, they are not to be insulted. On the other hand, attacking someone for any reason is considered a far more serious crime. Detainees are never allowed to physically attack another detainee. In this instance the tribunal finds you both guilty of breaking the established rules. 205, you are here by subject to five days in outdoor confinement. 12125, while you also broke the rules, you were harmed by 205 and did require medical attention. You are hereby sentenced 48 hours in outdoor confinement. This case is closed,” he pronounced.
“May I say something?” I asked.
“You certainly may if you want to further increase your confinement. I strongly suggest you reconsider.”
I closed his mouth. The last thing I wanted was to serve a longer period of time in confinement.
A guard led us from the room and we were taken out to the center of the assembly yard. Six small metal cubicles stood in a row. Each was no more than six foot tall. They looked to be only three or four feet deep and four feet wide. Only one slot was open in the door that I could see. No way could a person lie down or possibly even sit down. The door was opened and I was shoved in. The door immediately slammed shut and I could hear the lock being snapped.
The heat and smell were the first things that I noticed. It was oppressively hot and it seemed to accentuate the smell. It was totally dark except for the small stream of light coming through the opening. I had been right. There was no way for a person to actually lie down. I stood there looking out of the slit, trying to get as much air as I could.
Each hour brought higher temperatures. I had taken my shirt off and was working at getting my pants off to try to cool down. By noon I estimated that the temperature was probably close to one hundred and ten inside the box. I was getting light headed and the back of my head stung from the sweat running into the stitches.
I wanted to sit down but then it would be even more stifling so I continued to stand with my nose stuck to the opening. The heat made my eyes feel heavy and I was startled awake several times when my knees buckled. I realized that I simply couldn’t stand any longer so I placed my back against the wall and slid down doubling my knees. I was pretty much wedged in place. It was hotter, but at least I could drift off to sleep.
Just before I fell asleep I realized that I hadn’t eaten in the past twenty-four hours. All that did was increase my hunger. I was grateful when I finally fell into a fitful sleep. I don’t know how long I slept but I was awakened by someone screaming and a pounding noise. It was coming from one of the other Iron Maidens as I was now thinking of them. The pounding went on for some time before it grew weaker and then quit all together.
It was getting dark when a door that I didn’t even realize was there was suddenly opened and a chunk of bread and a bottle of water was tossed in. I realized the temperature was much more pleasant now that the sun had obviously peaked. I munched on the bread, savoring every bite and sipped the water slowly. I had another day to go and decided to save some of the water and bread for tomorrow. It was hard to stop eating but I finally forced myself to put some of it aside.
Standing up was difficult. My legs were cramped and I finally managed to stand up so I could look out the opening. I could see that the sun was setting. It was starting to get cooler as well. I managed to get my pants and shirt back on knowing that in a few hours it would probably get pretty cool when the sun set.
I had been wrong. It didn’t get cool; it got down right cold. I could see my breath a few hours later and the temperature was continuing to drop. I didn’t know what time it was when I finally sat down and tried to conserve as much body heat as I could. The temperature continued to plummet through the night. I was shaking and trying to rock but nothing was helping. I tried sleeping but it was difficult. At some point I must have fallen asleep because I noticed it was slightly lighter in the maiden when I woke up.
It was even more painful to try and stand after spending the night huddled like I had been. Once on my feet, I tried jogging in place to get the circulation going. I watched as the light continued to get stronger.
Great, I thought, only another twenty-four hours of hell and they will let me out. One thing for sure, if someone wants a particular spot, arguing about it is definitely not worth it.
****
Day 4 – Journal Entry
I wasn’t even sure how I made it through the next twenty-four hours but I sure was relieved when they finally opened the door and I could limp ou
t. I staggered a couple of times but anything was better than being cooped up in that damned iron maiden.
I had a momentary pang of sympathy for 205 as I walked away. The guy still had another seventy-two hours to endure. I was immediately taken to the work shed and handed a shovel. A guard marched me to where the others were already at work. Within minutes I was moving the dirt from one place to another like nothing had ever happened.
When we were taken back to G barracks I asked the person sitting there if anyone had a claim on the spot. The man just shrugged. Big help. The last thing I needed was another altercation. I sat down just hoping nothing would happen. Fortunately, no one else seemed interested in the spot.
The one thing I was most thankful for was that I would get a regular meal tonight. I was starving from not having real food. I knew that one of the worst ways to die was from lack of food. My immune system would start to shut down and with winter just around the corner, it would be a slow death sentence.
Even though the food wasn’t anything to brag about, I thought it was one of the best meals I had ever had. The hardest part was saving some for tomorrow’s lunch but I managed to force myself to stop eating and save a small amount for the next day’s work detail.
CHAPTER FIVE
Day 5 – Journal Entry
I can finally start my journal entries. All I can say is that the first four days were some of the most memorable of my life. I’ll try to describe the camp but it is hard to imagine such a thing in America. Nevertheless, here I am in the middle of one.
I have found that I am being ‘detained’ at Monticello Internment Facility Number 12. I don’t know what the number represents at this time. I do know that Monticello is in New Mexico. How many other camps there are in New Mexico is unknown at this point. The camp itself is huge. I estimate it could hold thirty thousand people or more judging by the number of buildings and how many are housed in each building.
PROJECT BlueBolt - BOOK II - THE GULAG JOURNAL: BOOK II - The Gulag Journal Page 2