My Russian Family

by Lilia Sariecheva

  It is only recently that more information was obtained on Vassily’s death. Vassily’s son Anatoly continued his search for his father and many years later his efforts were finally rewarded. My grandfather Ivan’s first wife who died while he was off fighting in the Russian-Japanese War of 1905-06 was named Katerina. She had a brother named Trophim, who later had a grandson named Andre Alexeyevich Bachrukov. This Andre was much younger than Vassily and lived in a nearby village. At the start of World War II, a regiment was formed of local men and mostly they knew each other, as was the policy of the Red Army. Andre and Vassily were both wounded at Smolensk and treated at the same hospital. When their boat was strafed during the river crossing they helped each other and, with a strong will to live, they somehow managed to reach shore alive. The severely wounded soldiers were easy prey for German troops and the two friends were immediately captured and sent to a POW camp.

  They were separated during 1942 and 1943 and Andre lost all contact with Vassily, but he was fairly sure that Vassily died and was cremated in a POW camp. Andre survived the war but he became very close-mouthed about his past for fear of internment in the Russian Gulag and, officially, he never returned to the Arscent’evo area. However, he did return at least once to pass this story on to my Granny Varvara who kept it a secret to protect Andre from the authorities and to protect her family from gossip and government sanctions from having a son in a German POW camp. One of Stalin’s own sons was captured by the Germans and Stalin willingly allowed him to die rather than accept the German offer of repatriating him.

  Vassily’s wife Yevdokia refused all offers of marriage as she raised her son Anatoly and waited for the miracle of Vassily’s return. It was just recently that Anatoly finally found one man that knew of this story and was willing to tell it. Granny Varvara and I were very close, but to my knowledge she never told this story to anyone, not even to me, her husband Ivan or her son Mikhail. I find that amazing. Did Yevdokia die before Anatoly found out or did he inform his mother? Did Varvara talk of this to Yevdokia. Who can say?

  Several years later, an event occurred that profoundly affected my family.

  My granny Varvara was frustrated with never seeing her son Mikhail, so she plotted in 1949 with her daughter Tania, whose husband Ivan worked in the Kremlin as a chauffer to a high ranking secretary. Ivan obtained an appointment for Granny Varvara to speak to an unknown “mover and shaker” and my granny stated her case. Somehow, she obtained a promise to have Mikhail reassigned to Ryazan, but it would take three or so years. Be careful of what you wish for, it might come true!

  About a month after the family gathering in 1947, my father Mikhail, my mother Mareika, and my brother Slahva returned to the Far East for another long tour of duty. They lived in the small town called Pogranichnyi for a few more years and then in 1950 Dad transferred to nearby Ussuriysk. As usual, he received 24 hours notice and he had to go immediately. My brother went with him so that he could start school in September while Mom stayed behind to close things up and to have the baby, me! However, after a week she still had not given birth so, against the doctor’s advice, she made the almost 200 kilometers (124 miles) trip southeast on a very poor, undeveloped road with a friend. That night she joined her surprised husband and went directly into labor. Dad rushed her to the local hospital and I was born.

  Ussuriysk is a small city located in a fertile valley at the joining of three rivers. It is a green area, boasting of many transplanted trees including elms and poplars. A big advantage for my brother was that Ussuriysk is just 111 kilometers (69 miles) from Vladivostok, a large city and home port to the USSR’s Pacific Ocean Fleet. Slahva loved the beach and he still fondly remembers swimming in the Pacific. It was with reluctance that in 1952 our family finally left the Far East and our beautiful large apartment in Ussuriysk, never to return.

  Our train included the standard long carriage cars, each containing twelve small compartments approximately 2.5 meters square. A smaller compartment at one end of the car housed that car’s two train conductors, one of whom was always on duty. A narrow corridor on one side of the car provided free movement on the train. A cold-water bathroom was available at each end of the car. A large container in the corridor by the conductor’s room provided boiling hot water that was always available.

  The compartment had a double bunk bed on each side and straight ahead was a small window above a tiny table and two chairs. There was storage space under the bunks and in overhead racks. The bunk beds could fold up against the wall when not in use.

  Mom came aboard with her two kids and a large purse, while Dad carried two suitcases loaded with two weeks worth of clothes, toiletries, books, and games to help pass the time. Everything else went into the baggage car. Showers involved a washcloth and a basin of water. It must have been an interesting trip with two small children!

  One of the ways my parents and my brother passed the time was by playing chess. My parents played seriously with Slahva and made no allowances for his young age. Later, when he turned 12, Mom could not beat him. When I was older I could beat Mom and occasionally even Slahva—or maybe he just let me beat him. However, Dad always beat everyone. We all enjoyed a game of chess and it has great popularity in Russia; virtually everyone plays it.

  Chess first appeared in India about the sixth century AD and by the tenth century, it had spread from Asia to the Middle East and Europe. Its popularity with nobility gave it a reputation as a “royal game.” The intriguing chess pieces fascinated me as a little girl and I would dream up stories based on their shapes. The elephant (bishop) would transport me to exotic places. The horse (knight) would carry me to distant mysterious lands. The pawns were my handmaidens, at my beck and call. The boat (castle) was a safe mobile home. It was no secret that I really wanted to travel, even at that young age. When I first learned that the goal is to force the opponent’s principal piece, the king, into checkmate, a position where it is unable to avoid capture, I became serious and quickly learned how to play. My fantasies about the various pieces were adapted to the actual chess rules and this allowed me an early advantage to think many moves ahead.

  As our long train trip ended, a check at the very last train station sadly revealed that several suitcases had been lost or stolen from the baggage car. Mom was quite distraught with this bad news because all her photographs, including those of her lost relatives, were in the largest and heaviest suitcase. These photographs were irreplaceable and the loss was a blow to Mother. My dad’s old-fashioned black suitcase with leather straps and a silk lining was thankfully safe. He purchased it for his first move to Mongolia and used it on virtually all of his numerous trips. This wonderful old black piece of memorabilia remains with the family and 70 years later it still is functional.

  When Mikhail found out that his mother and sister were involved in his Red Army transfer from the Far East to Moscow, he was not pleased. It was difficult to look back without longing for the good life in the Far East. Further, the thought remained that their meddling may have triggered his transfer from the army. The Soviet secret police claimed Mikhail from Red Army intelligence. He could not say no to the transfer even though he had been on a promotion track to general in the Red Army. No one said no to them. His salary was less, although he did retain his rank as a major.

  Most certainly the transfer was not something Mikhail would ever have requested. What rational person would willingly embrace the fear and terror of entanglement with Stalin’s security service? However, Mikhail was now a member of the MGB, the Ministry of State Security, which existed from 1946 through 1953. At the time my father joined the MGB, it was an especially harsh and brutal period. The power-hungry Lavrenty Pavlovich Beria headed it. He had served in Soviet security since 1921 and was a member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party and the Politburo.

  The only place the Sariechev family could find to rent in Ryazan was a small one-story house that would not allow children and they decided to leave us with my Dad’s parents who
still lived in the village of Arscent’evo. Dad’s hard work earned him the opportunity to return to law school and complete the requirements for a law degree.

  About this time, an unfortunate event occurred that brought needless pain to my parents. The MGB clerk responsible for all MGB personnel records in Ryazan noticed that Slahva Sariechev was born in 1943 and his parents were married in 1947. This clerk did not understand that they were married abroad in 1941. The records showed that Father was married and that Mother was not. The clerk told his wife that Mareika was not the mother of the boy Slahva. Naturally, the clerk’s wife could not keep this juicy tidbit to herself with a whole apartment building full of MGB wives. Not long after, my aunt Tania was visiting my parents and at one point she took her children to play in the building’s courtyard. She chatted with other mothers there and one of them, not knowing the relationship of Tania, told her the story of the bastard son living in the building. Tania passed this disturbing lie on to my mother, she told my father and they were both upset.

  Mother was popular among the MGB wives. She was a good conversationalist, a good friend, and she taught many of them how to do her fancy embroidery work. Giving credit to these wives, none of them looked down on Mother or tried to ostracize her and she did not lose any friendships over this rumor. Granny Varvara’s advice was that one could not put a handkerchief over everybody’s mouth, just rise above it and live your life in an exemplary manner. Father was upset that he could not protect or defend his wife. He wrote a report to his general, the head of the Ryazan MGB, and the general ordered an investigation. It came out that the clerk had illegally informed his wife and this earned the clerk some MGB punishment. The general explained the how and why of wartime marriages directly to his staff and he further ordered all the married men to explain it to their wives and to make their wives’ tongues shorter. A high value was placed on morality in those days.

  Mikhail and most of the staff smoked and they would go outside their offices to enjoy this vice. One nice afternoon they were puffing away and a beautiful blonde came walking by. Of course, the men made remarks among themselves, “Oh, she is a beauty! I would like to meet her. She must be a fashion model! She is first class, look how she carries herself. She moves like a boat under sail!”

  After she had passed by without a glance at the men, Mikhail calmly announced, “She is my wife!”

  No one believed him. “Why didn’t she say hi?”

  “Because I told her not to. What if she caught me on a stakeout or undercover?” The men laughed and did not believe Mikhail’s story. One of them called him a braggart.

  About six months later, the MGB held their annual gala ball. My mom Mareika was decked out in an expensive black slinky velvet dress embroidered on the shoulder with gold and pearls. The dress had a train that trailed on the floor behind her. As she removed her full length, silver-tipped fox fur coat and fur hat, it became very quiet as everyone stared, including the general and his staff and their wives in the reception line. The general’s wife called Mareika a princess when she met her. It was a time that my dad vividly remembers. Never again did anyone call Mikhail a braggart.

  The Soviet leader, Joseph Stalin, was still alive and people lived in fear and tension. Nobody knew about their own future, especially people who were close to the government. None could guess about Mikhail’s destiny either. My father kept a positive hope for the good and he believed in his future. My father was always the incurable optimist who saw the bright side of things. No matter how bad it was, he invariable felt that it could always be worse. He never feared death although he did not believe in the existence of God.

  Mikhail worked at the Ryazan MGB office from 10 a.m. to 3 a.m. daily, simply because Stalin did not sleep until after 3 a.m. and anyone anywhere in the MGB might receive a call anytime Stalin was awake. This meant that Dad would come home at 3:30 a.m. and leave at 9:30 a.m. Usually he left home dressed to the nines in a beautiful suit with a hat, topcoat, and polished boots. His color blindness gave him the privilege of a chauffer-driven state car.

  The USSR and other countries ended up after the war with a surplus of officers and a large payroll. The solution was simple and most countries did it. In the early 1950s all the younger officers were demoted a pay-rank down. My father, comrade Major Sariechev, became comrade Captain Sariechev.

  Occasionally, I remember him dressing in simple rough country clothes. Years later, he told me that he was investigating arson and sabotage cases. Father’s background allowed him to easily mingle and talk with peasants in their own dialect. The peasants would readily accept this stranger. Dad kept a large suitcase filled with strange clothes and old uniforms that he occasionally used in his work. Mother always kidded him as she had an excellent sense of colors and clothes and she knew how to put them together. Mom always appeared attractive but Dad did not possess this skill. Uniforms were not a problem for Dad-just clean and press them, and shine the leather. However, when civilian clothes were required, he would always defer to Mom’s advice.

  One of the first big cases that my father received involved arson. It was in the summer of 2005 that Dad finally told me some of the details. The case was complicated because, like the American CIA, FBI, and local police, the Soviet Militia (police) and MGB were very competitive with each other and useful cooperation was very rare. Father somehow had the capability to link together the fires in village hay barns, forest fires, and industrial fires. It was like playing chess to him. A combination of hard work and some luck led to the capture of the leader of a group of protestors. The leader was an old and intelligent man who confessed to the arson strategy as a means to fight the system. He did not know how else to avenge his loss. Stalin had killed his entire family and he hated the government so much that he had no qualms about dying.

  My father did not have much of a home life during this period. It had to be difficult for him adapting to his new job, changing from the Red Army to Beria’s secret service and learning how to carry the stress that his new position certainly entailed. In retrospect, I found it interesting that all my memories of my father at home involved gentleness, thoughtfulness, patience, respect, and love of his family, traits that Father could use only sparingly at work, where he had a reputation as a very tough man.

  I did not really believe that my father was tough until the evening of brother Slahva’s wedding. As Mom, Dad, and I left to return home, we observed a very large man harassing a woman. Father approached the woman and asked, “Excuse me, lady. Do you know this man?”

  She replied in a shaky, broken voice, “No, I don’t know him and I don’t know why he won’t leave me alone.” She looked directly at Father, “I don’t know what to do.”

  Father responded without emotion, “I know what to do.” He grappled with the silent, larger man, twisted his right arm behind his back and marched him off. Mom and I followed behind. She accepted Mikhail’s action as logical and unremarkable, however I was very excited and could hardly contain myself as I bounced up and down saying, “My dad is a hero. He is wonderful.” Less than five minutes later we arrived at the local militia station and Father turned the bully over to the authorities. When we arrived home my parents did not bother to talk about it but it took me a long time to calm down. The Russian proverb is, “Behind my husband’s back is like behind a stone wall.” This proverb held true for my mother until she died.

  Several months later, in March of 1953, Stalin died and there were numerous changes over time that directly affected Father’s work. The MGB merged back into the Ministry of Internal Affairs (MVD), which was still under the power-hungry Beria. Before the end of summer Nikita Khrushchev turned against Beria, who was deposed and executed. This did not end the fear and uncertainty at Father’s workplace as a series of investigations, trials, and executions continued into 1956, eliminating a number of Beria’s senior associates. Further apprehension came to the MVD as the Central Communist Committee released millions of political prisoners from the vast MVD syste
m of forced labor camps and internal exile. It became even more perilous for MVD agents, as the Red Power took on an overdue and dangerous mission when they slowly and carefully dismantled the MVD. Finally, in 1960 it was gone.

  A carefully designed new Soviet Intelligence service designed to give Senior Communist Party officials complete control was finalized in 1954. The result was the KGB, called the “sword and shield of the Communist Party.” KGB is Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopastnosti translating as Committee for State Security. At its peak in the Cold War, the KGB was the world’s largest secret police and foreign intelligence service. Communist Party archives indicate the numbers of KGB were 480,000, including 200,000 soldiers in the Border Guards.

  The KGB noted that father was perceptive and excelled in deductive reasoning. For example, he was instrumental in capturing a Russian who was spying for America. The area of State Security was his specialty and he was good at it. Another time he investigated a Russian businessman who had gone abroad for a trade show. Charged with espionage and facing a death sentence, the man was imprisoned. Mikhail’s investigation clearly indicated the man’s innocence. The businessman had an undying gratitude for the KGB man who got him released. This deep thinking of a chess player was my father’s forte. Mikhail tried to be fair and just but there were severe limitations. He had access to documents and occasionally could investigate old incidents and dig up old friends.