The Accused

by Alexander Weissberg

  And what about the organization itself? Was it to be Bukharinist or Trotskyist? I had sympathized with Bukharin. Very well, let it be Bukharinist, then.

  A few hours after midnight Weissband relieved Shalit, who went off as white as a sheet and looking almost as done up as I was. Even his nerves found it difficult to stand six almost solid hours of shouting and raving. The pain in my groin was increasing, but at least there was no more shouting to disturb the train of my thought. I decided to make preparations for a deliberate capitulation rather than one forced on me by physical collapse. In the meantime I would hold out as long as I could. By daybreak I had decided to admit terrorism and perhaps counterrevolutionary agitation and the Institute conflict, but to deny espionage and diversionary activity to the end. My organization was to be Bukharinist and not Trotskyist.

  The idea of standing up and stretching my legs, of lying down and relaxing all my muscles became something like the mirage the thirsty traveler sees on the desert horizon—except that I could make it real. And then the fact that I had decided on ultimate surrender weakened my powers of resistance. I knew I should have to give way sooner or later, so why go on suffering just to make it a little later?

  In the morning Ryeznikov arrived fresh and cheerful, and I took the plunge.

  “Citizen Examiner, I am at the end of my tether. It is physically impossible for me to go on. What you accuse me of is fantastic, but I am prepared to admit it.”

  “A confession with such reservations is no confession,” he replied. “If it’s untrue you have no right to confess it. That would be provoking the Soviet power.”

  “But I can’t stand this any longer. What am I to do? You force me to confess by torture and then you don’t want to accept my confession when I’m prepared to make it. If I were not under pressure I would neither confess nor provoke the Soviet power.”

  “We are conducting our investigations in a civilized fashion. We are using no physical violence and all we ask you to do is to tell the truth. You are to confess what you really have done against the Soviet power. We certainly aren’t prepared to accept conditional confessions which you reject in advance.”

  It was easy for him to talk like that. He had got up, washed and shaved himself, and had a good breakfast, and now he was ready for the day’s work. I had not been allowed to sleep for one hundred and forty hours and my body was one great pain. He knew perfectly well I was finished. Flesh and blood cannot hold out forever. He knew he could put what conditions he liked. A week ago he would willingly have accepted even conditional confession; now he knew he held me in his hand.

  But I still found it difficult to surrender. The words stuck in my throat when I tried to speak them. I found it impossible to make the sort of “confession” he wanted and pretend it was all serious. And then I was not at all sure that he would not insist on my going still further. He still talked about me as a “double agent,” meaning that I had been sent to the Soviet Union by some political opposition and at the same time by the German Gestapo. The fact that when I came to the Soviet Union in 1931 Hitler was not in power in Germany and there was no Gestapo didn’t worry him. He was very little interested either in the laws of logic or the importance of chronological accuracy. If I once showed myself weak he might well push me still further; he might demand that I denounce all my friends. I was determined to go under altogether rather than do that.

  With such considerations in mind I summoned up my remaining strength for further resistance, but it was no good. My will was one thing; the terrible pains in my body were another. I stretched out my legs and tried to take the strain off my hips and buttocks by lifting myself off the seat with my hands, but I was already so weak that I could keep it up only for a few moments at a time. Ryeznikov let it pass once or twice, but then when he saw me doing it systematically he forbade it. Even Weissband, who relieved him, no longer showed me any favors. He had probably received strict instructions not to. I tried to relieve the strain a little by twisting to one side, but on one occasion when I did that I fell off the stool altogether and bent back one of the fingers of the hand which I automatically stretched out to save myself. With a flogging a man could grit his teeth and bear it, knowing that it must end, or lapse into unconsciousness if the pain got too bad. But sitting on the stool you did not lapse into unconsciousness and the torment never ceased. I writhed in agony. The soft-hearted Weissband could no longer watch it and began to look out of the window. At midday he was relieved by Shalit. No, I couldn’t stand Shalit and this excruciating torment as well and I sprang up from the stool and staggered into Ryeznikov’s office. He was sitting at his desk. I think I was already a little out of my mind.

  “Citizen Examiner!” I exclaimed. “Protect me from this man. Conduct the examination yourself. Do what you like with me, but don’t let Shalit do it.”

  “Shalit puts the pressure on properly,” he replied coolly. “That’s just what I want. We’ll get you down yet. I told you so. Now go back into that room and write your confession.”

  I did not dare to offer open resistance. I was beside myself with pain and confusion. Shalit was grinning and literally rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

  “You can’t go on much longer,” he said gleefully. “If you confess now you can sleep tonight. If you don’t you can take my word for it that we won’t accept your confession when you finally do decide to make it. You’ll be crawling on the floor and whining before we’ve finished with you.”

  The way he treated me that afternoon is difficult to describe. He realized that I was very near the end and he did his utmost to increase the pressure. He wanted me to give way under his torture and not that of his colleague or his superior. He watched me as a cat watches a mouse, and at the least movement to relieve the agony in my back and thighs he leapt at me at once, shouting at the top of his voice. On one occasion I ignored him and I remained with my body a little lifted from the chair on my hands. Then he kicked my hand. I sprang up.

  “You’ve no right to maltreat me physically,” I screamed at him. “Perhaps I shan’t be able to resist forever and I shall have to sign the swindle, but I won’t sign it for you, Citizen Shalit. I can at least promise you that.”

  He didn’t mind my hatred, but he was livid at the idea that I should finally break down for Ryeznikov or Weissband and he would be left empty-handed. Ryeznikov had gone out.

  “Call back Citizen Ryeznikov,” I said with determination. “I won’t say a word for you. I have a statement to make to Citizen Ryeznikov.”

  “Ryeznikov won’t be back this afternoon. I’m the official examiner. Tell me about your Trotskyist, fascist, counterrevolutionary, espionage and diversionist organization. Reveal the names of your accomplices. Who helped you to smuggle information about our country over the frontier? Was it through the German Consul here or through the German Embassy in Moscow? Where did you get the weapons with which you intended to murder Comrade Stalin?”

  “I refuse to say a word to you, Citizen Shalit.”

  “If you sabotage the investigation then we’ll proceed to use physical force. Captain Tornuyev has already given us permission to do so.

  “I shall speak only to Ryeznikov.”

  He realized that he had driven me too far and that no amount of pressure would make me give way to him and so he sought to compromise.

  “If you won’t talk to me then write to Captain Tomuyev. Here are paper and a pencil.”

  “No. Call Ryeznikov.”

  “He’s not here, I tell you. Write to him if you like, you fascist bandit. Do you think you can make conditions here? You’ll be spitting blood before long. We’ll throw you to the rats.”

  I made no further attempt to answer him. Red rings whirled before my eyes and my brain no longer functioned. The room began to swim. The pains were worse than ever before and they seemed to extend over my whole body. My neck hurt and no matter which way I turned my head I could get no relief. But I managed to hold out until Weissband relieved Shalit in the e
vening.

  “Alexander Semyonovitch,” he said sympathetically, “don’t try to go on any longer. You can’t. You’ll go mad.”

  I could no longer answer. The room was blurred and there was a rushing noise in my ears. The electric light was too strong for my eyes and I closed them. Twice I fell off the stool and Weissband helped me back again. When the pain became intolerable I mumbled for permission to go to the lavatory, and Weissband agreed although it was not very long after the evening visit. The standing up and walking there and back gave me relief at once, but as soon as I returned and had to sit down the pain began afresh. It was Ryeznikov’s turn next and I waited for him to appear, but instead Shalit turned up again. He had taken Ryeznikov’s turn.

  “I’ll be with you the whole night now, brother,” he said mockingly, “and unless you come clean I can promise you a pleasant time.”

  The idea of suffering Shalit all night was difficult to stomach. I was quite determined not to make any statement to him. I think I would have agreed to have both legs amputated to give me some relief rather than give way to him. I continued to sit there and he started his usual raving. What he said no longer penetrated into my brain. I almost lost consciousness. My eyes would no longer focus. I could see him only hazily and the terrible pressure in my head increased. He watched me like a lynx and he did everything except physically attack me. That was forbidden. It was as though a furious hate had risen in him against me. The thought of my defiance made him nearly frantic. In those hours he exceeded himself. He shrieked and raved so that from time to time other examiners came in to see what was the matter. I was in the last throes of agony, and only my hatred of him and my determination not to let him triumph gave me strength to hold out. He could feel that and he grew wilder and wilder in the hope of breaking down the last vestiges of resistance. Shortly before midnight I felt myself growing rapidly weaker and I knew the end was very near.

  “Citizen Shalit,” I mumbled, “telephone Citizen Ryeznikov. I have something to say to him.”

  “Not before you come clean,” he raved. “Let’s have it first. All your crimes. Come on, vomit it all up.” I stood up and swayed. The room turned round with a sickening lurch and I fell down. Shalit sprang forward and wrenched me up, shouting at the top of his voice into my ear. At that moment the door opened and Captain Tornuyev came in.

  “What’s going on in here?” he demanded. “What’s all that noise and shouting about?”

  “This criminal is making a mockery of the Soviet power, Citizen Captain,” exclaimed Shalit. “Give your orders so that we can finish him now.”

  I stared despairingly at Tomuyev.

  “Citizen Captain, I have decided to sign a deposition,” I panted. “I will do it for you, but not for him.”

  He turned to Shalit, who stood to attention before him.

  “Where is Lieutenant Ryeznikov?” he demanded.

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes, Citizen Captain.”

  “Wait until he comes and then bring Weissberg to my office with him.”

  “At your orders, Citizen Captain.”

  No sooner had Tomuyev left the room than Ryeznikov came in. Shalit told him what had happened.

  “Are you prepared to make a statement now?” he demanded. “Yes,” I said.

  “Take him into my room and let him sit down on the couch,” he ordered. “I’m going to the chief.”

  A few minutes later the telephone rang and Shalit answered it. Then he told me to get up and follow him. His tone was completely changed. It was quite normal and almost friendly.

  It was midnight on the seventh day of my “conveyer.” I had fought till I dropped, but now I was beaten. There was nothing left for me but capitulation and “confession.”

  CHAPTER 8—The “Confession”

  WE ALL ENTERED THE OFFICE OF THE DEPARTMENTAL CHIEF. CAPTAIN Tornuyev was sitting at his desk and he greeted me benevolently. On the left to the front of his desk sat Ryeznikov glancing through some papers. Tomuyev invited me to sit down in the comfortable leather armchair on the other side of the desk. Behind me was a table with wine and other drinks, and during the negotiations Shalit pressed me to drink. His attitude was that of a zealous waiter expecting a good tip. For a few minutes during the preliminaries I concentrated my attention entirely on resting my sore and weary limbs and tried not to think of what was to come. Gradually the pain subsided and I recovered my composure.

  From time to time Ryeznikov took a document from the dossier and handed it to the captain, who read it and occasionally made a penciled note. Finally they were ready and then he turned to me.

  “Alexander Semyonovitch, as I told you, everything will be all right. Now let’s get matters down on paper, beginning with your organization. You must describe its nature, tell us what you actually did in your struggle against the Soviet power. Tell us, for example, whether your motives were personal, or whether you were influenced by friends. Take your time and think carefully before we protocol it. We want everything to be quite clear and in order.”

  Having already made my decision, I didn’t have to invent too much on the spur of the moment. I was to be a follower of Bukharin and to admit terrorism and counterrevolutionary organization.

  On the other hand, I would strenuously deny espionage and diversionary activity. One awkward point was still unsettled, and that was the problem of who had recruited me and whom I had recruited. Any confession to the G.P.U. always began with these two questions. The answer to the first one was easy enough. I could mention plenty of likely people who were safely outside the Soviet Union. In fact, the examiners had often declared that I had come to the Soviet Union as a foreign agent of Bukharinism or Trotskyism on the one hand and of the Gestapo on the other. In that case my recruitment must have taken place abroad.

  On the other hand, Ryeznikov had always appeared very anxious to have me linked up with Bukharin. How he imagined that could have come about I didn’t know. But perhaps he wanted a confession that the German right-wing opposition had sent me to Bukharin and that he had then given me instructions for counterrevolutionary work in the Ukraine. The G.P.U. had never let me into the secret of how all these supposed counterrevolutionary organizations worked in practice. They had never let fall more than vague hints, and so I wasn’t really sure what it was they wanted me to confess. Conversely, I don’t think they were too sure either. The reason for our joint ignorance was that there were no counterrevolutionary organizations in the Soviet Union, and so it was a real problem to know how they might be supposed to operate. The G.P.U. never succeeded in entirely solving this crass discrepancy between what they wanted and the actual facts.

  The second question was much more difficult. Ryeznikov wanted the names of people who could be arrested by the G.P.U. and no doubt he had my friends in the Institute in mind: Leipunsky, Shubnikov, Landau, Ruhemann and so on. On this point I was determined not to budge, whatever happened: I would not denounce them. During the following three hours I dictated my confession, and all the time I was wondering what to say when they demanded the names of my “accomplices.” If I were lucky Tornuyev, who must be tired too, would be satisfied with half a confession and then let me sleep. A good night’s sleep would save me for the time being, and then, I reckoned, I could stand another week of the “conveyer.”

  For the moment my aim was to gain time. I knew the history of the German and Austrian Communist Parties very well, and I treated them to a long disquisition on all the inner-Party fractional disputes. I described the differences which arose in the Central Committee and gave the names of the people who opposed the policy of the Comintern. That was easy and represented no danger to anyone.

  “The struggle against the leadership of the Party finally led to the constitution of the opposition as a homogeneous fraction within the framework of the Party,” I droned on. “The Party replied by expelling the leaders of the opposition....”

  Tomuyev interrupted my lecture with a question:

  “When did t
he right-wing opposition in Germany become illegal?” I stared at him in simulated astonishment.

  “I don’t quite understand the question, Captain Tornuyev. The opposition was never illegal. At least, not as long as the Weimar regime still existed. Later on, of course, it became illegal in the same way as the Party itself did.”

  It was Tomuyev’s turn to be astonished.

  “You don’t really mean that the opposition was allowed to propagate counterrevolutionary and anti-Soviet opinions, do you?” he protested.

  “But, Citizen Captain, you must remember that the whole thing took place in Germany and Austria. The authorities there were not much interested in the internal disputes of the Communist Parties. They didn’t care whether the opposition was counterrevolutionary and anti-Soviet or not.”

  The simple-minded captain was about to make some further objection, but Ryeznikov, who was not quite so ignorant of conditions outside the Soviet Union, intervened.

  “It’s a question of the specific conditions which exist in capitalist Germany, Comrade Captain.”

  And the captain allowed himself to be extricated from the mess with this lifeline. Tornuyev was ignorant enough to transfer conditions in the Soviet Union to other countries. Up to 1927 there had been an open struggle in the Russian Communist Party. Then Trotsky and his friends were banished and the opposition was declared illegal. At this point the G.P.U. began to play a role in the inner-Party struggle. Speakers at Party congresses and conferences still referred to the time when the opposition was driven into illegality, and this was what was in Tomuyev’s mind: former opposition; now secret illegal counterrevolutionary organization. That was the natural course of things, and he had therefore supposed that the German right-wing opposition had developed in the same way. Thus it was important for him to know when this decisive change from open opposition to illegal counterrevolutionary organization had taken place.