In the summer of 1928, at the plenary session of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Stalin announced: “The greater our progress toward socialism, the more the class struggle will intensify.” This pronouncement sounded like a theoretical construct, but Jacob, a Marxist, who had read the works of the writer not in translations for underground study circles for the proletariat, but in the original German, and already in his youth, had a low opinion of Stalin as a theoretician, although he acknowledged his skill as a politician. He also understood Stalin’s words as a warning to the entire caste of the technical intelligentsia, who, despite pressure, were unable to carry out industrialization within the time stipulated by the official directives of the Party management.
Jacob was torn apart by conflicting thoughts. He lost sleep composing (in his mind) a letter to the Leader in which he tried to explain to him the misguidedness of his idea about the “intensification of the class struggle.” It might, of course, intensify; only not in the broad expanses of the homeland, where the proletariat had won out, but precisely in the capitalist world, which had not yet matured to the point of accepting the idea of worldwide proletarian revolution. The Russian technical intelligentsia, on the contrary, was investing all its energies into building … and so forth. The other idea that kept him up at night was—escape. Escape from the field of economic statistics, which had become a dangerous science, and taking refuge in music. Why not? A teacher of music literature, music theory, director of a choir, private piano lessons, flute, clarinet … Wasn’t that a dream worth having? Wouldn’t that offer safety to him personally and to the whole family?
The attack on the technical intelligentsia, the search for wreckers and spies, was proceeding full speed ahead—and Jacob was too late. While he was analyzing the situation at hand, the next trial was already getting under way: the Industrial Party Trial.* Becoming acquainted with the trial transcripts, Jacob realized his own existence was in jeopardy.
Professor Ramzin, who was one of the defendants in the case, offered testimony that guaranteed corporal punishment to himself and his codefendants, leading specialists in the State Planning Committee and the VSNKh. Although the execution was commuted to a prison sentence, Jacob realized he was still in danger. He would be next.
Wrecking was discovered in the economy, in mining, in forestry, in microbiology—everywhere. In 1930–31, the Special Council of the OGPU—the secret police—reviewed more than thirty-five thousand cases. One of those was the case of Jacob Ossetsky. He defended himself in a rather florid, elegant style; though he did not admit to wrecking, he repented of some of his mistakes. He was sentenced to three years of exile, serving in the Stalingrad Tractor Plant.
At the beginning of 1931, he arrived at his place of exile, and began to work in the STP planning department. This was better than any outcome he could have envisioned.
In the first letter he sent his wife from Stalingrad, Jacob reminded her that his first detention took place in 1913 in the Chelyabinsk guardhouse, and lasted fifteen days, which he now remembered as a happy period in his life. He asked her to keep her spirits up, not to languish, and to be strong for the sake of their son.
But things grew ever more complicated with their son. When Genrikh found out about his father’s arrest—they had taken him from work, and informed Marusya twenty-four hours later—fifteen-year-old Genrikh, who had returned in the evening from his aviation club, listened to what his mother told him, turned pale, and slumped over. His jaw tight and his mouth compressed, he sighed deeply and said quietly, “A wrecker. I knew it.”
He swept from the table all the teacups that had been sitting there since breakfast. He went to his father’s desk, where there were two neatly stacked piles of books and two piles of paper, one blank and one covered with neat handwriting, and threw them off, too. After that, he went to the bookshelves and started to fling all the books, which had been carefully arranged by subject, onto the floor, shouting at the top of his lungs the word that was uppermost in his mind: “Wrecker! Wrecker!”
Marusya sat in the armchair, pressing her hands to her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. This was a genuine paroxysm of rage, and she had no idea how to stop it. When he had thrown to the floor every object he could lay his hands on, Genrikh collapsed onto the divan and began to howl. Several minutes passed. Marusya sat beside her son, and stroked his shoulders.
“Leave me alone! Leave me alone! You don’t understand what this means. I’ll never be admitted anywhere now! I’m the son of an enemy of the people! For always!”
His tears flowed thick and fast; his shoulders heaved. He thrashed around and kicked his legs and arms, just as he had done in childhood. Marusya did what she had always done—she went to the buffet and took a piece of chocolate from a bag she had hidden there, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t spit it out, but didn’t calm down, either. After thrashing and heaving for a long time, he fell asleep in his father’s bed.
What has he done, what has he done? Marusya cried soundlessly. He’s ruined everything! What will become of us?
38
First Exile
Stalingrad Tractor Plant
(1931–1933)
Jacob, it was likely, bore up under the misfortune that had struck him better than his family did. He knew how to begin again from scratch, but he took his entire previous life, his various interests and initiatives, with him into his new existence. Twelve large cities were now closed to him. He was transferred by omnipotent powers to the city on the Volga, where an enormous plant was being built according to an American design. He was appointed to work in the planning department. Though this wasn’t particularly interesting to him, his knowledge of English improved his position. Within a week, he had received a tiny room in the director’s office, where he translated American technical documentation. Two dozen girls hastily trained in the English language were not able to cope with the technical terminology. Jacob himself sometimes had to consult his American colleagues, of whom there were still quite a few in 1931.
Jacob liked the Americans. They were, for the most part, athletic fellows who dressed neatly and elegantly, and worked with gusto. In addition to the organization of production, their free time was also organized in a particular way—they had separate dining rooms, a restaurant, clubs, concerts for employees, and day care for the children. “As regards social achievements, the capitalists are ahead of us,” Jacob was forced to admit. Or was all of this specially staged for propaganda purposes? One got the impression that their scientific organization of labor extended to social life and the life of the community as well.
Jacob was not the only one who observed these things. Soon he became acquainted with other exiles, working in different branches of general construction, specialists like him who had been sent to the STP for political mistakes and an erroneous worldview. All of them were more or less Marxists, more or less socialists, more or less communists, but their thinking was out of step, and the divergences in their opinions and views led to interesting discussions about nuances and details. They initially met just by chance, but later began to go out of their way to gather over tea. Within a few months, their meetings had turned into informal seminars at which they presented papers and read lectures. They exchanged opinions, feeling in no way guilty about it.
In November 1931, Jacob’s son came to visit him. In the time during which they had not seen each other, Genrikh had grown half a head taller, his shoulders had become broader, and he had become a young man instead of an adolescent. Marusya did not come—she was burdened with work, ill health, a bad mood. They had a lively correspondence, according to an established scheme: they wrote letters every five days, beginning from the first day of the month, but no fewer than six letters a month; plus postcards, which didn’t count, and, if necessary, telegrams.
Genrikh rarely wrote to his father.
Jacob received official permission to show his son the plant, and on one of the first days of Ge
nrikh’s stay, he took him around. The first thing Jacob did was to show Genrikh the American blueprint for the plant and explain the most unique aspect of it: it was conceived as a modular structure. Genrikh was thrilled. It was like his construction set! He recognized the similarity to his first toy, which had afforded him so much creative joy in his childhood. This entire plant was built as though some giant were putting it together out of blocks, only the blocks were much larger and more varied than the ones in his construction set. Jacob showed him on the scale model how the individual blocks were joined together, and how the same blocks could result in various structures. Genrikh observed the model, enchanted, a thought brewing in his head. Jacob enjoyed watching the eagerness in his son’s eyes and the thought processes that the muscles of his face betrayed.
“Dad, it seems like each block is a letter, and when you put them together they form words, and even whole sentences?”
“That’s a good way of looking at it, son,” Jacob said happily.
Genrikh nodded solemnly—it wasn’t often that his father praised him—and continued to think out loud. “I think that the whole world can be rebuilt out of letters just like this—now, that would be a real construction set!”
Jacob looked at his son attentively: thereb was certainly the germ of a serious thought in there, but in essence it was completely infantile. He needed a lot of polishing, a lot of polishing.
STALINGRAD–MOSCOW JACOB TO GENRIKH
(LETTER TO GENRIKH PRIOR TO HIS VISIT IN NOVEMBER)
MARCH 1931
Dear Genrikh, I met a person here that it would be good for you to get to know. You can’t imagine all the professions that are represented in our factory. Altogether, there are 170! Would you imagine, for example, that there is a toy specialist? It turns out there is. A master craftsman who makes scale models for our museum. A superb worker who knows how to do metalworking, woodworking, as well as working with cardboard—everything that’s needed. He is a joiner, a metalworker, an electrician, and a bookbinder. A master of all trades. His workshop is also like a play workshop—a little twenty-square-foot storeroom under the stairs. He has a tiny workbench, and his materials are stored on shelves suspended from the ceiling. He speaks quietly, thoughtfully. It’s pleasant to have dealings with him. He always works alone, in silence.
I am now preparing a big exhibit on the tractor industry. When I’m finished, I’ll send you pictures. Mama writes that it’s very clean and tidy in your room. That makes it much easier to live.
I thought about writing a story about a family who lived in a very crowded and disorderly space. Everyone bickered and squabbled, and couldn’t get on together. Then, gradually, they all picked up their rooms, introduced order into their lives, and began to live more peaceably. When I have some free time, I may write on this subject. Do you approve?
I send you a strong handshake.
Your dad, Jacob
GENRIKH TO MARUSYA
NOVEMBER 8, 1931
Dearest Mama,
I’ve been here with Papa for two days now. When I arrived in Stalingrad, Papa wasn’t at the station, so I went looking for him and got on the train to the tractor plant. On the train, I asked every person if they knew where Ossetsky lived, until I ran into Mstislavsky. Of course he said “No. 516.” That’s all I needed. When I got off the train, there was a very fine bus waiting there, and I was easily able to find No. 516, but it was locked. Papa wasn’t home. Not getting discouraged, I took off my coat and my bag, left my belongings with the neighbors, and went to see the Volga. When I got back, my papa was at home, and he didn’t even recognize me.
The next day, on the 7th, I went on a boat for the whole day with Papa, and in the evening we watched people dance the fox-trot (it’s like they’re just dawdling, not dancing). From my first visit there, I’ve really liked the American dining room. Yesterday Papa read some German (the Nibelungenlied). I like Papa’s comrades, but not the Americans (they fight a lot).
With aviation-tractor greetings! A kiss, Genrikh
JACOB TO MARUSYA
NOVEMBER 10, 1931
Dearest friend, I’m late sending this to you by three days. Forgive me! I’ve been busy with Genrikh, and with the Great October Revolution holiday celebrations. He has grown—he’s half a head taller than he was when I left him.
As for his general development, he hasn’t made a lot of progress. Every day, I teach him a bit of German. From the very first days, I noticed he was no more diligent than he used to be.
His visit has been like a great holiday for me, but I must tell you frankly that a visit from you would be an even greater holiday. I’m concerned about his development. You must make an effort to counter his interests with others that are broader and deeper. He is too technically oriented, one-sided. After his aviation craze, his new obsession is military affairs and technology. When we were taking a walk in the mountains, he said, “This would be a good place for artillery.” This is so unpleasant to my ears. He should stop attending that club for amateur snipers and gunners.
His studies seem to be going well, judging by his knowledge of trigonometry, which I checked. His knowledge of grammar is poor, and comes only as a result of much reading. We must encourage his literary interests. His innate taste and sensitivity to style will help.
Try to interest him in things that are far from him—an easy book on Darwinism, history, and so forth. The things we read at his age. I’m compiling a special reading list for him, if you approve of the idea. I’ll look for the books in the catalogue here.
I’m reading Genrikh the Nibelungenlied in German. I found a place that you had underlined—“Love and suffering always go together.”
I give you a kiss—a friendly, and even friendlier, one.
With all the passion of nighttime combat in which both come out victors.
FEBRUARY 8, 1932
My dear Marusya, I’ve fallen out of our regular rhythm of correspondence, because I can’t meet the quota of evening studies. On February 10, I have to submit all expedited work, and I’ll begin the cycle anew. And I’ll keep up my end of our correspondence. Another significant date—the one-year anniversary of my tenure here. I’ve taken a liking to this work. The entire tractor project is American, and the first tractor is also being manufactured according to a successful American model.
For the time being, I think it will make you happy that I have received a prize as a model worker. Unfortunately, the reward did not take the form of a special ID, as I would have preferred, but a monetary prize. I don’t know how much. I bought you galoshes, the smallest size, as you requested. If they don’t fit, you have only yourself to blame. Tell me Genrikh’s size—7 or 8? I’ll soon be able to buy them. In addition, I was issued a premium bond for seventy rubles. We’ll survive. And my lectures have been temporarily suspended. A pity. It kept me in shape to prepare every week. There are several top-notch economists here I like to socialize with. It’s a narrow circle; we get together and discuss this and that.
The package is ready to be sent out to you. It will go out the day after tomorrow.
I kiss you, little one.
JACOB TO GENRIKH
MARCH 10, 1932
My dearest Genrikh, it’s hard for me to express my joy at your progress. You have achieved everything you wanted to, without any outside help. In fact, no one would have been able to help you in this. The Americans admire, above all, people who organize their own lives, on their own terms. They even have a term for this: a “self-made man.”
If you want to, you can manage to organize your life in order to achieve what you wish. There are four areas of activity that should take priority for you: your technical studies, physical training, literature, and helping your mother. She wrote to me about your visit to the airport. It’s too bad I couldn’t have gone with you. I would have liked to hear your explanations. We haven’t seen each other since last year, and now I can’t even imagine when we’ll see each other again. Let’s hope and believe it will be
soon.
I applaud your decision to leave school to study in the Workers’ University. This is the action of a real man. If you get accepted for the subway construction project, it will provide you with a very good education. What profession are you considering now? Write me about all your new experiences and impressions, about your activities, about your new comrades. Where is the Workers’ University, and how do you get there every day? I hope you have a book to read while you’re en route. Always keep a book handy, so you won’t waste time—a book you only read when you’re en route.
I give you a firm handshake—your Jacob.
JACOB TO MARUSYA
OCTOBER 24, 1932
Well, Marusya, things are really looking up. At the moment, the money situation is good; and prospects for the future are also good. Yesterday I was very happy. Our first poster went to print. It’s very impressive. Things are moving apace now. I am responsible for all the publishing work—it’s far better than being in the planning department.
Today is a holiday. In the morning, I took an hour or two for my weekly general hygiene: washing in hot water, shaving, washing my hair, breakfast. An hour and a half to finish everything.
At ten, I’m already at my desk. The day is clear and sunny, but I’m under surprise attack. I have to edit a huge pile of manuscripts by the end of the day. Now, after four hours of work, I have two hours to catch my breath, take a walk, read the paper—then back I go.
The radio has been playing all day, but it doesn’t prevent me from working. They played the waltz from Eugene Onegin, and I got up and danced around the room. Back and forth, from one side of the room to the other. Then I smoked a cigarette and sat down at the desk again to work.
Jacob's Ladder Page 46
