Maybe such stories do not need to be told, but it seems to me, rather, it is necessary, just to be aware that the prison is not only cheerful smiling our inflexible political prisoners playing chess and monopoly with cellmates. There is another, terrible, no one is immune from it.
And here is a story: some parents ask us - why is our son sitting in a pre-trial detention center in a cell with "lowered", and what will happen to him in the zone after that? Take action.
And we come to the interrogation room, and sit there, and bring this guy to us in a series of other prisoners. I, my permanent partner Lidia Borisovna Dubikova, the officer accompanying us. The guy does not look so hot, very frail, looks smoky, his eyes faded, he speaks rather incoherently. He's twenty years old. A student in his last year of study. Went to jail. I'll tell you later why. While trying to understand the problem.
In general, at first everything was fine in the cell. Watching Russian was, it was possible to live. Then the measure of restraint was changed for the Russian, and an Armenian became the one looking around the camera. It got worse. And there was one more Georgian ... they showed an unhealthy interest, in general. And once... once I was watching an erotic channel...
I say calmly. I ask the officer: what else is in the pre-trial detention center for an erotic channel? He: yes, there’s nothing like that, maybe the transmission was erotic on a normal channel ... Well, OK, I say, we’ll return to the channel, but what was the unhealthy interest in? Well, - the guy answers, - they forced us to be on duty for everyone, in the cell to clean up for everyone. You can take turns cleaning up, or all together, it’s possible in different ways, but they didn’t want to ...
The officer explodes: why didn’t you tell the employees right away when it started? You stopped by here in the pre-trial detention center, the operational officers talked to you, explained what was happening, why didn’t you tell the longitudinal one right away? Ugh!
The guy is sitting down. Well, like complaining somehow is not good ... Then he remembers: yes, I didn’t need their mobile phone, so I called a couple of times - they told me that I now owe them money, they made me call home, beg for money from my parents . I did not want. They insisted. I told them all sorts of stories... made up...
I say what stories? Silent.
I say okay. We pass to the erotic channel. What happened?
Well, the erotic channel was turned on that evening. Yes, I didn’t watch it at all, but they began to tease me, all sorts of jokes ... And, in general, they ask - but have you, for example, touched a woman’s genitals with your lips? I say: no, I don’t want to talk to you about this at all, but they ask again. They ask and ask. And so they pestered that I, in general, said - yes, just leave me alone. They say: huh? And for how long? I say: well, five seconds ... or ten.
They then first say: well, it's not for long, it's okay. And then...
I say: damn it, but you knew you shouldn't say that! Did you know?
The officer yells: but you knew you shouldn't say that! Did you know?
The guy says: well, I knew ... I say: they beat you, so that you would say that? He says: no ... just somehow with his jokes ... well, I said ... I thought they would leave behind ...
What happened next, he can no longer or does not want to talk. I ask: have you been sexually assaulted? He says no. (Fig knows what was really there, I don’t even want to know). In general, they said that it is so customary in prison that if you did it with a woman, you can do it with a peasant, they beat him and forced him out of the cell. Like everything, goodbye.
They transferred him to another cell. There was a normal looking person, they took pity on the guy, they said that it was out of lawlessness in general, as they did with him, like sit still. He was relaxed. So no, then they say: I'm sorry, but the prison officer sent me so that they would not let you into more than one boy's cell. In short, they broke him out of this cell as well.
Well, the administration transferred him to the cell where he is now. An unusual chamber, even the road does not pass through it, the chamber is very unprestigious. And the glory for him in the colony will go bad. I say, Lidia Borisovna says, the officer says: watch your language! This is your main enemy! Have you ever told the whole story in this cell? He says no, I won't tell anyone else! Oh. OK Go. Hold on.
Leaves. I say: so what?
The officer says: we do what we can. It has a special control. And at the assembly, if he goes somewhere, we make sure that he does not intersect with representatives of the criminal subculture. And he sits in a glass in the car. How can we look after him. And it’s unlikely that news will be thrown about him at the zone: who needs him at all? ..
Lydia Borisovna and I say: come on ... we are adults, the news will fly ...
Well, then, - says the officer, - there is only one option left. If they give him less than five years, and if there are no violations of the regime, and if there is a place, we will leave him at the household detachment. So safer. Well, if more than five will give - then alas. But that's up to the court to decide... Of course, the guy wouldn't want to cripple his fate. Something like this ... maybe it will work.
Oh, and I promised to tell you why the student was put in jail. For hashish. That's not for heroin, not for a crocodile - for hashish. He somehow came out of the entrance with a dose, and then the cops-screws. Write distribution. It seems that his comrade got hooked on this business: after the injury, the guy had a severe headache at times, and hashish, like, relieved this pain. Well, occasionally, not often. And he acknowledged the spread. He spoke to himself. I ask: why? He says: the investigator promised to let him go, he believed the investigator ...
I have no special comments on this story. Well, yes, hashish. Well, yes, the guy is not a fighter. Well, yes, there wasn’t even enough moral strength to complain - the “comrades” explained to him that this was a mess. But in order to break a person's life for this fucking hashish ... well, it happens.
In a shabby prisoner's uniform, in worn-out tarpaulin coats, with a new police cap pulled down to his eyebrows, the undersized, beginning to gain weight Anfimych looked ridiculous and even ridiculous, like an aged, but still brave soldier Shveik, lost in time and caught in Soviet captivity instead of Russian.
The country fought against drunkenness and hooliganism, so Anfimych, taking into account his proletarian origin and military merits at the front, was sentenced to a short term of imprisonment for petty hooliganism. And now he had to wear camp clothes and these rough shoes until his release, but not for so long - only four months and a tail! caps of the “policewoman”, which for some reason he immediately disliked and stubbornly walked around the zone with his head uncovered, shining with a tanned bald head.
In the barracks, especially in his section, the cheerful and sociable Anfimych took root immediately. He was respected not only for his advanced age and ability to tell jokes and tales, but even more for his combative, stubborn character, shown in the story of the postal parcel that his wife poisoned him in the zone.
For some unknown reason, the package with the transfer of his wife never reached him, but her ill-fated fate, and most importantly Anfimych's activity in this story, soon became the property of the entire zone.
First, Anfimych ate a bald spot on the heads of the detachment and political officer of the zone about his parcel, and then he got to the Owner himself - the head of the colony, a former front-line soldier and full holder of the Order of Glory of all degrees. Anfimych and the Boss, like real front-line soldiers, quickly became friends. And the head of the colony promised him that he would bring the strange story of the loss of the parcel to a victorious end.
However, for some reason, the business with the parcel stalled, and the detachment officer with the political officer already shied away from Anfimych, as if from a leper, avoiding the persistent front-line convict. Yes, and the Master himself, for the same reason, did not now seek to catch his eye.
In the zone, after evening dress, Anfimych usually put on a T-shirt, satin trousers, and, lying down on a bunk by the window, thought about his wife and recalled the past. And he had no one else to think about, since they were left alone with her ... The fascists stole his wife as a teenager during the war to Germany for forced labor. Upon returning to her homeland, she spent some more time in labor camps for displaced persons, and after all these wanderings and misfortunes, having been ill with something in the woman's part, she lost the ability to bear children.
They learned about this, as a final verdict, five years after their marriage, and were terribly upset, but, of course, Ksenia, Anfimych's wife, suffered the most from this. Anfimych’s mother had died by that time, and the older sister, who had lost her husband at the front, managed to give birth to his children before the war and now occasionally grumbled: “Your Xenia, you see, they jinxed her as a girl or they sent some kind of damage to her ...”
Anfimych remained silent, but over the years he more and more felt a certain emptiness in their family life, but he did not show it, he did not start conversations on this topic and did not reproach Ksenia for anything.
Being away from home today, Anfimych, like a seasoned man, to brighten up the dull camp evenings, poisoned jokes in his barracks section before lights out, and sometimes funny told plausible stories from his own life.
In the morning I meet Petka Smirnov - I look, and he has a healthy bruise under his eye! - Anfimych told one such story to his young neighbors. - "What's the matter?!" - I ask him, and Petka turns his face away from me and declares: “I won’t drink with you anymore!” - “Why, Petruha ?!” - I'm surprised, but after yesterday I can't remember anything. “When we were drinking at your house, it became bad with you - I got worried, laid you on the sofa, leaned over and began to ask what happened ... And instead of words, you mumbled something and kicked me with your foot - right in the face! .. Then he jumped up with crazy eyes and began to throw anything at random ... And he launched a stool at me - he barely dodged it! .. It’s good that Ksyusha came on time and calmed you down - a mad dog! - Petka tells me, and I spread my brains, strained my memory ... I remember - I lay down somewhere, in a trench, or something?! to me and mumble something in their language. Well, I hit him with my foot, which was urine, and then, don’t know where the strength came from, I jumped up and began throwing grenades at the hated Fritz! .. What happens ... And you don’t remember what you did in a drunken fever! .. I told Petka all this - I look, but he does not believe - he looks at me with even more apprehension and says: “Anyway, I won’t drink with you anymore!” - “That's good - we will get more,” I answer him. Since then, Petka Smirnov, as cut off, and he never drank with me again, right up to his death! .. Such, brother, there is a fever ... with consequences.
One of the younger guys asked Anfimych:
You're talking about the front, Anfimych, it's better to say something about the war!
Anfimych pondered, and then answered:
War is not a story, people are killed there every day!
Well, they didn’t kill you - you’re alive! .. And you deftly weave tales! - objected someone with a catch.
And because he is alive, that he was friends with death! - Anfimych joked.
Just ... Easier than a steamed turnip! Anfimych smiled. - You need to snuggle up to the ground more often, like to your own woman! .. And dig in in time! was small - an inconspicuous target ... That's all the wisdom!
We have a Boss, what a tall man! .. And he survived in orders, they say, he walks! - someone recalled the head of the colony.
The owner served in the reconnaissance company - there is a special relationship with the death, - Anfimych explained with knowledge of the matter and added in all seriousness: - Our owner is lucky and the man, in fact, is heroic!
Neighbors silently agreed with Anfimych - in the barracks it was not customary to praise or scold the Host. Before lights out, everyone thought about his own, what was closer to him, and no one wanted to discuss the military past of the Master and his luckiness.
However, in the industrial zone, in the new production building, where Anfimych worked in the construction team, his friendly relations with the Boss were used for socially selfish purposes. After lunch, the prisoners did not want to work, and in order to extend the afternoon smoke break with more buzz, the brigade almost in full force climbed onto the roof of the new building.
Sometimes on the territory of the industrial zone a large and noticeable figure of the head of the colony in a simple linen suit and cap appeared. The owner, according to the habit of the front, walked, crouching, with quick, wide steps, as if he was moving through the area being shot through.
Someone immediately noticed him and an alarming voice was heard:
Anfimych, Master on the horizon - drive away the bull!
Anfimych got up before the Boss approached, went up to the edge of the roof and almost shouted, turning to him:
Citizen chief!.. Condemned Anfimov... Allow me to apply?! - and then, without waiting for any permission, he continued to shout in an inquiring and plaintive voice. - How is my business with the package, huh?! .. Has anything cleared up, citizen chief?
The owner turned sharply at Anfimych’s voice and, frozen in surprise in a half-bent form, thought for a while, but not finding suitable words, only waved his hand away from the stubborn prisoner, saying that I remember, I didn’t forget and I’ll do what I promised.
All right, citizen chief... All right! - Anfimych said in a cheerful voice, but did not calm down and continued to yell: - Soon the term ends, but I still have not received the parcel! .. I, the citizen chief, will not wait for it ...
You'll get it, Anfimov... you'll get it! the Boss replied hoarsely and, waving his hand for the last time in despair, suddenly rushed with a quick step in the opposite direction from the new building. On this, Anfimych's episodic role, as a scarecrow for the Boss, ended, and the satisfied prisoners calmly continued the big, after-dinner smoke break with a nap.
In fact, Anfimych was no longer worried about the package. Letters from his wife came regularly, and this was more important for him. Ksenia wrote that she had quit the textile mill - she had complained before that it was hard for her to work at the mill - age and dexterity were no longer the same ... And now she got a job as a nanny in a tiny city house and, apparently, as Anfimych believed, for good reason. And in her last letter, this was all confirmed. In the baby house, as Ksenia wrote, she did it for a reason - she wants to look among the abandoned babies of one to whom her heart will lie, and only then take him away from there.
The plans of his wife puzzled Anfimych, and he told her that she should not hurry, but wait for his return for a thorough discussion of such a matter. There was very little time left before Anfimych's release, and, already out of habit, after an evening dress, he put on a clean T-shirt, satin trousers, and, lying down on a bunk by the window, recalled the past and thought about his wife.
Anfimych imagined how she would return home and in the evening, after dinner, she would put on her favorite black silk shirt with lace, and they would lie down on the sofa. Ksenia will seem to him the most desirable and delightful woman ... She will begin to tickle Anfimych's ear, whispering fabulous words in a hot voice, and he will begin to caress her sweet and still elastic breasts.
And the story with the ill-fated package was resolved for Anfimych a week before his release. It is said that it was bombed somewhere in transit by postal thieves, stealing from it only tasty products for them.
Having received the remnants of everything that Xenia sent him, Anfimych gave away almost everything on the way to his barracks.
Already not far from the checkpoint, on the steps of the camp hospital, he saw an old Greek with a Georgian surname sitting with a thoughtful look from an invalid, as they joked in the zone, a motorcycle-crutch hut. The old Greek, a former worker in the trade sphere, held out for a long time for the theft of socialist property on a large scale, and long forgotten by everyone in the wild, for this reason he did not receive anything from there ... And many prisoners, returning from the checkpoint, shared with the old man messages from relatives and loved ones. Anfimych did this too, leaving him a good third of his looted package.
The old man's dark brown, oily eyes shone even more, and he thanked Anfimych in a quiet, almost soundless voice. And in order to completely forget about the parcel, Anfimych let the rest of it go for evening tea in his barracks section.
The remaining days dragged on for a long time, and when the day of liberation came, in the morning the joyful Anfimych first said goodbye in the section to his only fellow countryman, then to the guys from the brigade, then to the men he knew from the neighboring barracks and after that went to the checkpoint.
Anfimych arrived in his hometown at dawn by a passing train, not really getting enough sleep. A persistent fog shrouded the deserted streets, the buses were not yet running, and he, almost without meeting anyone, reached his house on foot.
The door, despite the long-drawn-out bells, was not opened for him, and Anfimych became worried... It was a Saturday, and Ksenia didn't like to lie down even on weekends. Then he knocked, but at the knock only the door opposite opened, from where, without greeting, looked out, nodding her head, the still sleepy neighbor. She told him that yesterday Xenia had a heart attack and she was taken by ambulance to the first city hospital. Silent, she froze with a sad look, handing him a bunch of keys. Anfimych took them and, without saying a word, left the entrance.
On the street, he stopped, thinking, and then suddenly hurried up and, cutting off the path, ran jogging towards the wasteland. Behind it was the terminus of the only route along which rare buses traveled in the direction Anfimych needed. In the morning mist, he managed to make out a standing bus and took off at full speed, afraid to miss the first flight.
Two stray dogs roaming the wasteland stopped when they saw a running man, but did not rush after him, but only barked lazily and quickly calmed down.
Somewhere in the sky, a plane howled sharply, circling over the city from the bad weather. A familiar sound overtook the panting Anfimych in the middle of the wasteland - he suddenly squeezed in his temples, and then pricked and hit with a sharp pain in the very heart ... His eyes began to darken, but he was still rushing by inertia. And the nearest pit in the wasteland seemed to Anfimych in those moments as a funnel smoking after the explosion of the bomb, which had once saved him from death, and he flew towards it, stumbling and falling ...
In the barracks, Anfimych would probably have been forgotten quickly, if not for his empty place on the bunk: the new stage had not yet arrived at the zone, and among the inhabitants of the section there were no people willing to sleep by the window with the approach of cold weather. And so in the evening, before lights out, someone, seeing Anfimych's still unoccupied place, remembered him and said:
It's a pity Anfimych is gone ... There is no one to tell stories now ... Longing!
And someone from the upper bunk asked in bewilderment:
So I don’t understand: why did he get such a ridiculous term - for his woman, or what ?!
No, not for a woman ... He has neither everyday life, nor a family brawl ... His wife wrote letters to him and even sent a parcel! - objected a voice from the lower bunk and added with a laugh: - Everyone remembers this story with the package, huh?! .. He even got her Owner!
The peasants roared animatedly, and someone asked about Anfimych from his only fellow countryman in the section:
So why did Anfimych fly in, huh? .. Well, you, his land - you should know!
And why did it crack? - asked the young guy.
The pensioner said that at that time any woman was his ... And he boasted, they say, he spoiled a lot of girls ... So, Anfimych, he hit him! .. They say that if they didn’t twist him, he would have beaten the pensioner to death!
And I would have done the right thing! - someone's voices were heard at once.
Anfimych is mad when drunk ... - the fellow countryman specified. - And so the man, what is needed!
The inhabitants of the barracks talked a little more about life, then silence fell in the section, which was broken by a loud and young voice from the upper bunk:
Shnyr, cut the light - it's time to sleep!
Shnyr turned off the light - it became dark in the section and the barrack, like the whole zone, plunged into a chilly October night. The battle for the harvest in the country has already ended, but the fight against drunkenness and hooliganism was still going on, and tomorrow a big stage was expected in the zone ...
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Could not sleep. And you need to sleep, dawn is coming soon, followed by a hard working day in the shop. But sleep does not come, the chaos of thoughts prevents the soul, begging for rest, from calming down. Everyone circles and circles before their eyes the lines of her letter. Short and indifferent.
Why did she betray?... She! The one who was a queen, a goddess, and I was a slave next to her! Faithful dog at her feet. How did it happen that I became for her only an affair, an office romance? How did it turn out that this is the norm for her, that I am not the first and I am not the last? After all, I saw her eyes were full of sincerity and love! How could she belong to me, give herself without a trace, and then so easily forget about it?!
She became everything to me. She became my salvation from the horrific reality. An island of peace, a ray of light in the gloomy realm of enclosed space. An outlet in the midst of human cruelty, where every day you encounter the basest human desires and needs. And she became my death.
Ten years older than me, outwardly she was fragile and graceful. Long blond hair to the waist fell in a flowing wave, casting copper with golden sparks in the sun. And the eyes... Oh, those eyes! They changed their color, from silvery to deep green, depending on the mood. True, they were filled with the deepest and richest green only in moments of passion, when she was no longer aware of herself, immersed in a whirlpool of sensations. Those were her eyes only for me!
But before I could know what her eyes were like, I had a long way to go.
When I was arrested, I had just turned 19 years old. I was young and hot. He believed in a bright future and was filled with concepts of honor and nobility. Which ended up ending up in jail for me. Omitting the sad details, I will only say that they gave me 7 years in a strict regime colony for murder. He stood up for the girl, either I didn’t calculate my strength, or I turned out to be a squishy guy, but he moved his horses, an infection. This girl even came to me later, but her loyalty was only enough for a couple of years. All love passed immediately after the verdict, when she heard how much more I had to cuckoo in these walls. I did not grieve for long, but I remembered the insult, and I completely ceased to trust the female sex. Although I understood that it could not be otherwise, I would not even oblige or force, even ask her to wait for me. The days of the Decembrists are long gone, and making such sacrifices is now out of fashion.
After the verdict from prison, I was immediately transferred to the zone.
It was then that I learned the full weight of responsibility for the crime committed.
The work was not just hard, hellish, to the limit. Our team worked from morning to evening, with a short break for lunch. In the world of modern technology, the equipment in the workshop seemed prehistoric, as if on purpose to complicate our already difficult existence. This production could not even be called mechanized; manual labor was mainly used. The youngest machine was made in 1957. All day, standing near him, we collected batteries for cars, each weighing 25.30 kg, and the daily norm was one hundred pieces, ten pieces from each member of the brigade. Collected, dragged to the warehouse, went to collect the next one. This work was also very harmful, because all day long I had to breathe lead and sulfuric acid. We served our punishment here in full. Every day, cursing the hated batteries and this hole into which fate has thrown us.
The days were monotonous to the point of dullness. All movements of the body and mind are brought to automatism. The brain atrophied in an atmosphere of complete absence of the need to think and develop. The only holiday here was visiting relatives, and receiving parcels and a day of purchases in the store added variety. It shook me a little from numbness and indifference about my future. And it helped to remember that the term of imprisonment would someday end.
And at some such moment, something seemed to turn on inside, but upon returning to the barracks, it did not turn off, as it always happened before.
I have seen her on numerous occasions when I was in line for people like me, behind priceless commodities like tea and cigarettes. Here it was a currency that could buy everything, even life. I was just like everyone else, with empty eyes as black as tunnels. The only thing, maybe a little more handsome - a stately blond with blue eyes framed by long fluffy eyelashes. But life in the colony shattered my appearance, and my eyes grew dull, I began to look much older than my years. And looking past me, when my turn came up, she, just like everyone else, said: “What's cute?”. In such a promising tone, as if flirting. But I knew it was just a joke. I have seen more than once how she arrogantly rebuffed the most impressionable, showing them their place, and humiliating them with an explanation of who they are here and what, with all their appearance showing that they are dirt under her feet. And she was a saleswoman. For a convict, a very valuable person, with whom good relations were desperately needed. Because through it it was possible to drag prohibited goods from the will, for example, products - meat, chicken, eggs, etc., including alcohol, things, shoes, small equipment, such as a telephone, player or radio. Although for all this she took only cash, which was also banned, but penetrated from the outside through lawyers or relatives who came for long dates.
We could go to the store only on detachment days, once a month on certain dates. It was understood that we could not have money on hand, that relatives, in accordance with their capabilities, only transfer a certain amount through the administration, which is stored on the prisoner's personal account. We called our account number, and she looked to see if there was something on the account and how much, and said how much you can buy. She always counted everyone, and if she didn’t like something, she asked in a sweet voice to buy her something for tea. And you won't refuse! It happened that there was nothing on the account, and then she indifferently reported it. Although there were exceptions, if too many people passed during the day or if there was such a character who came and got it, knowing in advance that he had nothing and could not have. Then she could send, and even close for about forty minutes, forcing the rest to languish in anticipation. Bitch, in a word.
And so that there was no crowd inside the store, or in order to expose especially impudent ones, there was an orderly at the store. The same prisoner, like everyone else, but at the grain, trump work. His duties in the store also included loading and unloading and cleaning.
And then one day I achieved a transfer to such a prestigious position. It turned out to be very difficult, I waited for this for two years, paid a very tidy sum to someone who needed it, but still I had to wait for the previous guy to leave on a call. But I was ready to wait even longer, this place was too sweet for me. And not only for the non-dusty work, which seemed to many a paradise, after the production workshops. But also for the fact that it allowed me to be near her.
I don’t remember exactly when it all started, but one day I suddenly realized that I had been living with this for a long time. That the desire to be near her guides my actions, that I finally have a goal, a reason to desire something, think about something and dream. In addition to liberation, of course. This event happened regardless of my efforts. And here is a goal that forced me to act, to move in a direction clearly set for myself. I needed, like air, the opportunity to be alone with her legally. To tell her everything that's going on in my soul.
At that time, I had already served two-thirds of my term and was going to parole. But thoughts about her occupied all my consciousness, and her image overshadowed even the approaching moment of meeting with the long-awaited freedom.
And finally, my first working day at the store came.
Her heart was beating wildly, ready to jump out of her chest. I was so afraid that I wouldn’t please her in some way, and she would fire me, so I tried my best. But everything went well, she even looked at me, drew attention.
Of course, at first I didn’t act in any way, didn’t show my feelings, but only carried out her instructions. Often I stayed late, instead of going to the barracks to rest after the afternoon check, which ended my working day, and helped her with the work that was no longer part of my duties.
But I was ready to be with her every second. I went crazy with her closeness as she passed by, enveloping me with her scent. From the mixture of her perfume and the feminine, only her inherent aroma, her head was spinning incredibly. And if we sometimes collided, in a corridor or a doorway, and she touched my hand, then this touch pierced me like a current. What I felt, how I wanted her, and what efforts I had to restrain myself, can only be imagined by a person who has not had a woman for more than five years. And she seemed to tease and turn me on on purpose. And then with curiosity looked at my torment. And at night I tossed and turned in the barracks for a long time and could not sleep, still feeling its aroma and remembering the sparks of curious teasing eyes.
She, of course, did not immediately begin to treat me favorably. Realizing that for the sake of this place I was ready for a lot, she herself often loaded me with her work, and seeing my complaisance, she got used to it so much that she already perceived it as my duty. I did almost everything for her, wrote reports, invoices, took orders, counted, accounted for, etc. There was enough work in the store. However, she did almost nothing. She just looked down at me with an interested look. I often left early.
Until one day the authorities unexpectedly appeared, at the moment when the working day had not yet ended, and she was already going home and leaving the store. They demanded an explanation from her, and she, as if nothing had happened, turned all the arrows on me and even began to run into me for no reason. For which I wrote her a hundred uphill, right under the leadership. I almost got fired because of her. But since she was not right, both got off with a light remark.
After this incident, she stopped sarcastic, teasing me and pointing out my place, reminding me who I am and who she is, and what powers she has, as she did with others. And if she loaded me with her work, then in a human way she normally asked for help. And I didn’t refuse, I was happy to be there, to be useful to her.
Well, the more time we spent together, the more we got to know each other. She turned out to be very curious, she asked a lot about me, my family, why I am in prison, how long, if I have anyone. I told her a lot about the fate of the people I encountered in prison and in the zone. There were many curious characters, with amazing stories. I kept my feelings hidden from her.
On especially difficult days, in gratitude for the work, she treated me to tea with something forbidden. It was warm and cozy in her back room. In the end, a certain barrier disappeared and more trusting conversations began. I began to unobtrusively look after her, either a bouquet on the territory of the Narva, or I’ll bring a skillful handicraft from local craftsmen. She was always childishly happy with each of my gifts. We approached quickly. We were irresistibly drawn to each other. But I was afraid to do something wrong. Frighten her away with your persistence. I could not understand how she would perceive the unambiguity of my courtship. What if he starts complaining? And then there is a 100% dismissal, and this is the deprivation of all the privileges that distinguish the work of an orderly. Up to the point that parole is covered. And if she does not run to the authorities, but does not meet me halfway, then this may later become a means of banal blackmail, and I did not want to cling to such a hook at all. And I waited. I was waiting for some signal from her that she did not mind. Waiting for the moment to open up to her. But the opportunity did not come soon.
It all happened on her birthday. In the morning I gave her a present - a large wooden chest with an intricate pattern, and on the inside of the lid her name and a few beautiful words. And she suggested in the evening, as always, to drink tea. But when I finished all the work and went into the back room, I was just stunned. The small table was bursting with various goodies, but its decoration was a bottle of homemade Sochi wine. She was so hospitable that I was even confused and shy from such generosity. But after a couple of glasses, the tension began to subside, and we chatted cheerfully to the dynamic sounds of modern rhythms, sounding from the speakers of a small radio. Then we changed the radio wave, and the small room was filled with pleasant lyrical music. The insidious southern drink turned out to be not so harmless. And I finally made up my mind. I invited her to dance.
Her palm was soft and cool. The fingers are so tender that I was afraid to hold her fragile hand in my large hardened palm. She clung to me with her whole quivering body, and I so wanted to touch my lips to the neck behind the ear, inhaling the smell of her hair. She felt that I was excited by her closeness, and she understood everything. And looking into her eyes, I immediately understood everything too. She won't push me away. She wants to get closer to me. And she loves my hugs.
This is where it broke me. I told her about love, about how long I wanted to tell her how beautiful she is and what she means to me. I wanted to be as gentle as possible, breaking down on her like a hungry beast was not in my rules. And I knew that I would have enough endurance and patience for this, because I was already sure that everything would work out for us. And we don't need to hurry. I was not afraid that suddenly someone would come in. I knew that she was sure when it was possible to allow it, otherwise there would be nothing, not even attempts.
I began to stroke her everywhere and kiss all available places, I enjoyed this long-awaited moment. Her long hair was silky wave wrapped around her figure, amazingly soft. At first, only through the clothes studied every curve of her body. And then slowly, very slowly, he began to take off her tight dress in order to get to know all the most inaccessible places of her beautiful body. And it beat and fluttered in my hands like a caught bird. How delightful she was, how frankly defenseless and open in a moment of intimacy. She gave herself to me with such passion, as if she had not had a man for many years. Later I noticed that she had always been like that. Feelings swept over her head, to the point of unconsciousness. Her ragged breathing and moans turned me on even more, but I prolonged her pleasure, not in a hurry to finish. I was in seventh heaven, several times feeling the contraction of her muscles. She finished a lot, violently and furiously. And after active actions, I did not live her in my arms for a long time. He stroked the velvety skin, radiating warmth that had become so familiar. Buried in fragrant hair. He enjoyed the contemplation of a naked body and could not get enough of it. I have never met such a woman before or since.
Since then, the government walls of the camp store have become my personal tiny paradise.
With me, her bitchiness disappeared completely, and with others she became calmer and let a lot go past her ears, knowing what awaits her in the evening. She turned out to be a very gentle and affectionate lover... Beloved! Her age and life experience were more of a help than a hindrance. She was in the prime of femininity and beauty. And she was already aware of her right to courage in intimate relationships. She was not modest in bed. Every time with a smile I remember her erotic fantasies and notions. Temperamentally, we were perfect for each other. And there was nothing inaccessible to us in those moments when the whole world focused on sensual caresses and was limited only by the size of a small sofa in the back room.
Our relationship continued for several months. Until somehow it all opened up. Who envied our love and pawned us, I could not figure out who. Although maybe for the better, otherwise he would have killed, you bastard. Okay, I lost my parole and was transferred back to work in my brigade. For such a malicious violation, to have a relationship with an employee, I got off lightly. She shielded me in front of the authorities. But she... What is it for her!
She didn’t quit right away, she kept going to the boss and asked for a long meeting, but they didn’t allow it, only if she quit. She had a choice - to stay at work, but never see me again, or dismissal, because her beloved is among the special contingent, and this is strictly prohibited, and she has no right to work in this colony.
I was forbidden to visit the store, I saw her only from afar ... how sad she was! I felt her tormented.
And finally, the day of her dismissal came. Somehow, she managed to arrange a short-term date on this very last day of hers. When we met, the joy was overwhelming. We said almost nothing to each other, only at first she tried to explain to me and justify herself that she had not told anyone anything. She, silly, thought that I could think of her! And I showered kisses on her face, her tear-stained eyes...
This was our last meeting. For some reason, at that moment, we both felt it, and were in a hurry to enjoy each other's breath, looks and touches at least a little. Have time to whisper the last time the words of love and devotion. And remember this whisper, keep it in the hidden corners of your hearts. Three hours of hugs flew by in an instant. And she flew away from them with the promise of an early meeting and long dates.
And then there was a rumor that she got a job in a store in another zone, and there she had an affair with the head of the colony. But I couldn't, didn't want to believe it. It's not about her, it's about someone else. Because this simply could never be! And I was waiting for her.
Until I received a letter from her... It shocked me. Turned my whole world upside down. And razed it to the ground. She was everything to me. She was my salvation. She became my death...
The signal to form pulled me from my memories. But thoughts about the letter continued to haunt the inflamed brain. No explanation, no excuse. Only three last words DON'T WAIT FOR ME...
March 2014
Reviews
I wrote to you in e-mail about my specialty, so you understand that it’s difficult for me to read without looking back at my experience :)
the syllable is beautiful, it is easy to read, it evokes different, contradictory emotions, but it evokes :) and mostly minor and positive ....
those who will read you - I'm sure they will like it ....
I liked it overall...
such a touching story about a man's love...
This list contains the best and most popular books about the prison and the zone that you should read if you are interested in this topic.
Sergey Dovlatov. Zone. Overseer's Notes
The story of Sergei Dovlatov "Zone" describes fourteen episodes from the life of prisoners and their guards. The book tells about being in prison and interacting with other prisoners. Dovlatov's language is simple and understandable, full of vital humor, behind which it is sometimes read that: "Hell is ourselves." Farther
There are two main characters in the book. Firstly, it is a social activist who fights for the rights of prisoners, and secondly, the story is about a meditation teacher, Fleet Mole, who describes the process of his transformation and about serving in the conditions of unfriendliness, anger and despair within the walls of a maximum security federal prison. This is a collection of articles, some of which have been published. All of them cover 14 years in prison. The history of Fleet is permeated with kindness, faith in the best and the victory of the human soul. The idea of the book really shows that in the nature of every person lies an inner goodness. Farther
The Green Mile is a famous novel by Stephen King. The reader will find himself in the walls of a terrible prison block of suicide bombers, including murderers, maniacs and psychopaths. All of them live here for the last days or even hours. The guards working in the prison are no better: sadists or desperate people. But unexpectedly in this frightening place is the kindest Leader who is able to work real miracles and heal. Is there a place for such a bright person in our ruthless and merciless world? Farther
"Seated Russia" tells about the prisoners of Russian prisons, correctional colonies and pre-trial detention centers. Absolutely different people are serving their sentences here: from the smart to the most inconsistent, wealthy and poor, honest and weak-hearted, guilty and innocent. They are the same as free people, as in life in the wild, there are laws and rules. “Don’t renounce money and prison” is the expression of the journalist Olga Romanova, which perfectly reflects the common truth of Russian life. Faced with this first hand, she organized a movement to help the convicts and their families. The characters in her book are living people who find themselves in front of the executioner in the face of Russian justice. Their real stories are able to touch to the depths of the soul, make them experience a whole palette of emotions, once again surprising by how much a real story can sometimes overshadow even the greatest fiction. Farther
At present, the proverb “do not renounce prison and scrip” has become a burning one, because anyone can be behind bars: a criminal, a millionaire, and the most ordinary person. The author of the book knows about prisons from his own experience, because the usual daily routine of a lawyer is as follows: in the morning - Butyrka, in the afternoon - Matroska, in the evening - Lefortovo. In his book, Valery Karyshev tells the reader about the most secret conspiracies, reveals the secrets, traditions and customs of Russian prisons, and how people live and die there. Farther
The book tells about the rapid turn of the fate of Timofey Feoktistov. The hero not only managed to fight off two guys with knives who caught him in the park, but also heaped on one of them so that he ended up in the hospital. Someone will say that he was just defending himself, and the investigation concluded that Timofey was the culprit of the fight, giving 3 years in prison. The time has come to go free, but Timothy is haunted by the question: who is the true culprit of his misfortune? Timothy begins his own investigation. He learns things from which goosebumps will run. Farther
For a long time, the former commando Rolan Tikhonov and the bandit Voloka met. After a while, Roland became a killer in a gang of authority. But, as you know, the life of an assassin is short, even if he leaves no traces. Once Volok ordered his buddies to kill a mercenary. But it turned out to be not so easy - Roland rebuffed them and ended up in the zone. After a while, he was released already an experienced predator. And the law of the predator is this: if a fight is inevitable, strike first. Farther
The book describes in detail prison traditions, laws, rules and life. The author, a doctor by education, knows this from his own experience, because he has been to 12 prisons in Russia. He went through fire and water as a beholder. In the book, the author shares his experience on how not to lose yourself in difficult circumstances. The philosophy of the prison will be useful information for those who have never been there, those whose loved ones have not gone to jail: about how to behave in prison, preserving honor and health, about thieves' concepts of how to behave in a cell, defend their point vision and what to do to the relatives of prisoners, the better to help the prisoner. Farther
Continuation of the first part of the book, which tells about shmons, stages of imprisonment and the National Bolsheviks (representatives of the prison who adhere to the National Bolshevik ideology). The commandments of the prisoner are described. For example, that the best solution is to refrain from tattoos. How to deal with gopniks. How to monitor your health using what is in the camera. Lozovsky reveals thieves', human and nasty concepts, a little about their history, philosophy and their paradox. Separately, tips are presented on how to behave if you landed in jail, on the first meeting with the law enforcement system. Farther
The collection of Fima Zhiganets "Prison Tales" has long been considered a rarity, because even with today's freedom of speech, publishers cannot decide to release this book. The collection is full of bright slang, obscene language and prison stories. Despite all this, in 2004 the story "Rafik the Dissident" nevertheless won the main prize of the Russian National Literary Network. You will not regret the time spent reading this book. Farther
The saga in six parts, which tells about the struggle between Colonel Belov and the dangerous Moscow criminal Alex Smolin, nicknamed the "Black Queen", has a completely different interpretation. The book completely reveals not only the characters of the main characters, but once again demonstrates the crushing victory of good over evil. The hero is on a life sentence in one of the closed prisons in Russia. Suddenly, in some magical way, Alex Smolin is free. Farther
The protagonist of the novel, a loser and a confusion, finds himself in a medical and labor dispensary, through which in 1964-1994, even according to the lowest estimates, about one and a half million people with alcohol addiction went through. In this place, they were subjected to compulsory treatment and ruthlessly used, most often for work in hazardous industries. However, this is not the main idea of the novel. The main attention is riveted to the inner world of a talented person, to the struggle for one's own survival and the acquisition of lost happiness. Farther
Recently, those stories have become popular that describe the current Russian business, the path of quiet laboratory heads to the chairs of millionaires. But sometimes it leads to a prison bed. Nevertheless, the history of prison Russia, which does not always correspond to the history of criminal Russia, worries the inhabitants of the country for some reason less. Amstislavsky tells in every detail what it is like to get into a modern prison environment. He also tells sometimes of absurd stories related to litigation and inhuman sentences, reminiscent of the works of Kafka and carried away to a country where Stalinism, judging by the prisons, is still alive and well. After reading his notes, the reader understands why international human rights societies have long considered life in Russian prisons and detention centers a real torment. However, Russians seem to think that our country is one big ward number 6 in a strict regime colony. And therefore we are imperturbable before this mockery of human dignity under the name "camera". Farther
They believed that they were captured by mistake, believing that, being civilians, they would be free. But everything turned out differently: they ended up in one of the most monstrous prisons in Iraq under the Baathist regime. Four young girls from Iran for 40 months, side by side, underwent inhuman tests, being subjected to severe torture. Dreaming of fresh air, they did not know anything about their relatives. Yet they managed to endure everything. The girls returned home, however, even after 30 years, they remember that painful time. In his documentary book, Masumeh Abad will tell everyone about it. Farther
Once Mikhail Khodorkovsky was one of the richest people in Russia, but suddenly he turned out to be her prisoner. His imprisonment in 2003 and subsequent conviction were crucial to the fate of Russia as it moved in the direction of suppressing free speech and entrepreneurship in order to create a police state. The authorities wanted to eliminate the businessman beyond their control, but instead received a symbol of freedom, iron will and faith in the values and views of democracy. This book is unique, because its author is Mikhail Khodorkovsky himself. For the first time in a long time, he decided to be honest about how things really were. How the youth center turned into the Menatep bank, and then Yukos. How the loans-for-shares auctions were held, and Yukos took the leading position in Russian and world business. And how later all this was destroyed - because Khodorkovsky, in the opinion of the authorities, interfered with it. Why didn't he leave, although there was an opportunity, why doesn't he get angry at those who are guilty of his suffering. What is life like in captivity? And how does he imagine the future of the country? Farther
Fraer is narrated in the first person. Describes the life of people behind bars. About the interaction of people in the zone, accepted customs and laws. Killers and people convicted of economic crimes, hardened criminals and those who went to prison through stupidity, thieves and those who want to improve are sitting in the same cell. Each of them is fighting for survival and their views. The book highlights their stories. Sometimes this book is difficult to read, but it does not explain how to survive in a Russian prison at all. It is about how to remain human in it. Recommended for young guys aged 16-20 who have not yet decided on their vocation and life path. Perhaps it will serve as a warning to those who doubt that a person has only one life that must be lived in such a way that, remembering it on your deathbed, you will not be ashamed of everything that happened to you. Farther
Quite by accident, Alex Dorokhov, a cartographer, ends up in B.U.N.K.E.R. - a team created by a government agency. Their tasks are difficult to understand, and one team member is more suspicious than the other. When the time came to take office, this event was marked by unexpected adventures, abruptly turning into hostilities somewhere in the dungeons of Moscow. Farther
Back in the days of the USSR, a strict regime colony was made in the old monastery. Those who were given capital punishment are serving their sentences in it - the leaders of criminal groups, the killers behind whom there are hundreds of crimes. But even in this God-forgotten place, there is a bit of ordinary life. The head of the prison church, Father Pavel, is trying his best to convince maniacs and monstrous murderers to change and repent. In the past, a distinguished serviceman of the special forces, who tested himself in hot spots, Father Pavel promised not to kill people. But when information about the imminent escape of a dangerous criminal reaches him, he suddenly realizes that he will have to break a promise. Farther
In the criminal world, everyone knows the Matrosskaya Tishina pre-trial detention center, but only the most distinguished ones end up there. The leader of the Moscow organized crime group of "green" mercenaries Kurdyumov was sent to a special block - a place with the most serious security in the isolation ward. The "Greens" eliminated the leaders of groups and thieves in law, objectionable to influential people. Kurdyumov has not yet been sentenced, but it is already clear that he will be behind bars for a long time, dangerous people are looking for him, whose friends and comrades have been removed by the Greens. Kurdyumov knows that in the special block he is protected by the walls and employees of the detention center, but his enemies have their own ways. Farther
The author of this documentary novel is not only a skilled writer, but also an interesting personality. He was born in Armenia and was once sentenced to death, which was then revised in favor of life imprisonment. The writer will frankly tell the story of his life, about how he, finding himself in a hopeless situation, was able to engage in spiritual enlightenment and even return to the Hindu religion of his ancestors. The novel is based on real events. This book is the only one of its kind, it will reveal to the reader the features of prison life, which only prisoners know about. Farther
There is some kind of dark humor in this - in the “Stops” section, which is about interesting places and sights, publish a story about life in prison. Well, where else to put it, on the other hand? In their life journey, no one seeks to make such a stop, but many have to, and these are not only villains and bandits. Our interlocutor Alexei (name changed) is neither a thief nor a murderer, nor a rapist nor a swindler. A young Russian guy who, as it happened, has been serving a term in one of the Russian colonies on a strict regime for the fourth year already. About how he lives behind bars and whether there is any benefit from such a life, he told the “Passenger” - by the way, risking his own safety.
Connection with will, or 15 days for "VKontaktik"
Of course, we are forbidden to conduct correspondence on the network. If one of the employees finds out about this interview, I will be waiting for 15 days in the ShIZO (penaltyapprox. "Passenger" ) and a serious raid in order to pick up all the "extra". After all, we should not have access to the Internet and mobile communications at all. For calls, you can use the machine, now they are in every barracks - it's called Zonatelecom. You draw up a card (you can virtually from the outside, the main thing is to have a pincode) and call, but only those numbers that are indicated in the application are available, and it must first be certified. Plus letters and dates. You can use only these tools, but why, when there are phones and smartphones? Of course, the situation with mobile communication in camps around the country is different, but to one degree or another it is available everywhere. And this is not only a convenience, but also a business.
We are not obliged to keep under constant supervision 24 hours a day, no guards will be enough for this. This is possible when kept in cells, but not in camps. But mass events - trips to the dining room, divorce, etc. - are under the control of employees. In addition, they go around all the facilities (shops, detachments, any places of work) several times a day, plus they regularly conduct searches, planned and optional. So, when using the phone, you need to be alert. Ideally, watch the entrance through the window. There are special people in the detachments for this who, for cigarettes or something like that, “sit on the chip” all day long. When an employee approaches, you immediately hide the phone - not in your pocket, of course, but where they can’t find it in the event of a raid. For this, triggers are being prepared (caches -approx. "Passenger" ) in advance.
Life in the zone: expectations and reality
It's definitely not like in the movies. I myself thought that I would have to fight from the first day. When I was coming here, I mentally prepared myself, but it turned out that I didn’t need to. So far, he has seriously swung only once, the rest - in sports sparring. Oh, well, I also beat a rooster with a stick, but that's for the cause. Quite the opposite, you can't fight. Yes, it all depends on the situation, but there is a risk of running into a showdown with thieves - for lawlessness. Here, any measures must be justified and approved. When I had to fight, I was sure that the person would not go anywhere to endure it, everything was honest. And if you know that someone will go to thieves or garbage, it's better to just calm down. I generally do not like to resolve conflicts by force, but I confess that sometimes I want to when I get tired of everything and everyone. If the garbage finds out about the collision, they will not investigate, but, most likely, they will send both of them to the ShIZO, and who needs it? And it's not even about the conditions in the ShIZO, what's the difference, 15 days from the whole term is nothing. The reason is that this is recorded in the file, and many, including me, want to leave on parole, and such records do not help at all.
As for the thieves, they can give a few breams, or they can be seriously beaten, it happens. They pull them up to talk, and if the conversation doesn’t make any sense, then they simply fill it with stools and arches from beds to fractures, etc. But this is for serious reasons. Those who pull drugs in illegal ways, say, through a transmission window, or barry without permission, or gamble and do not repay debts, are at risk.
If the conversation does not come out of sense, then they simply clog with stools and arches from beds to fractures.
Concepts, of course, live, but they are needed to maintain internal order, otherwise there will be just chaos. If the actions do not have consequences, then the convicts will begin to substitute each other with their actions and complicate their lives. So there are snoops, and roosters (including "opened ones"), and rats - but these categories appeared long before the appearance of concepts and Russian prisons in general. Snoops usually either tend to “stick” to someone, behave like this all the time in life, or pay for their own stupidity - debts. Roosters are mostly rapists, pedophiles, perverts, everything is clear here. And than open hatred for them, let them clean the toilets and sweep the streets. There are those who are unlucky - they “extinguished”, that is, chifir with a rooster. Or they took a cigarette from him, or shook hands, or touched someone's penis, or in some other way. Well, it's your own fault, you have to keep an eye on such things. Rats and bitches choose their own path, and this should not be allowed to remain without consequences. And all this is determined here, in captivity. That is, no one keeps track of your previous biography at large, and in prison you always have a chance to live like a human being (unless you are a pedophile). The rest is best left to yourself. For example, it's technically possible to fuck a cock, but I think that the desire to fuck another man in the ass is homosexual in itself, so I don't do it myself.
About the camp authorities
As for how they break about coming to the camp: now there is no such thing here. You either accept the rules and get settled, or, if you deny it, you end up in a ShIZO. Although this is nonsense compared to the past. They can, of course, give bream sometimes, but the employees are also updated, the old-school cruel bosses are leaving. In general, camps in this area were broken 6-7 years ago. Before that, there was an “acceptance” when they fucked right away so that they understood where they got into. But then the situation was different: drugs, booze, tracksuits for everyday life, everyone put a dick. With the new government, everything has become stricter in terms of the regime, but at the same time without tinnyness from the administration.
They address convicts mainly as you, although there are exceptions. Some are very serious about this and are always on you with the convicts, but these are isolated cases. The authorities (that is, the administration - majors, lieutenant colonels, colonels) are quite arrogant in relation to the majority of prisoners. And in general, they prefer to communicate with prisoners through the caretakers, and they often use this for their own purposes. Those who are lower in rank - the keymen (they are also security guards), some commanders of the detachments - they behave more simply. Here it’s how it will turn out, with everyone it’s different - with someone it’s just on you, but with someone it’s completely familiar. Over time, they have something like a professional deformation - they become like prisoners, only in uniform.
Occupational Deformation: Guards look like convicts, only in uniform.
About red and black zones. Roughly speaking, they differ in that on the Reds, the real power is in the hands of the garbage, and on the Blacks, the thieves determine the orders. My zone is red, that is, the main thing is to observe the regime or the laws of common sense. Although there are thieves here, and they have their own weight: they resolve some conflicts between prisoners, they monitor the general game and the observance of unofficial laws and rules. Another thing is that they are all tied up with garbage and, if necessary, solve problems together, because both of them want to live in comfort.
About the camp hierarchy
Each facility in the zone has a responsible convict and a responsible officer. Formally, such convicts (goats, caretakers, hillocks) are not endowed with power, but in fact they have both privileges and power. They are closer to the staff than the rest, often communicate with the head of the colony and his deputies. In addition to bonuses, they bear responsibility and obligations, including financial ones. So, all repairs are carried out at the expense of convicts, the administration is not inclined to spend money on this. There were many scandals related to these things, I will not go into details ... And how the goat / supply manager / hillock will organize the work process and the financial flow is his concern. As well as the situation at the facility. I myself, although not a goat, invested in repairs at my jobs. It is simply necessary to do something, but you do something for yourself, for a more comfortable existence. For example, I perform in a club, play the guitar, we have a full-fledged team here, we have all the instruments, but where would these instruments and equipment come from? We brought everything ourselves or those who worked here before. Something from home, friends or relatives bought something. And if nothing is being repaired or brought in, then the administration will definitely notice this. And either directly indicate this to the supply manager, or simply remove him and put another one.
Day after day
A typical day depends on whether you work or not. If you sit all day in the detachment, then there is little variety: you go outside for checks, visit the canteen, sometimes a bathhouse, a library or a gym. The rest of the time - reading, sleeping, watching TV, sorting out relationships, playing games, hanging on the Internet, whoever is in what much. I work, so I don’t go to the detachment so much, mostly in the morning and in the evening. I live in lighter conditions of detention, I sleep on a single-tiered shkonar and not in a huge section, but in a small cabin with a TV. At 6 in the morning we were already standing with the whole detachment on the street - such exercises, or morning formation. Then the usual morning chores - wash up, go to breakfast or cook something for yourself in the food room (“kisharka”). Then - either a divorce and a job, or a morning check. My job is not dusty, I'm in the volunteer fire department. Sometimes training alarms, sometimes repairs, but mostly I go about my business: reading, sports, chess, etc. Plus - lunch and another check. In the evening, in the detachment, you can watch TV (I didn’t do this in the wild, but somehow it turns out by itself), but it’s better to watch something from a flash drive, if there is one. If I don't go to work, I spend time at the club: rehearsals or anything else: books, sports, coffee, stupid things. The choice is not so great.
Holidays in the zone are celebrated, but not too varied. On your birthday - chifir, tea, coffee and sweets. On New Year's Eve, the lights out are usually shifted, you can sit for up to an hour or two, make salads. Everything is almost as usual, only without alcohol and adventures, so there is nothing to talk about.
Notable events are, as a rule, someone's failures. Only yesterday someone strangled himself because of debts.
Accidents happen, but I don’t remember anything good. Notable events are, as a rule, someone's failures. Only yesterday someone strangled himself because of debts. This happens, in my memory they have already hung themselves a couple of times, all because of debts, usually gaming ones. People sit down to play, having no money to pay, but the excitement takes its toll. They jumped twice from a window on the third floor (there is simply no higher), but without a fatal outcome - they simply broke. One due to debts, the other, it seems, just a cap drip. One died of stomach cancer, was taken out of the zone just a few hours before death. Before that, they were taken out for treatment, but something was not treated right. Well, on trifles, it happens that goats get into trouble, this is also interesting, but only if you cook in this mess. Garbage also gets into such situations, key keeper was caught carrying and using drugs, with the resale of selected phones. The authorities get bigger, their own security is hunting for them. For example, they got stuck in the export of building materials, in fraud with batches of phones. Yes, and the head of the prison can be arrested, I think. Anyone has something. Sometimes convicts with drugs are also on fire. Usually they come across when they share with someone - everything is free.
Since this is a strict regime, they are sitting here mainly for the sale of drugs and murders (intentional and not). 10-15 percent - the rest of the articles, there are even a few bribe-takers. As for typical categories, I'm not sure, but I'll try to highlight a few.
Blue warrior - there are enough of them, these are those who killed someone in a fight or something like that on the blue bench. Nothing interesting, many people in our country can fall into this category sooner or later.
Old bandit - those who have been in prison for 10-20 years, and maybe not so long ago, but for typical crimes of the nineties and zero years - murders, banditry, possession of weapons, kidnappings, etc. Many of them are interesting to talk to. In general, you somehow expect that a bandit can be immediately distinguished, but in reality everything is not so. Ordinary people, often even intelligent ones.
An ordinary Tajik - someone for robbery or murder, but mostly for manipulating heroin, this is their topic. Everyone, as a rule, did not know anything, they were asked to keep them or take them away, and other nonsense.
Best of all in prison for those who have been in prison since their youth and do not know another life.
A pensioner - old people are also sitting, they are trying to shove them into a bunch in one detachment, such as a nursing home for the disabled.
Drug addicts and hucksters can be conditionally divided into "old-school heroin addicts" and "pepsicol New Ageers", well, that's right, it's easy to laugh. There are many people who are imprisoned for murder, but if they hadn't been imprisoned, someday they would have been imprisoned for drugs.
But - I repeat - in general, your article for the life here means nothing (if it is not rape). People are all different, and here everyone also behaves differently, which is why it is customary to look at actions, and not at the past.
Best of all in prison for those who have been in prison since their youth and do not particularly know another life. So there's really nothing to compare with. They develop all the necessary qualities for a successful life in prison - their own special morality, in which the one who achieves his goal by any means is at his best. And if we talk about the warehouse of character, then it would be best for a calm person who understands that there is no point in rushing anywhere. Too cheerful and sociable can quickly find comrades, or they can get into an uncomfortable position - say too much, fall for a provocation. Some are too nervous and worried, it is especially difficult for such people in the zone. Others see their emotions and add fuel to the fire, tease, purely for fun. But it is seriously difficult to communicate with such sufferers, because they are trying to explain all their worries to you, but who needs it? Here, everyone has their own problems. Aggressive characters also will not benefit from their character, conflicts have consequences. It is best to stay calm and act according to the situation, not to hope for a miracle, so as not to get upset. Certainly you should not think about justice, it should not be sought in prison. If you seek the truth in prison, you will be quickly besieged.
What are the convicts talking about
Everyone is talking about the same thing - who cares what, well, the news of the zone, of course, are discussed. As for give a damn - I'm not strong in it, somehow I live normally without it. So all the most common things come to mind: bunk, shlenka, dalnyak, office, rat. Fuck knows, I'm not too interested, and there is no strong need. For those who are interested, I recommend finding a dictionary, there are some, I read it myself. I remember being surprised at the existence of a verb that means “to jump out of a car on the move”, I don’t remember the word itself. It used to be a really separate language. Here is one more observation: already during the term, I often met the word “zashkvar”, “zashkvarit” on the Internet, but in the zone or in the pre-trial detention center I never heard it at all, literally zero times. We use the word "quench" here. If something is extinguished, then no one, except for roosters, can touch this object, this is understandable.
I have never heard the words “zashkvar”, “zashkvarit” in the zone or in the pre-trial detention center.
Another stereotype about prison life is tattoos. Yes, it is. They beat, and they beat everything in a row, it all depends on the desire and on the skills. As for themes and plots - somewhere, maybe in a different way, but with us - hit whatever you want, within reason. The application technique is the same as in the wild, only home-made machines. It’s easy to do, I’ll assemble it myself without any problems: a motor (for example, from a drive), a body from a regular handle, a frame made of wood, aluminum or anything, a string, a power supply or a phone charger, an adjustable resistor (optional), a pair of rubber bands, glue . All this in our time is easy to collect even in the zone. Someone hits on the prison theme: rings, a game mess, icons. I met both SS and swastikas from those who previously “denied” (in my opinion, not the best idea for a tattoo), all sorts of inscriptions “goth mit uns”, “only God be my judge” - these are all classics. Someone beats whatever comes to mind - as if at will.
Is everything in prison true or myth?
You can often hear that money, drugs, and alcohol are quite affordable in the zone. In general, this is true, again depending on where. Money is not a problem now, before it had to be dragged in, hidden, but now all calculations are electronic - you start a qiwi wallet and that's it. If there is Internet, then you translate yourself, if not, you call home and ask to translate. There are also plenty of sharpeners, you need to cut them with something, naturally they swindle them, but it’s not that they are directly hunted, it seems that convicts don’t cut each other. They make alcohol themselves, they make mash, they make moonshine, I don’t do this, it’s too troublesome, and if they find it, I’ll have to go to the ShIZO, but I don’t want to drink that much. Drugs are not exactly there, rather they are. Sometimes someone gets involved with them, sometimes with hashish, sometimes with heroin. Not very often, these are personal initiatives, and moreover, they do not always add a deadline for this, although this also happens. But the risk is still not justified. I had a chance to get drunk during the term - several times with candies with THC from California, smoked Garika once and ate several nutmegs once. But I do not aspire to this, and the last time was a long time ago. This is not at all the same as in the wild. The environment here is, to put it mildly, gloomy and depressing, and when you're tipsy, paranoia and all that prevails. Well, fuck him, he didn’t get caught and that’s good.
How time has changed me
I have more time. I spend it on sports, self-development, reading. Plus, I box, learn languages, do music, even juggle a little, so I learned something, this is definitely a positive side. In terms of spiritual change, it's hard to say. Maybe I've calmed down. Perhaps now I care less about the opinions of others. It seems like I know what I want from life, and there are some plans, but it will all be clear when I am free. He must have become more patient. But it’s like with appearance - when you see yourself in the mirror every day, it’s not so easy to notice how you have changed in a few years, so I see myself and my thoughts every day, and it’s not for me to judge how I have changed or not.
And the fact that correctional colonies do not correct anyone is a fact, nothing is being done for this in our country, this is only punishment. Everything ultimately depends on you. If you want to change your life, then you will correct in yourself what you consider necessary, and if you are only able to complain about circumstances, then nothing will help you.
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