The train had been crawling for six weeks now, and they—unkempt, unwashed—were now being tormented by lice that had multiplied in abundance. There was simply no escape from these creatures. All of this, together with the fear of what awaited them, exhausted their bodies and souls, paralyzed their will. No one really knew what awaited them where they were being taken. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the men's reaction to Vanya's next proposal to pray to God for the salvation of their souls was not one of irritation but of outright, unified anger against him. And had they still possessed any strength, they could have beaten him. But they had no strength. They had just enough to verbally pour out all that had accumulated—the injury, the bitterness, the awareness of their own helplessness—upon someone as defenseless as themselves. And the fact that the smallest and most wretched among them was trying to comfort them only provoked greater irritation. The general sentiment came down to this: if God truly existed, how could He have allowed such a disaster to befall them? This was hell on earth, they said.
"There you go again with your God," flashed one man near him. "And this is after everything they're doing to us here! Just shut up, you prayer-monger."
"Don't confuse us, boy," another chimed in. "There was no God and there isn't one. But Satan—he exists! This devil sits in every guard. Just look closely and you'll see."
"Look at this: his friend already kicked the bucket, and he's about to too, but he still keeps talking! Look at him—he's going to save someone else," a third said barely audibly with a sneer. "Why don't you go far away… s-savior."
Only David attempted to smooth over the conflict—the same man who had supported him the first time. He sat leaning his back against the wall of the car and gazed sadly at both Ivan's opponents and at Ivan himself.
"Don't argue, men," he said in a conciliatory tone. "God may exist, but not for our honor. Perhaps your God doesn't care about us, Vanya, perhaps He doesn't. And how could He be here anyway?"
"God is always with us. He is everywhere where His…" Ivan began in a desperate attempt to reach them. And he stopped short when he saw David desperately wave his hand and put a finger to his lips.
"Don't, son, don't talk about God," he whispered barely audibly. "Not now. It's not the time. But you… You—pray quietly, if you really want to. The Bible, I think, says that one should pray in secret. Not for show, that is. So you pray. And pray for us too. No one here will be against that."
Vanya did not argue. He began to pray. For everyone.
On the second or third day after this conversation (and it was the evening before November 6th, a holiday) the train finally arrived at its destination station and stopped near the gates of the notorious Ivdellag, located in the north of Sverdlovsk Oblast. However, the order to unload came only after the guards made lengthy preparations, forming a kind of "corridor" from each car to the very gates. When it became clear that few of the arrivals were in any condition to leave the cars independently, the guards placed two or three boards at each opening, constructing something like ramps. Even the seasoned camp guards were shocked as they watched the emaciated people tumble down these boards like shapeless bundles, and then those who could still move crawled toward the camp gates on all fours through the loose snow. Those who did not rise and showed no signs of life were dragged by the guards and piled onto sleds that stood nearby.
"Idiots!" the camp's guard commander, Captain Zimin, cursed at the top of his voice. "What have you brought me?" he shouted at the guards who had accompanied the cars. "What? Workers?! You call these ghosts workers? We put better-looking corpses in coffins! What am I supposed to do with them? We were expecting labor, and you've brought dying cripples. Look there, look!" he grew more and more heated, pointing at another man lying motionless below. "Another dead one! Didn't you feed them at all on the way? I'll have you all brought to trial!"
The commander was clearly playing to his audience—at least let those who remained alive hear that someone cared about them. He looked around and sternly called out to the guard supervising the unloading.
"Sergeant! State your name!"
"Sergeant Kobylkin, Comrade Captain," the man saluted smartly.
"Where is your commander?"
"He'll be here soon! Comrade Major is with the train commander." And he brightened immediately. "And here he comes now! Speak of the devil."
"What's all this noise about, no fighting?" the arriving major joked and seemed surprised. "Don't you recognize your own, Zimin? My, my. That's not right."
"Yasha! Serov!" Zimin embraced the major with genuine joy. "How many years, how many winters!"
"Ah, you didn't forget. Well then. But you kicked up quite a fuss. 'Trial and retrial!'"
"Well, this… you see… Like snow from the sky!" Zimin justified himself. "And besides: you—and all this," he gestured at the crawling laborers. "It doesn't quite add up. But never mind. Tell me, what brings you here?"
"It's a long story, Captain. And not here."
"Of course, Yasha. Let's go to my place. I'll just quickly…"
"We've brought you something," the major interrupted him and nodded to the soldier standing behind him. "Tell him about the gifts, Savely."
"Yes, sir!" the soldier eagerly saluted and, throwing off the tarp from the sled he was pulling, revealed two large bags.
"This was sent to you from home," the major explained. "I'm sure you can guess who. Your beloved wife, of course. So take it."
"From home," the captain sighed. "Ah, those were the days. They didn't forget, then. The difficult years." And to the soldier: "You there… what's your name? Savely? Take the bags to headquarters. Over there, through the gates. They'll show you where…"
"Don't you want to stay until the unloading is finished?" the major interrupted again, surprised. "Keep in mind, we've got at most an hour. After that we'll need to…" And, leaning closer, he whispered something in the captain's ear.
"Well, that's quite different then," Zimin's face broke into a smile. "Such a guest comes first!" Still, he hesitated. "But how can I leave all this?"
"Kobylkin will handle it here," the major reassured him. "Without us. It's not his first time, and you need to preserve your nerves."
And both, now paying no attention whatsoever to the sad scene—the arrivals huddled at the door of one of the barracks (someone had died right at the entrance, causing congestion)—strode briskly toward the camp gates. What happened to that commandant who, moments before, had been angrily expressing concern about his new charges? Now, seeing them, he swore roundly and, taking the sled from the shuffling Savely, ordered him to "call a couple of guards and scatter these clumsy Germans." He and the major then proceeded to the headquarters barrack.
The arriving guards quickly dispersed the "traffic jam" that had formed at the doors and, herding everyone inside (how they did it, we leave to the readers' imagination), just as quickly left the barrack, disgustedly brushing off their clothes to avoid the possible "relocation" of lice to themselves. They didn't even count the surviving men by head, as camp procedure actually required. But there was no time for that!
Vanya, who had made his way into the barrack before the congestion formed, with difficulty but nonetheless managed to climb onto the bunks and, closing his eyes, began to pray. He did not see David Kranz appear beside him, only heard his feverish whisper right in his ear. Apparently, David was genuinely delighted by such proximity.
"Vanya, you made it! Well, bravo. I lost sight of you, and I sinfully thought that you… well, you know."
"Uncle David!" Ivan was equally delighted. "Is that you! I was praying for you—and here you are!"
"Thank you, Vanya. It's good that you don't lose faith in God."
"And you, Uncle David? Do you believe that God exists?"
"Later, about me, later," David mumbled wearily. "I'll tell you sometime, if we both survive. I think now we should survive. But did you see how many of our kind were left there, by the cars? That's the thing. Death, Vanya, doesn't discriminate; it mows everyone down indiscriminately: both those with God in their soul and those without. And suddenly he asked: "Pray for me again, Vanya, and I'll listen. I need this very much, but I'm not very good with words. And when I get emotional, I can't put two words together."
"And you repeat after me, and you'll manage," the boy encouraged him, and despite encroaching drowsiness, began to pray softly.
"Heavenly Father," David murmured, but fell silent immediately. By the end of the prayer, he was already sleeping, lying on his back, breathing loudly and laboredly.
Vanya turned him onto his side and paused, looking at the soldiers lying on the floor in awkward positions; they had not been able to climb onto the bunks and, instantly exhausted by the warmth, had fallen asleep beside them. They all lay on their backs for some reason; he gazed at their faces and suddenly understood with terrible clarity that none of them would ever wake again. The sight, now so commonplace, did not disturb him but rather enveloped his entire being in the mournful awareness of his own helplessness. A sorrowful sigh—Lord, have mercy!—and he himself fell into deep, troubled sleep.
In the morning, shortly before reveille, several more corpses were carried out of the barrack.
