Everything turned out as David had foreseen. The next day, the distribution took place, and he was immediately hired to work in the carpentry shop, which was located outside the camp zone. A few other fortunate souls with special skills (electricians, locksmiths, welders) were separated from the main contingent, while all the others faced forestry work. Since most of the labor conscripts were older than twenty-five, the thin, adolescent-looking Ivan was without further question assigned to "light labor" in a brigade of minors. The work consisted of harvesting birch bark and weaving bast shoes from it. An elderly Finnish instructor taught the weaving craft, explaining the entire process from bark harvesting to shoe-making. First, of course, one had to fell a birch tree in the forest, let it thaw by a fire, then saw it, and only then strip the necessary bark. Tree bark becomes so thick by winter that one can get up to seven strips of birch bark from it. It was so snow-white and pliable that Vanya wrote a letter on one such "sheet," fashioned a triangle-shaped envelope, and addressing it from memory (the one that had been on a letter received once in Sparrau), sent it to his father, who was in one of the camps in the Komi ASSR. However long he waited, no reply came from his father, and thinking he had gotten the address wrong, he wrote no more. It was only many years later that it became clear that Bernhard had indeed received that letter and immediately replied to his son. But his reply never reached Ivan: the letter, written on real paper, turned out to be quite suitable for rolling into a "goat's leg" cigarette, and most likely the smokers smoked it. And Bernhard, receiving no further word from Ivan, concluded what could only be concluded in that memorable year—that his only son had died of starvation. And he would struggle, barely coping with the grief that had befallen him. Only twenty years later, separated from his son, would the father learn that Ivan was alive, and would experience shock once more, nearly suffering a heart attack. But this time from joy.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves; meanwhile, Ivan was mastering the art of weaving bast shoes. He had to weave three pairs a day. Besides the minors in the brigade, there were also completely infirm men—the dying—who were no longer good for anything else. Yet even here they didn't last long, departing one after another to the other world. Compassionate Annie, as the Finn was called, could only sigh sorrowfully at each loss of her ward, and having no way to ease the labor of the elderly, helped the minors with all her effort to meet their quota, to support them somehow. After all, failure to meet the quota meant a cut to the already meager rations of a conscript, and this led to starvation. Gradually they settled into the work, and nearly all survived the first harsh winter.
Ivan survived it too. His felt boots, a gift from David in early December, helped him greatly. David, in turn, had received them as a gift from one of the bosses for whom he had made furniture for his home, and since he, working in the workshop, didn't need them much, he gave them to Ivan. For all the time afterward, they rarely saw each other, and only in passing. There was no time for conversation. Trouble awaited the boy at the end of an unusually prolonged spring, even for this harsh region, when in one night everything around began to thaw. From early morning there was still a weak frost, but then such a dazzling May sun warmed the earth that the snow drifts, gleaming white, by noon had turned black with pockmarks, yawned with crevasses, and from beneath them burst forth, rushed, and babbled merry streamlets. And all of them strove from the forest onto the main road, along which machines transported the prepared logs, and men walked twice a day: to work and from work. In a matter of hours, the shallow ditches along the roadside turned into channels overflowing with meltwater, and rolling across the entire road surface, they mixed the lying, compacted snow—pressed down by tire and sled runner—into an incredible slush. And this snowy mush flew in all directions from under the wheels, squelched under the feet of men returning from work, soaking through their simple, primitive footwear in every sense. Ivan's good felt boots were no exception; the very ones that had served him so well in bitter frost now swelled with moisture in an instant, and the next day he couldn't get out of bed due to a critically high fever. Soon a reddish rash spread across his entire body, and with suspected typhus, he was taken to the infirmary. However, a week later he was discharged back to work; a doctor from the city had diagnosed him with ordinary fever, or some variety of it, and that very evening sent him out of the hospital so he could make it to dinner in the cafeteria. And there, in the cafeteria, he completely unexpectedly saw Krantz, who stood at the serving window overseeing order and food distribution. He also noticed Ivan and waved invitingly: come here, Vanya! And quickly, quickly. He bent to the serving hatch.
"Robert, this is my son, the one I told you about," Krantz said to the cook in a low voice. "Give him an extra helping, chief."
The same thing happened the next morning at breakfast before work. And for almost another half month, he helped Ivan, feeding him with what he managed to sneak out of the cafeteria. For this, after work, he had to run to his barracks for a few minutes. David himself insisted on this. Oh, what needed support it was, for after treatment the boy was still very weak, and only because of this chance circumstance did he "get back on his feet." But only Krantz considered their encounters accidental (due to a temporary halt in carpentry work, he had been transferred to the kitchen just a day before Ivan's early discharge from the infirmary), whereas Ivan himself had no doubt that it was God's providence. Though there was still no time for conversation on this topic, or indeed any other. They managed to talk in more detail only much later, at the very beginning of autumn. Then Vanya ran to the workshop on an errand from his supervisor Annie and, having delivered her order, took advantage of a free moment.
"This is all God's doing, Uncle David," he earnestly persuaded his senior companion. "Both that the doctor came from the city and that you were transferred to the cafeteria. And I was discharged early too. And if the doctor hadn't come when he did, I would have lain there another half month, and you would already be back in your carpentry shop, not in the kitchen. Isn't that so?"
Krantz only shook his head with a benevolent smile.
"God is everywhere with you, Vanya. No, I'm not arguing. Maybe that's so, but I look at things more simply and think that we were both just very lucky."
"Both?" Vanya asked slyly.
"Of course."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that, yes. Do you want to know why me too? Because I…" David looked around, and although there was no one but them in the workshop, he lowered his voice. "You told me once about an apostle, remember? The one who said that faith and works both please God, right? That faith without works is dead and all that. Don't think I'm forgetful—I remembered that well. But what good can be done here when our opportunities are few and far between, as you yourself know. That's why I think I was lucky, since I got the chance to do a good deed. Yes, now I have something to tell God; like I'm not coming to Him empty-handed."
"But that's what I'm saying!" Ivan beamed. "Everything is right. Everything is just as I described to you. The Lord Himself provided this opportunity. But God accepts a sinner as he is—whether with full or empty hands—and then makes him into another person, reborn to new life. It is already through faith in Him that a person performs good deeds. In any case, he should perform them. And the Lord will ask the person, already as God's child, for this."
"No, Vanya, God has nothing to do with it," Krantz persisted. "He can't keep watch over all of us; otherwise there wouldn't be such a deadly plague. Look how many of our kind have already gone and continue to go. God can't assign a helper to each of us. Well, I myself looked for a way to help you. I saw back in the wagon how you worried for your friend and how you prayed for him, and I understood that you could be trusted. And then I was convinced that if something happened to me, you wouldn't forget old Krantz in your prayers. That, Vanya, is what matters to me! Because no matter how hard I try, I can't pray myself. I've told you this many times. Sometimes I only think about it, and something inside prevents it. It's like someone is discouraging me from prayer. And sometimes it twists everything inside me." David shook his head sadly. "My time hasn't come yet. God hasn't forgiven my sins."
"It's Satan opposing your prayer, not God," Ivan said confidently. "And he twists it because he doesn't want to let go of whom he considers his slave."
"But how am I his slave?" David protested. "I don't agree. Somehow or other, I did go to church."
"You did go. But since you still haven't repented, you're not yet God's child. And God calls sinners to Himself in order to forgive the one who comes and repents. Christ said: 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest' (Matthew 11:28)."
"Look at that," David said sadly, shaking his head. "As for 'heavy laden'—that's exactly us."
"That's for everyone who comes to Him in repentance," Ivan corrected.
"That's where doubt tears at me," Krantz said with quiet bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders. "On the one hand, when I went to church, it was clear whom to confess to, before whom to make confession: there's the icon, there's the priest. But on the other hand, the example of Yegor. Without any priest, he repented and told me to. I have this feeling, Vanya, like I'm going around the same circle as I did on the White Sea Canal."
They didn't have time to finish that conversation, as a messenger arrived in the workshop with a summons for David to see the authorities. But his sad demeanor and guilty smile lingered long before Ivan's eyes, evoking vague, troubled presentiments. After that conversation, they hardly saw each other, and when on a rare free day (once a month) the cook beckoned him with signs in the cafeteria, Vanya immediately understood: trouble had come. It was a frosty December, and a cold had laid low many of the conscripts.
"Your father is in the infirmary," the cook confirmed. "Something dangerous with his lungs. Worse than inflammation. Some kind of abscess. Anyway, come by here this evening. You'll bring him something. I would have sent someone else, but he asked to speak with you. Can you?"
Ivan nodded mechanically, and without saying a word, trudged sorrowfully to the barracks.
...That evening, after the last conscript had left the cafeteria, cook Robert supplied him with a three-liter bucket containing a good portion of pea soup and handed him something wrapped in cloth.
"There's a heel of bread," he said quietly. "Tuck it in your shirt so they don't take it on the way. This isn't the half that they give everyone; it's real, fragrant bread; and though it's already dark, the overseers will smell it from a mile away" (by "overseers" he meant all the guards). "They can take it, depending on who you run into. They might pour out the soup too. Well, since it's not allowed. Anyway, you understand, right?"
Ivan understood. And with all precautions, he reached the infirmary. The orderly on duty let him into David's ward without any questions. That is, the head cook had arranged everything here too.
David greeted Ivan with a quiet joyful exclamation, sat up in bed, and swinging his legs to the floor, leaned on the nightstand beside him. Pale and emaciated, with sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes—one look was enough to understand how seriously ill he was. The ward was empty except for him.
"Here, Vanya," he muttered shamefacedly instead of a greeting. "As you can see…"
"I see, Uncle David, I see. But we all get sick, and we all recover." Ivan set the bucket on the nightstand by the bed and unwrapped the cloth. The ward instantly filled with the fragrant aroma of rye bread. "Look what I brought you."
"Bread," Krantz said, tenderly stroking the heel. "Well, thank Robert for me."
"I will. And you, come on, eat the soup."
"Right, now," Krantz opened the nightstand, took out a bowl, and poured all the liquid into it, saying, "The broth for your father, that is, me. That's the main part, after all. And the solids—for the son, that is, you." And he handed the bucket with the remaining dregs to Ivan. "Need a spoon?"
"Uncle David," Ivan said reproachfully, "you need it more right now…"
"Take it, take it. I'm not hungry. They feed us better here than in the cafeteria. But this broth, with such bread, with great pleasure. Go on, go on, eat."
"Well, all right," Ivan agreed. "Then shall we pray?"
"Of course, Vanya. Pray for the bread and for me."
And while Ivan prayed, David listened with a sad expression, sighed, and nodded in agreement.
"Yes, Lord, yes. Everything will be according to Your word. Glory to You, Lord."
On the eve of the New Year, Ivan came to him again with an additional gift from the cook: a piece of dried fish. This time David didn't sit up at the sight of his visitor as usual, but only slightly raised himself in bed.
"I'll get up now, I'll get up," he said weakly, attempting to rise.
"Lie down, lie down," Ivan stopped him. "I'll prepare everything myself. Are you worse?"
"I'm feeling poorly somehow. I'll tell you later. Let's have supper and I'll tell you. Help me up, Vanya."
Ivan seated him at the nightstand and served him the broth along with the fish.
"No-o, keep it for yourself," David shook his head. A pitiful smile appeared on his face. "I haven't been able to keep down solid food for days now. I didn't tell you; I kept hoping it would improve. But no, it's not improving. Though I didn't think I wasn't expecting that my time would come so soon. It looks like I won't recover, Vanya."
"Nothing of the sort will happen," Ivan protested. "You will recover, and we'll return home together. So many men get sick here—and nothing. I was in bad shape too, but I pulled through. The main thing is to pray to God for health."
"I pray. I definitely pray," David nodded quickly, as if justifying himself. "Only not for health, but that God won't let me suffer long. Because trouble after trouble. Look," he bent down and, rubbing his legs at the very ankles for clarity, complained, "everything freezes here, Vanya, I can't take it. My whole body burns, but my legs are ice cold. Solid ice. The doctor only shakes his head. He's already given medicine, and it doesn't help. Would you pray for me, Vanya, eh? If the time has come, what can I do? If only I'm with God, right, Vanya? Well, as always with us: you pray, and I'm with you. And at night I'll pray myself; at night I find the right words."
That same evening, Ivan exchanged the bread he had saved for warm socks from a young conscript, and the next morning before roll call, he brought them to Krantz. He protested weakly: they would do you more good yourself in such cold.
"This is a New Year's gift for you, Uncle David," Ivan said half-jokingly, half-seriously. "Your feet will be warmer. Come on, try them on and don't take them off, and I'm off."
Whether the socks warmed Krantz, whether they helped him, remained unclear. It turned out that the next and, as it turned out, their last meeting took place on the fourth day after New Year.
"Ah, it's you, Vall," the orderly said glumly, seeing Ivan enter that evening. "Well, come in, come in." And he giggled strangely. "Only don't pray long today."
"What's the matter?" asked Ivan, handing him a parcel. "This is from Robert."
"Well, you can take your time, in general," the orderly said cheerfully. "This is just for your information. Well, first, there's a new patient in the ward, and second… it looks like your Krantz is fading. In any case, mentally, it seems, he's gone. The orderly giggled again. "Says he saw God. In heaven with the angels."
With heavy foreboding, Ivan stepped into the ward. David's bed was now separated from the rest of the space by a curtain. He lay on his back, intently gazing at the ceiling, but seeing his visitor, he stirred slightly, and his face lit up with an unusually joyful smile for a sick man.
"Vanya, at last!" he whispered barely audibly, but Ivan made out the words and leaned closer. "I have to tell you… the Lord revealed Himself to me," David continued to whisper. He was clearly in a hurry to speak, so his words tangled. "It was…" His voice suddenly grew stronger and sounded quite clear. "It was… Wait, let me tell you: today in the afternoon I prayed. In the afternoon, you understand? Me—and in the afternoon, of all times?! And I was just asking God... Remember, I wanted Him not to let me suffer long? Only before that, I said, Lord, forgive me, a sinner, and forgive all my sins. It wasn't from malice that I did them, You know, Lord… And either I dozed off or it was a dream? But what kind of dream can happen in broad daylight? I really heard it, Vanya, really. And the doctor doesn't believe it. And this orderly laughs. But I heard it. And I wanted them to know too. Such quiet music, angelic, as if brought by a breeze. And in this breeze a voice… just as quiet and gentle, like a babbling stream straight to the heart: don't be afraid, David, I'm with you. It bewitched me, enveloped me entirely, penetrated every cell of my body. I can't tell how long it lasted, but during that time, believe it or not, all my pains receded. I won't try to convince you, Vanya, but I really heard Christ. I remembered His words well, which I think I've heard from you. He said: 'Well done, David. In a small thing you were faithful; I will set you over many things. Enter into the joy of your master' (Matthew 25:21). Does that mean He forgave me, Vanya? Do you believe I heard it, or do you think it was a dream?"
He waited a moment, but since there was no answer, he grew worried:
"Vanya, where are you?" David raised his head with effort, and with a blissful smile closed his eyes; Ivan was on his knees, his face raised and reverently lifting his hands to heaven. Such a fervent prayer from Ivan he had never seen, and he muttered embarrassedly to himself. "Forgive me, Vanya. You don't need convincing of this."
How could he know that his adopted son at that moment was experiencing no less rejoicing: Ivan had never told David those words! Surely it was Christ Himself who spoke them to the sinner. That meant…
"Uncle David, that's true: you heard Jesus. He accepted you and gave you salvation!" Ivan repeated, wiping tears. "That's why there is such joy not only in you, but in all the angels in heaven. Christ Himself said: 'I tell you that in the same way there is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent' (Luke 15:7)."
"Over one who repents," Krantz echoed and fell back onto his pillow. "How wonderful… Over one sinner…"
He breathed heavily and hurried on again.
"Vanya, look in the nightstand there. A little knife, a pocketknife. Found it? Give it to my son Hans, your namesake, when you get out of this hell. And you will get out. I believe it, because you have God, and He is always with you" (jumping ahead, we should say that many years later, Ivan fulfilled this request: even during his prison sentence, he kept the knife through all searches and gave it to Hans after his release). "And another thing, Vanya. I don't know how many days have passed; maybe one, maybe two, three, I don't know. But an old man named Reger visited me here. He's also from Sparrau, and he tracks down young guys whose parents were arrested in 1937-38 as enemies of the people. Now their children are thrown into camps for any infraction for eight to ten years. They feed him for this in the security office, so he does his best. He was asking about you, so try to avoid talking to him altogether, and conversations about your father especially. Thank God, he knows nothing about him, since you arrived after Reger had already left Sparrau. Someone told him (most likely Robert) that you're my son, but he doesn't seem to believe it." David fell back onto his pillow. "Well, that's everything now, Vanya. Thank you for your care. Go in peace. I will pray. Look, I hear them singing again. Yes, I hear them. My God, how they sing!"
David closed his eyes. Ivan rose, pressed his cheek to the sick man's hand, and quietly left.
That night, David Krantz went to his Heavenly Father. And truly His Father, because he had repented and was accepted by Christ. It was January 1942.
