JOURNEYS Mennonite Stories of Faith and Survival in Stalins Russia, John B. Toews, 1998

shed. Brother Wiebe, Nikkei and I again received supervisory positions. Wiebe was manager, Nikkei a mentor and I was in charge of health and sanitation. My work brought me into all the rooms and corridors of the prison. I learned to know all the secret places of this terrible building. Pyatigorsk was luxurious compared with the other prisons and cells we had occupied. The performance of the prison kitchen was tolerable and we also managed to get food from home. We began to recover physically. A few months ago our thin lips had difficulty covering our teeth, now our cheeks were red and we had all gained considerable weight. In Rostov and now in Pyatigorsk the press kept us informed on the progress of collectivization in our villages .... At first collectivization was to be on a voluntary basis but that soon collapsed. It was the women who began to pull the collective apart. First they took their cows home, then the horses, their farm implements and finally, their share of the planting seed and cattle feed. The government felt justified in taking severe measures against the private farmers .... Now the kulaks were imprisoned in the already overfilled prisons .... The village arrests soon overcrowded the Pyatigorsk prison .... Some¬ thing had to be done. Before long whole groups were sent north, others were executed. We and our families endured difficult spiritual struggles. No one knew whether they would see the dawn of another day. We all asked ourselves, “Am I next? Will I be sent away never to re¬ turn? Will it.be the northern wilderness?” Our wives made sure MEMOIRS OF ARON WARKENTIN 153 we had warm clothes and boots as well as several months of provi¬ sions, especially lard and dried buns. ... In my cell hung a large red sack of dried food products [ready for sudden departure]. We had been pursuing our normal task for several days when I heard someone loudly calling my name. I ran to the door, opened it and found a large food parcel from my wife. Enclosed was a note. She clearly stated that she had gone to the prison warden seeking to visit me and was told that my name no longer appeared on the list of prison inhabitants. The so-called Troika acquitted me and I would probably be released today. After my interroga¬ tion a week ago I thought this might be the case, but now I was electrified. . . . My poor head went in circles. [My wife’s] note stated: “I will expect you in church tonight.” She must have had some reason to say that. I’d simply wait until evening — then what a reunion. Oh to be reunited with the mother of my three children after half a year of separation and suffering. How I longed to see the children whom I had left hungry, cold and naked in Moscow. How I longed to enclose my loved ones in my arms and never leave them again. But evening came and it was life as usual in the prison. Supper began with tea without sugar. Then came a thin soup and on occasion a spoon of porridg