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

wife that I would build some shelter in the taiga and return home when it was safe .... For all intents and purposes I am dead .... My life here in the taiga is not an enviable one . . . for I live hand to mouth .... After many months I found this comrade . . . even today I know nothing about him .... Our wives visit us in spring and in fall, but [for their safety and ours] we never show them our actual dwelling .... They bring us some salt, a little flour, string MEMOIRS OF ARON WARKENTIN 203 for our traps, and some gun powder and bullets .... We take our furs, dried meat and smoked fish down river by boat.... At first they still looked for me back home, but now they assume I am dead . . I must say his sad story comforted me. . . though I firmly rejected his offer to lead me to freedom. I still felt my innocence would someday be established .... We only laid down towards morning but I could not fall asleep. I reflected on the human condition, collectively and individually .... When morning dawned I got up, dressed and packed my bag .... Before I left my host took me to his storeroom which was as large as his living quarters. It was filled with skinned rabbit carcasses. He offered to give me several which I graciously accepted. We said a hearty goodbye and I left to join my companions .... We loaded our sleighs in short order and started back to camp. Just before evening we reached the mid-camp . . . but the chap we left behind had left for the nearest village, ostensibly to get some brandy. Who knew whether he would come back. I was responsible if he had escaped! We were all depressed .... Arrest awaited us if we came home without him and I would certainly lose my job. Two of the lads wanted to go looking for him, but I wouldn’t hear of it. We waited all the next day and the next night. . . finally we left. When we entered camp we reported the loss of one person .... In the morning I was called before the camp administration. They knew me and believed my story .... Next day we left to get more hay. Halfway we met two soldiers on a sleigh with our half-frozen es¬ capee between them. “Were in luck Warkentin,” they said, “he is alive.” Was I relieved! The issue was resolved and no investigation took place. One day the head of the camp called me and thanked me for hauling hay. Others would now do the work . . . since he had a new job for me. Winter ended in just over a month and there were still ten thousand cubic meters of wood to haul to the river .... Next morning we began the task with some one hundred sleighs and horses. A special brigade worked day and night to keep the road passable. My job was not an enviable one. Moving the wood some eighteen to twenty kilometers over a hilly road was a dangerous business, especially going downhill .... Horses were easily in¬ jured or the sleighs damaged. Then there was the business of load¬ ing and unloading the [large] logs. We tried to organize