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

e guard however insisted I continue work¬ ing. Before long I could place no weight on the foot. Finally with the help of a staff I hobbled back to camp. Because I was late I was placed in isolation, given almost no food and ordered to work the next morning. I did not sleep that night .... My ankle was almost the size of my thigh .... The doctor, a compassionate Jewish woman, ordered a ten-day hospitalization, which extended to one and a half months . . . again the grace of God .... Now a real crisis loomed. The [camp director] Gorelik initi¬ ated a legal process against the [camp] doctor and named me in the conspiracy. I had to appear before the investigating judge a number of times. Though he was convinced of my innocence I and the doctor were brought to trial. After two days of delibera- MEMOIRS OF ARON WARKENTIN 217 tions the doctor was acquitted and I was sentenced to three years which were to run concurrently with the one-and-a-half years still remaining of my ten-year sentence. What I always feared had happened. The hope of being reunited with my wife and children kept me going — now that hope faded. Though I knew I was innocent, society and the state declared me guilty. At the moment the fact that this verdict was later reversed meant little — it was wartime and unrighteousness triumphed over righteousness .... In the months following the trial ... I felt no ray of hope. Though Goreliks hatred for me diminished he made sure I would never rise to prominence again .... My physical condition stead¬ ily deteriorated. In the bitterly cold winter days we sat around the fire at our workplace waiting for daylight. I simply sat around the fire all day and in return gave the brigade leader my four hundred grams of bread at supper. I ate a bowl of soup and a spoonful of porridge and then lay down on my hard mattress .... One evening a free man named Chitrin looked me up and said he came to save me from destruction. He asked me to stop at his house every morning and evening to and from work and he would give me something to eat. I tried to go there several times but for a pris¬ oner this was difficult .... Someone who has never seen a demoralized and starving pris¬ oner or who has never worn rotting clothing which provides no warmth hasn't any inkling of the prevailing inner despair .... It is miraculous that such a person does not die a quick death. There are worse things than poor food. Many people collapsed because of bitterness, disappointment or private agony of soul. I too was a candidate for death in the next days or weeks. And yet God made himself known. I was granted a half months leave to the convales¬ cent home. It was wonderful — no work and four meals a day. When I returned to work I met a worker who insisted that I part¬ ner with him and keep my four hundred grams of bread. Then he fulfilled both his and my work norm. Even the brigade leader couldn't object. One day all the weak p