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

The latter usually enjoyed the support of the prison authorities. Above our workroom was a special building housing the most dangerous criminals. My friend Paul worked here as a medic (or¬ derly). During lunch we could spend time on a small grassed area near the entry to our workroom. One day we met unexpectedly. What joy. Naturally we tried to find out what was going on. Paul informed me that all those who appealed their sentences were still locked in the same cell. Only he had been offered a job .... Near the entrance to our cell was a heavy iron door. One day it opened with a loud clang and several guards with pistols in hand jumped out. Behind them came an emaciated and terrified man followed by another armed guard. We were ordered to lie on the 110 JOURNEYS ground and not to move. I recognized him in spite of his appear¬ ance and the mentally deranged look in his eyes. It was Penner, the chief accountant in our butter factory where my brother Hans worked. He had been sentenced to death by firing squad, but we never learned anything more about his fate. During my stay here another large prison capable of holding one thousand inmates was constructed. Preparations were made to receive many new “guests” during the great terror of 1937-38. I found the prison atmosphere so oppressive that I decided to take action. I drafted a petition and sent it to the Moscow head¬ quarters for all concentration camps. I requested to be transferred to an agricultural camp where I could work in animal husbandry. Not long after the shop foreman Siloate called me in and began swearing. ‘Tm not letting you go,” he began. “You have only three and a half years imprisonment. Is your situation that bad? You get packages from home and your sister can visit you. I’ll make an engineer out of you.” Then in a warm, human tone he added, “I am giving you a free day to see the city.” I accepted the latter but did not respond to the former. And one day he let me go [to the city] . . . but it ended all too soon and I was back to the monotony of prison life .... The car driver of our director frequently visited our section while his car was being repaired. I often conversed with him and one day asked him to mail a second letter to GULAG in Moscow. I gave him a sealed letter. Convinced it contained nothing con¬ spiratorial he sealed it himself and mailed it. Journey to Karaganda After two or three weeks I was called into the adminstration office and informed that my request was approved. I would be sent to an agricultural concentration camp in Karaganda. Siloate said nothing but I sensed he felt sorry for me. He knew better than I what awaited me. I was included in the first transport for Karaganda. I took my clothes to the bathroom for disinfection and carried a pail of water for my bath. A group of men were also washing themselves — but what dreadful swearing and cursing. My God these were all criminals — and I was to t