188
PARTISAN REVIEW
"What's the big deal? I laid the daughter of Second Regional Party
Secretary Zaporozhe, but you tell me it's hands off a she-goat?"
"Quiet, Gurin," the head of the camp said. "Again you're show–
ing off! We entrust him to play Comrade Lenin, and all he can think
about is a she-goat. ... What kind of people are you?"
"People, like people," one of the prisoners shouted from the col–
umns. "Thugs and 'No-Termers.'"
"You're a hardened lot, as I see it," the major said.
Political Instructor Khuriev popped up behind his shoulder.
"Just a second, you're not dismissed yet. At six-thirty there will be a
general assembly. After the ceremonial, there will be a concert. At–
tendance is required. Those absent will be sent to the isolator. Are
there any questions?"
"A ton of questions," a voice said out of the rows. "Want to
hear? Where's all the cleaning soap gone to? Where are the warm
leg-wrappings that were promised? Why is this the third month no
films have been shown? Are they or are they not going to give work
gloves to the branch-cutters? Want more? When is an outhouse go–
ing to be put up in the logging sector?"
"Quiet, quiet!" Khuriev shouted. "Complaints in the prescribed
manner, through the brigadiers! And now, you're all dismissed!"
Everyone grumbled a little and went off.
Toward six o'clock, the prisoners began to gather near the
library. Here, in what had been the shipping workshop, general
assemblies were held. The wooden barn without windows could hold
about five hundred people.
The prisoners had shaven and cleaned their shoes. The one
who served as the zone barber was the murderer Mamedov. Every
time he opened his razor, Mamedov would say, "One little slit and
there goes your souIl" This was his favorite professional joke.
The camp administrators had put on full dress uniform. Politi–
cal Instructor Khuriev's boots reflected the dim lights which twinkled
above the "open-fire" corridor. The civilian women who worked in
the Division of Economic Administration smelled of powerful eau de
cologne. The male office workers wore their imported jackets.
The barn was still closed. Re-enlistees crowded near the en–
trance. Inside, final preparations for the ceremonial were still going
on. Brigadier Agoshin of the production brigade was fastening a
banner above the door. Letters in yellow gouache had been pain–
stakingly stenciled onto a crimson background: "The Party is our
Helmsman!"
