last wagon left the square, we went to the Village Soviet hoping to find Serhiy, but we could not see him. We were only told that his case would soon come up for trial in the kolhosp court. 13
The news of the fate of my uncles and their fellow prisoners returned with the empty sleighs. A freight train had been waiting for them at the railroad station. There they were herded into the box cars. We did not learn what happened to them after that until much later.
CHAPTER 9
A FEW DAYS after the arrest of Serhiy, Mother was summoned to appear before the kolhosp court as a witness. The official summons stated that the trial was to take place the following Sunday, at the very beginning of March, and that the name of the defendant was Serhiy.
This was terrifying news. The officials had enlisted Motherâs aid in the trial of her own son. As a witness, she would have to tell the story of the struggle between Serhiy and Comrade Khizhniak. We knew the true reason for the struggle would be ignored during the trial, since any resistance to Communist officials was considered an act of treason, even if it was an act of self-defense.
The following Sunday, we left the house to start for what had been until recently a church. It was snowing and bitterly cold.
The theater was already crowded to capacity, and the court was in session. A vykonavets was waiting for Mother. She could not stay inside while the court was in session, he told her, shoving her back to the door. As a witness for the court, she had to wait elsewhere until she was called. I wanted to stay with her, but she had to stay alone.
As I stayed inside, what struck me first was the silence. Indeed, it was still like being in church. The people sat solemnly, looking straight ahead without any emotion. All heads were bared as they always had been during church services in the past.
The next thing that attracted my attention was the extensive interior decoration, if this is the correct description. A kerosene lamp glimmered in the center of the ceiling where once had hung a crystal chandelier. On walls, once adorned with icons and religious art, portraits of Party and government leaders now hung. Above the former altar, in place of the painting of the Last Supper, hung a huge red-inked placard: â RELIGION IS THE OPIATE OF THE MASSES .â The sanctuary had been transformed into a sort of stage and the platform was liberally decorated with red cloth.
I had never watched a trial before. In fact, we had never had one in our village. We knew that there was a so-called Peopleâs Court with its seat in the county center, but we never had close contact with it. Our village community had managed to solve its own problems without enlisting the help of outsiders.
It was midnight when my brotherâs case was announced. Two militiamen brought him into the theater. He had changed dramatically in those few days. He looked dirty and exhausted, and all could see that he had been beaten. He had black eyes and on his lips and over his face traces of blood were visible. His hands were tied behind his back. Walking toward the bench reserved for the defendants, Serhiy looked around, probably searching for Mother and me. Then he was ordered to take his place.
The kolhosp court, according to the official line, was the supreme expression of the peopleâs will and justice. We saw the Party representative, Thousander Zeitlin, commanding the court ruthlessly, as if he were a judge. When my brotherâs case was announced, Comrade Zeitlin rose to speak first. The strangers who were supposed to have been the kolhosp court kept silent. Always in the past, Comrade Zeitlinâs talk was utterly divorced from reality, and, specifically, from the matter at hand. We braced ourselves for a long speech. But, to our surprise he quickly announced the nature of Serhiyâs offense. As we expected, Serhiy was accused of physical assault on Comrade Knizhniak, the chairman of our Hundred.
The news of the fate of my uncles and their fellow prisoners returned with the empty sleighs. A freight train had been waiting for them at the railroad station. There they were herded into the box cars. We did not learn what happened to them after that until much later.
CHAPTER 9
A FEW DAYS after the arrest of Serhiy, Mother was summoned to appear before the kolhosp court as a witness. The official summons stated that the trial was to take place the following Sunday, at the very beginning of March, and that the name of the defendant was Serhiy.
This was terrifying news. The officials had enlisted Motherâs aid in the trial of her own son. As a witness, she would have to tell the story of the struggle between Serhiy and Comrade Khizhniak. We knew the true reason for the struggle would be ignored during the trial, since any resistance to Communist officials was considered an act of treason, even if it was an act of self-defense.
The following Sunday, we left the house to start for what had been until recently a church. It was snowing and bitterly cold.
The theater was already crowded to capacity, and the court was in session. A vykonavets was waiting for Mother. She could not stay inside while the court was in session, he told her, shoving her back to the door. As a witness for the court, she had to wait elsewhere until she was called. I wanted to stay with her, but she had to stay alone.
As I stayed inside, what struck me first was the silence. Indeed, it was still like being in church. The people sat solemnly, looking straight ahead without any emotion. All heads were bared as they always had been during church services in the past.
The next thing that attracted my attention was the extensive interior decoration, if this is the correct description. A kerosene lamp glimmered in the center of the ceiling where once had hung a crystal chandelier. On walls, once adorned with icons and religious art, portraits of Party and government leaders now hung. Above the former altar, in place of the painting of the Last Supper, hung a huge red-inked placard: â RELIGION IS THE OPIATE OF THE MASSES .â The sanctuary had been transformed into a sort of stage and the platform was liberally decorated with red cloth.
I had never watched a trial before. In fact, we had never had one in our village. We knew that there was a so-called Peopleâs Court with its seat in the county center, but we never had close contact with it. Our village community had managed to solve its own problems without enlisting the help of outsiders.
It was midnight when my brotherâs case was announced. Two militiamen brought him into the theater. He had changed dramatically in those few days. He looked dirty and exhausted, and all could see that he had been beaten. He had black eyes and on his lips and over his face traces of blood were visible. His hands were tied behind his back. Walking toward the bench reserved for the defendants, Serhiy looked around, probably searching for Mother and me. Then he was ordered to take his place.
The kolhosp court, according to the official line, was the supreme expression of the peopleâs will and justice. We saw the Party representative, Thousander Zeitlin, commanding the court ruthlessly, as if he were a judge. When my brotherâs case was announced, Comrade Zeitlin rose to speak first. The strangers who were supposed to have been the kolhosp court kept silent. Always in the past, Comrade Zeitlinâs talk was utterly divorced from reality, and, specifically, from the matter at hand. We braced ourselves for a long speech. But, to our surprise he quickly announced the nature of Serhiyâs offense. As we expected, Serhiy was accused of physical assault on Comrade Knizhniak, the chairman of our Hundred.
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