Far East, including Khabarovsk Territory and Sakhalin Island. Some had done time in the far north. They were a rugged, salty bunch, and many of the women worked, hunted, drank, and occasionally fought alongside the men. Markov and Borisova had met in the forest when she was working as a log trimmer and he was sorting logs. She was divorced, too, and she couldn’t believe her good fortune. “At first, when I was with him,” she recalled, “I felt as if I were in heaven. I would ask myself, ‘Could I be so lucky?’ He helped me with everything.”
They had a son together in 1982, raising the number of children under their roof to four. Her new husband’s affection for young children impressed Borisova deeply. “He was so unconditionally kind, it was almost painful,” she explained. “If someone’s child got ill, he would heat lynx fat and take it to him, even if it was the last drop. He would give you the shirt off his back.”
Like many people who live in small communities, Markov seemed to have a wide variety of jobs and skills. He was a competent welder, and even fabricated a Soviet Hammer and Sickle for the local school. In addition to this and forest work, he pulled shifts at the village generator station with Danila Zaitsev, and moonlighted at the disco in the rec hall. Markov had been trained as a log sorter, truck driver, and heavy equipment operator, but these are common skills in the logging industry. What set Markov apart was his personality: he was funny and charismatic, and people liked being around him. He could always wring the humor out of mundane situations, and there are a lot of those in a place like Sobolonye.
Irina and Andrei Onofrecuk told the following story one winter afternoon over a cup of gut-wrenching tea: “One time,” Andrei began, “Markiz spent the night here in our house. Our youngest son, Ivan, was very little—couldn’t walk yet—and Irina brought him into the room where Markiz was sleeping …”
“I put Ivan down in the chair,” continued Irina, “close to the bed, and Markiz’s hand is hanging like this [palm up]. I gave Ivan a bit of food and said, ‘Be careful, it’s hot.’ Well, he took a bite, and then he put the rest into Markiz’s hand.”
The food was hot enough that it woke him up. Without missing a beat, Markov emerged, joking, from a sound sleep. Playing on “Ivan,” as in Ivan the Terrible, he exclaimed, “Oh! Father Czar himself is feeding me.”
“Ivan is grown up now,” Andrei explained, “but to this day he has a nickname—the Czar. It was Markiz’s blessing.”
Some of Markov’s jokes were set-pieces and when he told them he would affect a Caucasus accent and the gender confusion that often goes with it, both of which are funny to many Russians in the same way that Southern accents combined with poor grammar are funny to many Americans. Stalin was from the Caucasus, so for Russians of a certain age this accent has a certain chilling significance.* Mocking it is one way for survivors of that era to siphon off some of the residual toxins. Included in Markov’s repertoire were queries to a fictitious call-in show on Armenian Radio. Armenian Radio is an imaginary station that emerged in the Russian consciousness during the 1950s and is known throughout the former Soviet Union. Broadcasting out of the southern Caucasus, it offers free advice on topics ranging from sex to socialist doctrine. The ground rules are simple and reflect the reality of many Russians: “Ask us whatever you want, we will answer whatever we want.”
One example goes like this:
This is Armenian Radio. Our listeners asked us:
“Is it all right to have sex in Red Square?”
We’re answering:
“Yes. But only if you want lots of advice.”
The Soviet regime was a popular target:
This is Armenian Radio. Our listeners asked us:
“Why is our government not in a hurry to land our men on the moon?”
We’re answering:
“What if they refuse to
They had a son together in 1982, raising the number of children under their roof to four. Her new husband’s affection for young children impressed Borisova deeply. “He was so unconditionally kind, it was almost painful,” she explained. “If someone’s child got ill, he would heat lynx fat and take it to him, even if it was the last drop. He would give you the shirt off his back.”
Like many people who live in small communities, Markov seemed to have a wide variety of jobs and skills. He was a competent welder, and even fabricated a Soviet Hammer and Sickle for the local school. In addition to this and forest work, he pulled shifts at the village generator station with Danila Zaitsev, and moonlighted at the disco in the rec hall. Markov had been trained as a log sorter, truck driver, and heavy equipment operator, but these are common skills in the logging industry. What set Markov apart was his personality: he was funny and charismatic, and people liked being around him. He could always wring the humor out of mundane situations, and there are a lot of those in a place like Sobolonye.
Irina and Andrei Onofrecuk told the following story one winter afternoon over a cup of gut-wrenching tea: “One time,” Andrei began, “Markiz spent the night here in our house. Our youngest son, Ivan, was very little—couldn’t walk yet—and Irina brought him into the room where Markiz was sleeping …”
“I put Ivan down in the chair,” continued Irina, “close to the bed, and Markiz’s hand is hanging like this [palm up]. I gave Ivan a bit of food and said, ‘Be careful, it’s hot.’ Well, he took a bite, and then he put the rest into Markiz’s hand.”
The food was hot enough that it woke him up. Without missing a beat, Markov emerged, joking, from a sound sleep. Playing on “Ivan,” as in Ivan the Terrible, he exclaimed, “Oh! Father Czar himself is feeding me.”
“Ivan is grown up now,” Andrei explained, “but to this day he has a nickname—the Czar. It was Markiz’s blessing.”
Some of Markov’s jokes were set-pieces and when he told them he would affect a Caucasus accent and the gender confusion that often goes with it, both of which are funny to many Russians in the same way that Southern accents combined with poor grammar are funny to many Americans. Stalin was from the Caucasus, so for Russians of a certain age this accent has a certain chilling significance.* Mocking it is one way for survivors of that era to siphon off some of the residual toxins. Included in Markov’s repertoire were queries to a fictitious call-in show on Armenian Radio. Armenian Radio is an imaginary station that emerged in the Russian consciousness during the 1950s and is known throughout the former Soviet Union. Broadcasting out of the southern Caucasus, it offers free advice on topics ranging from sex to socialist doctrine. The ground rules are simple and reflect the reality of many Russians: “Ask us whatever you want, we will answer whatever we want.”
One example goes like this:
This is Armenian Radio. Our listeners asked us:
“Is it all right to have sex in Red Square?”
We’re answering:
“Yes. But only if you want lots of advice.”
The Soviet regime was a popular target:
This is Armenian Radio. Our listeners asked us:
“Why is our government not in a hurry to land our men on the moon?”
We’re answering:
“What if they refuse to
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