Blood Hospitality

"The Kolyma was the greatest and most famous island, the pole of ferocity of that amazing country of Gulag which, though scattered in an Archipelago geographically, was, in a psychological sense, fused into a continent--an almost invisible, almost imperceptible country."

"Decades go by, and the scars and sores of the past are healing over for good. In the course of this period some of the islands of the Archipelago have shuddered and dissolved and the polar sea of oblivion rolls over them. And someday in the future, this Archipelago, its air, and the bones of its inhabitants, frozen in a lens of ice, will be discovered by our descendants."

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago  

Igor N.

Igor Nikoliovich adopted me on the train, and by the end of an uncomfortable and greasy two days of talking about life he invited Danil and I to stay at his apartment. This I felt was a promising start.

Danil is a friend I met while living in Yekaterinburg years ago. He’s an extraordinarily competent operator. And I mean that in the most complementary way possible: because if you are not some type of operator in Russia, you’re pretty much nothing. Danil does a good job translating, too. Without him, things would be impossible. The locals would probably think I escaped from a mental institution if I tried to explain why I was here with my Russian. As it is people seem to have this itch like conniption when they realize that I have come here by my own free will.

We stayed at the stuffy and hot Hotel Vorkuta for only one night. This was fine by me. The tub/showers were arranged in such a peculiar and cramped way that I felt several times I was going to snap my ACL due to the strange squat contortions I had to assume in order to clean my body.

We made our way to Igor’s apartment. He invited us in and showed us the room he had prepared. His wife was out of town and the only other occupants of the apartment were Max, a black poodle, and Solomon, a chinchilla that had escaped and was lurking about crapping in some nether region of the apartment.

Russians can be incredibly generous, and if you are taken in, it’s like an instant blood bond. Which can be a good thing, but also a really bad thing at the same time. It’s expected that you will honor this blood bond, and that usually means that you are expected to drink tremendous quantities of vodka, beer, and brandy all together in a cacophony of alcoholism. This is a problem for anyone who does not share the aptitude for drink the way Russians do, but especially bad if you don’t drink at all, like me. I can’t even take a single shot and get slapped on the back for being a wimp to at least show some type of appreciation for this blood hospitality. 

If the drink is refused, then a gangrene-like rot of resentment can set in.

I had my apprehensions about giving up the neutral ground and independence of the hotel, however, I have learned that being a documentarian type in a new place is like being trapped in a dark box, and that no hand should ever be refused when it comes to help you take your first steps out of that box.

I considered the possibility that staying at Igor’s might not be such a good idea. However, he only drank a small bottle of beer during the entire train ride, which I found impressive. He seemed to have a fairly forgiving attitude when we explained that we didn’t drink.

When Igor handed me the key he was already drunk.

And I knew that as soon as I took that key. The blood bond would be made.

Soon after Danil and I arrived, Igor’s friend, also named Igor stopped by with four of five large cans of beer. Danil and I made dinner for ourselves and the Igors.

Igor #2 was a pretty nice guy. He looked like a Ryan Gosling if Ryan Gosling had worked in a coal mine for twenty years, if you can imagine that. He was one of those Russians who idolized America, too. I had met many of these types during my two years of living in Russia previously. I’m always nice to them when they ask me the same basic question, “is America better than Russia?” I never say yes. I explain that Russia and America are very similar. Both have problems.

Igor 2 was pretty disappointed with me. I think he was expecting John Wayne, but me, a slightly hipsterish east coaster who dresses too well; well, I think I fulfilled the role of a mid-level anti-hero at best.

After getting into heated arguments about Visas and American freedom with the Igors, Danil and I retired to our room. The Igors set out to take a walk (gulyat), AKA drink some more beer. They returned with brandy, and then a sort of riot ensued.

Igor #1, who we met on the train, is like a large barrel on bowl legged struts with a bad lower back. This causes him to lean on things, and with his head of black and silver hair he has a decidedly gorillaish disposition.  He graduated from the Institute of Physical Culture in Saint Petersburg and played hockey as a younger man. He’s missing a number of front teeth, which I think makes it easier for him to yell.

I couldn’t find the key Igor#1 gave me. I knew it was in the apartment, someplace. Igor #1 was outraged. I might as well have lost the Holy Grail and Henry Jones had turned into an angry drunk gorilla.

Igor #2 had to partition us. I was in one room, and then Danil was in the other room, pretending to look for the key and trying to calm Igor #1 down. It took about an hour for things to slightly calm down, and we finally agreed that I would replace the entire lock first thing the following day. However, the offense had been made.

Igor #1 turned out to be a serious alcoholic dismissed from the mines for drinking on the job. And Igor #2 also works doggedly in the mines. He owns two small kiosk stores, but he’s constantly broke because he has to pay the mafia off to run his businesses. He dreams of escaping to America with his family, where he imagines everything will be better.

Just before I went to bed that night, thoroughly exhausted and totally in doubt as to why I came to Vorkuta, I found the key. Somehow it had slipped underneath my blanket.

I’m trying to come up with a smart way to smoothly connect the Solzhenitsyn quote with what’s happened to me so far, and I can’t at the moment, so I’ll just write it strait. I realize now that Solzhnistyan is rather adroitly referring to the fact that the Gulag existed in two places. Physically it was a clandestine network of labor camps serviced by an anonymous and complex transit systems. But, the gulag found its completion and full strength in the hearts and minds of the people. In other words, it’s a state of being. And, I think that the Gulag still exists here to some degree.

As soon as I was handed that key to Igor #1’s apartment, I was given the key to my own cell in the Gulag. I haven’t entered a real prison. I can leave when I want. Everything is okay. But I did enter into a state of being. I was initiated into the way things are here.