Gingerbread or an excursion into the prison world

[Man]

This is an old story-recommendation for those who are not yet in prison.

There are many useful things to learn from this story. I hope you won't need it in practice!

I'll tell you right away that much of what you're about to learn will be unpleasant for you. No matter. Get used to it. It was unpleasant for me too, but... as you can see, I survived. The main thing is not to panic and not to lose heart, even if they beat you on the back with truncheons. I call you "you" because in prison they call everyone "you". Here, in prison, no one cares at all how old you are and what position you held on the outside. In extreme cases, they'll be interested in your profession: if you're a radio engineer, then if the opportunity arises, they'll tell you to fix a broken TV. (Yes, yes, don't be surprised, democracy in Soviet prisons has advanced so far that even in non-commercial cells you can find TVs.)

So, you're a carrot, that is, a person who's ended up in prison for the first time. You are, of course, innocent, you were caught by accident, you are about to get out, you just need to call a lawyer, and so on and so forth, all this free nonsense. So remember: it is rare for someone who ends up in prison to get out of it before six months. So get ready.

It is best when you read this brochure before the dumb sweaty guys in gray come for you, when you still have a chance to prepare for everything that is happening not only psychologically, but also, so to speak, materially. And it makes no difference - and it makes no difference to me - who you are: a successful businessman, a simple worker, a bandit, a soldier or a journalist. In our country, anyone can end up as a remand prisoner in a pre-trial detention center (read - prison). (You can even remember the recent newest history of the Russian state - the acting Prosecutor General or the Minister of Justice) So - prepare in advance, because the inhabitants of Russia are divided into two categories of people: those who are in prison, and those who are preparing. There is, however, a third class - FSB officers and all sorts of "cops", policemen or as they are called in prison - "reds", who - absolutely mistakenly - believe that they will be able to avoid prison. Experience shows that few succeed. They also completely ignore the fact that the people they have successfully put in prison will also be released from it safely someday. (With a slow, but still moving towards joining the European Union, Russia will abolish the death penalty!) And many of them will want - just out of curiosity - to inquire about how their favorite investigator is doing there and how he is doing there...

But that's another topic. It does not seriously concern you yet. You need to first gather a "Maidan". "Maidan" is a large, preferably strong bag, in which prisoners carry their belongings from cell to cell, from hut to hut, in prison fashion.

Here's what I'd advise you to pack for the Maidan: a vest (tank top), sweatpants, plain and woolen socks, handkerchiefs, a sheet, pillowcases, a towel (two), a blanket, a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap for washing and laundry, shaving accessories (except cologne), a comb, a box of matches, 10 packs of Prima (for prisoners), several packs of blend - filter cigarettes (I advise you either not to smoke or to quit), a spoon, a metal bowl, a mug, a kettle, needles and thread, writing paper, notebooks, envelopes, a pen with spare refills, a nail clipper (scissors are prohibited) and some food. However, you don't need just anything to eat, but products that can be used for a long time and are useful: onions and garlic, lard, bouillon briquettes, instant noodles, sugar, butter, crackers (you shouldn't laugh), tea (the more the better). Well, that's all for now. Don't forget the kettle. They won't let you through canned goods. That'll be enough for now, and then you'll get used to it, get used to it, and then you'll write to your wife what you need. Yes, it would also be a good idea to prepare a mattress and a blanket in advance: our prisons are poor, they're unlikely to give you anything worthwhile.

Well, you're almost ready. Collect it all, put it in the pantry at home or in the corner of the office, and wait. If you wait, they'll definitely come. If you don't wait, they'll definitely come, too, but suddenly. And that's worse. But it's not fatal. Be prepared for the fact that they'll take you from your bed at night, while visiting someone, at the kiosk where you're going to buy cigarettes, at the steps of an airplane (like me), or somewhere else. They have more than enough fantasies on this account. In one thing they are the same: they are rude, boorish, put your hands in handcuffs, put pressure on your psyche, bring you to the station and immediately, while you are still warm, interrogate you. Then they beat you, throw you in a pre-trial detention cell (PDC), as a rule, at district police stations, then take you out, beat you again and interrogate you again... My advice to you, be silent and do not resist. Whether you are guilty or not guilty - always be silent. Remember the films about the Germans and Russian spies, remember that you are a man and - be silent. The first 72 hours you just need to survive. This is the period during which the "cops" have the right to keep you in the pre-trial detention cell. Of course, they can do it longer, but then they need to stock up on the appropriate papers, and they will also need to provide you with a lawyer.

For a person who has never been to prison or the army, a pre-trial detention center is a shocking place. Especially a common cell. It's stuffy (there are so many people, like sardines in a barrel), the stench of dirty bodies and the stench of the latrine in the corner, so much so that you can't breathe... When you enter the hut (that's what the cell is called), be sure to say "hello" and your name. After that, if asked, you can name the article they're slapping on you. Our people are literate, and right after that they can tell you how long you'll sit in the pre-trial detention center (SIZO) and how much you'll get in court. It's better to prepare for the worst-case scenario: the maximum term of investigation and the maximum term in the camps. For example, I was charged under Article 275 - high treason. So, I decided, I'll spend 1.5 to 2 years in the pre-trial detention center, and then 8-10 years in the camp. Of course, at first it's hard to get used to this idea. The burden of memories of a relatively prosperous free life, of a wife and children (it is not clear what is better - when you have them or when you do not have them) weighs on your psyche. In general, of course, it is better when you do not have them - you are your own boss and your head does not hurt about family). Therefore, in order not to be burdened, hammer into your head immediately and for a long time that from now on you have nothing and no one: no apartment, no family, no car, no job, no awards... You are nobody. And you have no name. A prisoner. A nameless scum. A brute. You will be kicked by bludgeons, humiliated by cops, mocked by "investigators"... After some time, you will be given a nickname, a rattle, something like your middle name. Usually, prisoners are not distinguished by variety. That is why I came across several Fat, Lame, Sportsmen, Small, Big, Dunaisky and others in just one prison. There are very few original ones, like Picasso, Spy, because there are few political figures, people of art, journalists... By the way, about journalists and spies. It so happened that I, a journalist, was appointed a spy by the KGB. Therefore, the nickname "Spy" did not last long, since decent prisoners, according to the rules, are ashamed (that is, they should not) call a prisoner the same way as the cops call him. Well, that's by the way...

So, from the temporary detention facility you will be transferred to a pretrial detention center. There, at the first stage, you will be placed in a terrible cell, where you will hang around for a couple of days at best, before you, unshaven and ugly (they will take you away anyway without a Maidan), are photographed, fingerprinted on all your fingers (except for those on your feet), bloodletting is done with a reusable needle of incredible thickness (don't faint, otherwise the woman, at least by gender, will promise to "hit you with something"), and an X-ray is done... This is all called quarantine. I remember one person lived in a cell for 5 days, he went through quarantine, then he spent three days in a small cell and didn’t get off the toilet bowl: he caught some kind of infection... After quarantine, they’ll most likely put you in a small cell: a cell with 4 bunks (beds), where it’s warm, cozy, doesn’t stink, where seasoned prisoners sit (have been sitting for a looong time) and ask you with a smile: “Well, did you experience cognitive dissonance? It’s okay. You’ll get used to it, come to your senses and... you’ll live on.” You’ll relax, start answering questions, telling something from yourself... Before you open your mouth, remember: one of the four - five - six in the small cell is most likely a “broody hen” - a decoy duck, whose job it is to remember your stories and pass them on to the right place. Therefore, when you feel that interest in your case has moved into the channel of practical and specific questions, do not be embarrassed and do not be afraid - "they don't beat you for asking!" - to ask a counter-question: "For what purpose are you interested?" I assure you that after this you will not hear another question.

In the three-room room, for the first time in many days, you will get a relatively peaceful sleep, rinse yourself on the toilet (it is not difficult, the prisoners will teach you), come to your senses a little and think for a long time about where and why you ended up. Be prepared for the fact that neither the investigator nor the lawyers will call on you for a week or two...

After the first interrogation, during which you either do not want to answer at all (i.e. give evidence), answer without a lawyer, or answer not the way the investigator wants, in 99 out of 100 cases you will be transferred to a general cell. A general cell is, in fact, a prison. According to the "Rules for the detention of accused and defendants" (there are such, by the way, study them right now, in parallel with this brochure, you can even compare.) If you are a military man or a cop, then you should not be kept in a general cell with convicts or even convicted persons. But all this is complete nonsense. They do keep you, and for a long time. And not without specific goals. The first goal is to suppress the remnants of mental resistance to the surrounding reality. In a general cell, designed for 6 - 12 people, there are always not 25 to 40 people. Cramped conditions, stench, severe chronic lack of water, eternal noise - this and much more affects the psyche very strongly. When you enter a hut, say hello, introduce yourself - name, article. There will definitely be a responsible person in the hut, the main one - call him whatever you want - who asks more, but very specific questions. The purpose of these questions is to determine who you are in life - a thug, a man... Most likely, the latter. Although, if you are young, you can take the path of a thug. A newly arrived man will be assigned to wash dishes, floors, in a word, do something... It is advisable for you to decide, because the hut does not like ballast. In a couple of days you will find out that almost everyone has responsibilities: the peak ones stand at the robot - iron doors and warn the hut about what is happening along the length - in the corridor. One of the men is in charge of the crocodile - a long metal table: you have to collect the slop on time, leave it for the sleeping shift, wash the dishes... Someone constantly watches the road - a rope path on the grate, through which anything gets into the hut, from notes - little notes to tea-smoking and even firewood for arrows.

You get used to it, and in a week your bestial life will enter a certain rhythm. 8.00 - going out to the extension for roll call, breakfast, a one-hour walk in the cramped prison yard, lunch, dinner, crawling onto the bunk (bed), restless prisoner sleep. And so - every day, month, year. Variety is brought by communication with the investigator, lawyer, the bathhouse, meetings with the wife (once a month), letters... That's all. The rest of the time, free from prison duties, you can read (if you have something to read) or watch (if you have somewhere to watch).

A little later I will tell you in more detail about some aspects of prison life. But now I want to warn you that if the FSB or someone as serious as the Prosecutor General's Office is dealing with you, the defendant, then the hen will follow you everywhere and not alone, all your letters and even official appeals to the President, the Prosecutor General will be intercepted not only by the special unit of the pretrial detention center, and not so much by it, but by the FSB. If necessary (and it is often necessary), then your phones will be tapped even after your arrest, your wife and friends will be followed, the necessary testimony will be beaten out of witnesses, etc., etc. I hope you have read books about 1937, the KGB and the Cheka, watched movies. Well, their methods have hardly changed. They have not become more humane. Nor have they become more intelligent. You will not be released from prison for anything - do not have any illusions. So it is best to either live like a field mouse, or go and surrender immediately. I feel sorry for you if you have friends in the FSB or the police - you are guaranteed extra voluminous testimony not in your favor. (Of course, I am not talking about the "clinical" case for our country, when your friends from the above-mentioned organizations are very high-ranking officials, and you yourself are a governor or a very cool and rich person. There, at that level, there are other laws, amounts and terms. Sometimes all this outweighs some nine grams.) In

the common cell, the prisoners will examine you meticulously and already on the first evening will ask for wool from your sweater for the "road" - rope for fry, skins, intestines. Another will need your boots or trousers, or a jacket - "to go to court tomorrow", a third will ask for a smoke, a fourth - a needle and thread, etc. You are confused: if you don't give it - they will consider you a cheapskate, if you give it - then you will not return it. So here it is: you have every right not to give anything to anyone. And no one will do anything to you. But my advice to you: in each individual case you must also act separately. For example, I deliberately lost two sleeves from my sweater. But then no one could reproach me for not having done anything for the house. I shared tea, cigarettes and thread. The rest, I said, I myself always need, every day. And it was true.

If a "dacha" (food parcel, also known as a pig) drops by you, don't fuss. I understand you: for a week or two you've been eating gray gruel that makes you burp and give you heartburn, and no bastard has given you a bouillon cube, a clove of garlic, or a piece of lard, although many have been eating this stuff. Yes, they have been eating it! But they had every right to eat it and not give it to you. Smart men will explain to you, a gingerbread man, that families - micro-groups - can be given something from the dacha in a hut, something for the hospital, something for everyone (tea, cigarettes), and the rest is yours. Eat it yourself or join the family - it's your business. No one will take anything away from you. I advise you to join the family. A dacha dropped by, and I had been eating gruel with my family for 8 days already, then I fed this whole family with my dacha. I myself got almost nothing. But! I didn’t die and people didn’t nod in my direction. Well, the fact that my family got some piglets a day after I was transferred to another hut - that’s no one’s fault.

Another thing about food. Don’t make a cult out of it. Forget that there are such things in the world as beer, ice cream, chocolates, cakes, cutlets, hamburgers, sprats and other nonsense. Of course, a rich wife can bring you all this at the dacha. But I think that this is unnecessary, and it gets on the nerves of the poor (and there are most of them in prison. That’s why they are in prison, because they are poor). In principle, you can also eat gruel. But if there is an opportunity not to eat it - don’t eat it. It is better to be hungry than to eat whatever you can get your hands on. Read Omar Khayyam - there are some good lines about this.

So, we have sorted out the clothes and food, let's move on. After work - I won't hide it, it is animal work, because animal life naturally comes to the fore in prison - we will chat about ... spiritual things, or rather about communicating with the prisoners. Whether you want it or not, you will have to communicate for a long time and with many. And it often turns out that they did not graduate from the "academy". Of course, they will tell you everything according to the prisoner's concepts, who is who: who are the put-upon and responsible ones, tramps, punks and other classes right down to the reds, minors, the downtrodden and the offended. If you are destined to sit for a long time, then you will understand all the ins and outs thoroughly, and if you do not need it, then there is no point in going into details, the less you know, the better you sleep. And a prisoner's sleep is a sacred thing.

Talk to the prisoners simply. Don't show off your education (if you have it) too much, but learn to listen. As one smart person said, the best way to entertain a person is to listen to him. So listen. Start with the pretrial detention center. And don't be shy about asking questions, because you won't get beaten for asking. Just talking about prisons and camps will tell you a lot about this life behind bars, and you'll learn to understand life better in the free world. The main thing is not to ask others and not to spread information about someone else's or your own criminal case, that is, "share." This is considered bad manners ("What's your purpose in asking?") Our people are mostly simple and kind (if this word is appropriate in prison): if you treat them with respect, they will see you as a person. There are plenty of vile, greedy, nasty people. I remember one gold-toothed guy. He asked for some thread, I gave it to him. And the bastard, without batting an insolent eye, unwound half a skein. And he didn't even say thank you. Oh yeah! I almost forgot! According to prison rules, it's not customary to say "thank you" or "you're welcome" (they might answer: "What do you care about my health?"). But if you're a well-mannered person and can't keep quiet in such cases, then nod your head or say "heartily". Of course, these are stupid rules, but they change: in three-way prisons, well-mannered people say "thank you" to each other and "you're welcome". And it's okay - prison costs you money.

Of course, they'll tell you a lot more purely prison rules. At first, you'll make mistakes - screw up. The first time you're forgiven: a carrot is a carrot, what can you expect from it... The second, third time - they'll show you all sorts of things. And then you might even get a slap on the forehead with a mug. In our common hut there was one such nickname Sailor. He dug in his heels and just kept on drinking, not paying attention to the repeated remarks of the cell authorities and the silent condemnation of the whole hut. Well, they gave him a couple of blows. Only after that did he seem to understand something.

If you are not a fool, you will find your social circle, your "family" in a week or earlier. I was somehow nailed to the main ones in the hut, and I do not regret it. Because I received information about the criminal world from primary sources. Thanks to them, they did not reject me, although according to the convicts' concepts I am a "machine-gun mug", like a military man and a man in prison. Some saw me as a journalist and used me to write complaints, explanatory notes, letters, postcards and poems. And there was never a case when I refused anyone. And in another shared hut I had to wash the floors several times, and sleep on the palm tree - the top bunk... It's not that scary, it's scary when the hut will form a bad opinion of you, or, God forbid, the hut will put you on skis, that is, force you to leave for inspection yourself with your things. Not only will they throw you out, but a trail of "skiers" will follow you around the entire central. And then I'll feel sorry for you.

But I don't think you're a complete idiot, devil - roll yourself into cotton wool or "devil on spools" or a bull or a stooped elk (such characteristics are given to candidates for skiing). I think you're a person with brains and will understand even what I will forget to describe. In a word, you understood that in communication - be it with prisoners, an investigator, dubaki (you've probably already understood that these are prison employees who work at stages: duty officers, escorts and others) - the main thing is to listen, as the radio operators say, "work on reception". You can only wag your tongue with a lawyer, and not in every room they bring you to for such conversations. Many small rooms are bugged. Your conversation with your wife on a date is also bugged and recorded (if necessary). Learn to remember this always. If

you say something, it's easy - keep quiet and that's it. You guessed wrong and relaxed too early. If you just keep quiet, there will be some toothy convicts who will taunt you (and many have bitten their teeth off this - good for you), until they gnaw you down to the bone. You will need to learn how to snap back properly. So don't just keep quiet, but listen to how the convicts communicate with each other. One touches another, and the other hits him on the back with a criminal phrase, and the other "fell and crawled away." It rarely comes to a fight, and I believe this is the right decision, as they say in prison. Because you can run into physical trouble from the cops. And indulging them in this is a bummer. I will give you my own example about snapping. One fat guy got on my nerves, and not just me, because in response to the word "you can" he would give out a whole cascade of old, like a duffel bag, soldier-boot humor: you can grab Masha by the thigh, you can do something else there and then... And until he comes up with this pearl, he, the fat guy, won't budge. Once, when he, like a tank engine, was slowly starting to gain momentum with his "you can...", I abruptly cut him off and continued: "You can grab fat ones for lard, so that it hangs from your mug." After that, he and his "you can" rolled on.

In general, you need to learn to get along with your cellmates. If you are sociable, there will be no problems. However, even a withdrawn person by nature, if he is not a fool, will also find his place and role in the cell and will not irritate anyone.

And irritation in prison can flare up because of any trifle. I hope I don't have to explain to you why: crowding, sitting in a confined space for a long time, and without any release of sexual energy. By the way, for some reason the latter is not taken into account in the army and navy as one of the reasons for rampant hazing. If the soldiers-meters, as well as the prisoners, had some kind of meetings and dates, at least occasionally in an intimate setting, there would be, in my opinion, fewer problems with unexpressed emotions.

However, this does not concern you and me, as well as all Russian prisoners. The Russians, as the poet says, have their own stupidity. Or pride? I don't remember.

More about communication. Very quickly you will learn to snap back and speak in thieves' jargon. The infection sticks quickly. A month later I could hardly communicate with lawyers, and when the investigator asked me "how are you feeling?" I answered: "What is your purpose in asking?" Therefore, in order not to degrade completely, read books. Preferably smart ones, not empty ones, like all sorts of Beshenykh, Marinin and others. Of course, you will be drawn to prison topics. Such books will find you themselves. For example, I asked the librarian (there is such a thing - a rare phenomenon in our prisons, though) to bring magazines. She brought "Foreign Literature" six or five years old. Three of the four magazines had novels and stories about prison and prisoners. If you are a person with a normal psyche, then after a month or two of such reading, you will begin to feel sick of this subject, as well as of the TV shows "Road Patrol" or "Criminal Channel".

After three months in prison, you will look at newspapers that write about alleged bandits differently. You will be outraged by the article itself and you will ask yourself: why are people called bandits before the trial has taken place? You will begin to notice purely cop (cop) pitches for journalists in articles and on TV. (Here I cannot be impartial, but I am not able to keep silent either. Some colleagues have the intelligence of a smelt - enough for two swims. The garbage will hang noodles on their ears, and they, sticking out their tongues, write about what they know only from one side. And where is the opinion of the defense and the accused, and where is the reference to the laws, and where is their own opinion? For example, local so-called journalists wrote about me only from the words of the FSB. I read it in the hut and was surprised. No, not the bastardry of the FSB, I have long been accustomed to it, but the stupidity and naivety of the journalists, who did not deign to move their brains at least a little, at least a decile, as the prisoners say, and ask elementary questions. And in general, my dears, remember, everything that was said to all the FSB, police prosecutors and other employees requires not only verification, but a thorough verification. If it is not possible to verify (they give out either false information, or don't give it out at all), then at least write with a reference to these torturers. Otherwise, you pass it off as your own, so I want to give you a whack at the teapot when I meet you.

Okay, carrot, you didn't have to read the previous paragraph. I'm just making up my own, I've had enough, bro, you know.

So, you and I continue sitting. You just sat down, and I warmed the bunk a little longer. Now let's talk about ... hygiene. This is a very important topic. Like everything in prison. Because - understand - there are no trifles in life. Because - understand further - you have to answer for your words. (There are known cases when a word you accidentally dropped surfaced a month, a year later, and you had to answer for it). But let's get back to hygiene. You can live in prison for years, preparing to live in the zone for years, or you can kick the bucket in a tuberculosis dispensary (on the tuberculosis clinic) in a matter of weeks. You can play sports in the cramped prison courtyards, or you can go "to the hospital" (a medical block with the same cells) because of a trifle and already there catch some kind of infection. Therefore - remember: in the hospital or in the tuberculosis clinic even a healthy person becomes sick. You should avoid the hospital at all costs. To do this, you need to take care of yourself even in the brutal conditions of prison. In principle, you can do everything: wash yourself, wash yourself, shave, brush your teeth twice a day. Of course, interruptions in water supply are terrible, but you can stock up on water in advance (even in a bottle from mineral water or Pepsi) and then use it. Don't forget to wash your feet. I personally drove one prisoner off his bunk before he washed his feet. By the way, prisoners notice who is sloppy, and if they don't point it out to you right away, they will certainly turn away in disgust. But, most likely, they will say it quite rudely and they will be a thousand times right. Just as those who monitor the cleanliness of floors, windows, and fans are right. Uncleanliness is a direct path to the hospital. Tuberculosis, scabies, boils, fungus and other misfortunes are just waiting for their victims. Teeth decay and gums bleed if you do not take care of your oral cavity. Bad teeth - a bad stomach. This (and poor quality food) leads to gastritis, ulcers, flatulence, etc. Do not forget to fight physical inactivity, you can squat, bend over, do push-ups even in a cramped hut. And on a walk in the yard - this is what God himself ordered.

Speaking about a person in prison, it would not be superfluous to recall old man Gurdjieff, who said that to describe an ordinary person, psychology is not needed at all - mechanics alone are enough. In the prison version, this sounds vulgar, but also accurate: they eat without measure - they shit without memory. By the way, about emptying the stomach. This is a kind of small problem, since in a cramped hut it is not customary to go to the tank when people eat. If you screw up - you can blow. Therefore, my advice to you is - do not overeat, eat only to satisfy your hunger. If you don't go to the tank for 4-5 days, nothing terrible will happen to you or your stomach. I checked it myself - I'm responsible.

If you smoke - quit, if you don't smoke - don't even think about starting, although the temptation will be great. Drink only boiled water, from other drinks, except tea, I recommend motherwort decoction. It is useful in the daily stressful situations of prison.

Under the heading "hygiene" I also include the cleanliness of your clothes and bed linen. The infection, as you understand, is afraid of cleanliness. Many, even the majority, sleep on dirty sheets and mattresses, and even without them at all. And it is not their fault, but a misfortune. In prison, they have not issued either sheets or mattresses for a long time. The windows, for your information, are barred and not glazed. In a conversation with me, the head of the department of the penitentiary department (UIN) of the regional police department said that it was all because of the nasty convicts who tore sheets and broke window frames and shattered glass. And he is right. But only partly, because the blockheads also don't give a damn what they are given. The country is in ruins. And it is ridiculous to hope that in a single prison there will be at least a semblance of order.

You will wash your own sheets. But there is a possibility to establish contact with the serfs (these are prisoners who are serving their sentences at the prison and are busy with all the chores at the prison) and they will come to your hut and take your laundry for washing. Make them some tea and smoke for this. If you want the procedure to be repeated, don't be stingy.

In the evening, if you had to sleep during the night shift, undress on the bunk and look around - are there any parasites, redness, fungus, etc.? If there are any, in the morning persistently contact the doctor. At first they will give you spazmalgan. They give it to everyone and for any illness. Two tablets a day. You will say: not enough! The dumbfounded answer: the prosecutor will add and laugh like an unbroken horse. Feel free to write a complaint to the Department of Internal Affairs, the Penitentiary Service, the prosecutor's office, the prosecutor general's office, the President. You can write to the UN and Sportloto later. Any one of ten complaints will play a role, and you will be given not two, but three Spazmalgon tablets. But seriously, the only real help you will get is a parcel from the outside. Therefore, you better put it right away, right now, in your "emergency suitcase" (officers always keep one on hand in case of an emergency), in your prison Maidan, a first aid kit with everything you need.

If you are used to taking a bath at home, in freedom, drinking coffee, forget about this habit that is harmful to prison. From now on, you will have a bath once every 20 days for 20 minutes under sluggish, like schizophrenia, streams of boiling water. And even after this idiotic mockery of human need, you will be in seventh heaven - you washed yourself! You will not stink like a dog for a whole week. By the way, some manage to wash their underwear and socks during the wash. So - go for it, prisoner!

I forgot to tell you something so... so... so encouragingly important. Oh yeah, I remembered! The melancholy - the shaggy green prison melancholy, long, like a solid Vladivostok-Moscow train, inexhaustible, disgusting, nauseating, hopeless. It will devour you, gingerbread, from the inside and out. In small pieces and large chunks it will suck out all your meager spiritual strength. And you will suffer - and that's all it needs! And you will fall into depression - and that's all it's waiting for! And you will, as the prisoners say, be loaded up, like a Boeing with bombs, to the brim with this melancholy. And the investigator during the interrogation or the blockhead along the line will try to curdle your blood, or say something nasty, or do something. And you will feel that you will soon be ripe for the process of "blowing off the lid" - going crazy. The main thing here is to catch this moment and strangle it. First, remember that you are a human being, and human nature - including the psyche - is subject to you, you can control the process. Second, engage in self-hypnosis, think that you can handle everything. Third, work - read books, write poetry or letters, talk to someone, improve the gruel with finely chopped garlic... Whatever, but do not sit idle and do not get overwhelmed, do not devour yourself and do not let melancholy do the same. And soon you will see that you are strong, that you can not only survive captivity yourself, but also cheer up another gingerbread man. In general, I must tell you, a human being is a very strong and tenacious animal with a tenacious instinct for self-preservation. (I hope you understand that I am not deliberately stuffing you with Freud's psychoanalysis, Jung's archetypes, Nietzsche's complexes, Gadamer's hermeneutics, Camus-Sartre's existentialism, which you will stuff yourself with in prison without my advice, and to which, perhaps, we will return.)

Well, gingerbread, have you calmed down? If not, then worse for you.

They say that in Moscow, in the metro underpasses, they sell a brochure called "How to behave when arrested." It's a pity I haven't read it. Or fortunately, I haven't read it. Because every experience is individual. Treat my statements the same way: perhaps much will seem completely different in reality from what I describe here. And that! I have seen such gingerbread men - they were about 18 years old - that even old prisoners who had been to the zone three times were surprised. Yeah, those gingerbread men felt at home in any hut. They spoke thieves' language and had grasped the concepts while still free... In short, talented youth is growing up in our country. With such people, you could cover the whole country with camps... If you have enough territory, because in Primorsky Krai alone there are as many as six camps of different regimes.

And I also want to tell you, gingerbread, enjoy life while you are free. Learn to appreciate every minute, every day. Love your wife and children, spend more time in nature, don’t think about business and money all the time. Business is with the prosecutor, and money is trash. Remember when you gave your woman flowers, and your children ice cream? When you fed seagulls or pigeons from your hand? Admired the stars at night or indescribable sunsets? Learn to enjoy the moment. It is not for nothing that the samurai code “Bushido” says that one must think about death every day. So you, samurai gingerbread, think about prison all the time. Of course, all of us there, in freedom, are in fact very dependent on the authorities, the government, the wife and mother-in-law, money and circumstances... Tied hand and foot. But there we can rebel a little at any moment... rebel... a little. Explode... in measured doses, relax... for a certain amount and a certain time. Here, in prison, you own nothing, you have no rights or privileges. If you kick up a fuss - a punishment cell and a baton, if you rebel - a baton and a punishment cell. Both are fraught with deterioration of health, because a punishment cell is pneumonia, it is tuberculosis. And why the hell would anyone need you mortally ill? Even yourself, my beloved, will not like you in a couple of weeks. And don't think that I'm scaring you. Moreover, I will tell you a real case from my time in the pre-trial detention center.

A young guy was sentenced to 2.5 years. After the trial, he was transferred from a common cell to a "convict cell" - where convicts are kept. He got sick. In addition, he had epileptic seizures before, which was also the corresponding conclusion of the medical commission. One day, when he was already in the hospital, he had a seizure. In an unconscious state, they took a spinal tap from him - and he became a cripple: his legs were paralyzed. The search for the culprits led to nothing: I think no one except the administration of the pretrial detention center saw his letters and complaints. I read one of his complaints, he already wrote that they were giving him unknown drugs and not letting him go free even after the amnesty decree was issued, according to which he definitely should have been free. What is happening to him now, I don’t know. Is he alive, smoker?

Well, gingerbread, have I scared you? But this is not scary, it’s an ordinary fact of prison life.

Once, at the beginning of my prison term, and apparently in the heat of the moment, I wrote this: "Carry words like a commandment, If you want to cry - laugh. Do not believe, do not be afraid, do not ask, Do not wait and do not hope." In principle, everything is true now, and not only in the projection on my situation. But you must always wait and hope - even one step away from the electric chair. And what is surprising is that absolutely everyone hopes - on the screw-ups of the investigation, on the skill of the defense, on the mercy of the judges, on survival in the zone, on a bright future after serving time ... They begin to believe in God ... Well, this trick has been known for a long time. When free, I did not even think about God (did you believe in our Lord, Jesus?), but when my soul became sick - there, to the Almighty. Hope and believe. At least because sometimes for a while it distracts from the terrible reality. And prayer, by definition, is a convenient form ... of shifting your problems to someone else.

Just don't think that I'm a complete pessimist. Even with my relative indifference to you, I try to remain a realist. And my realism, after the parting words "believe and hope," is that "he who feeds on hope will die hungry." So if it's dinner time now, eat well, in case your next meal is a mug of boiling water and a piece of stale bread in a temporary detention cell (IVS) of the Primorsky or other territory or region's police department.

You've probably noticed that I'm deliberately avoiding the topic of your criminal case. Why? Firstly, until you tell me about it yourself, I won't be interested: in prison, as you remember, this is not customary. Secondly, I will still remember Jung: "Our justice has only recently managed to finally come to the psychological relativity of the sentence. Equality before the law is considered a valuable achievement... All the bad things that they do not want to see in themselves, the other one definitely has, therefore it must be fought..." Investigators and judges are also lyuli, and they are also prone to mistakes. And as far as I know, in practice, cases of punishment of judges for the mistakes they made are very rare. So do not flatter yourself. And, thirdly, in our society the line has not yet been clearly defined where the protection of the interests of society ends and the violation of human rights begins. The investigation, the study of its materials, in accordance with Article 201 of the Criminal Procedure Code, the trial, cassation appeals - all this is so tedious, so identical, that you will hear enough on these topics without me. (Especially since I myself, at the time of writing these lines, have not even come close to 201).

Do you know what a scream looks like when it's frozen like a block of ice and hanging over you, helpless? You'll have that opportunity if you start teasing, provoking, or just don't please the representatives of the pretrial detention center administration. Their hierarchy is complicated only at first glance: above you, helpless, are the longitudinal corps (duty officers), the operative, the regime officers, the special unit, the doctors, and the administration itself, headed by the owner - the warden. It's better to live peacefully with everyone: it's calmer for them, and good for you. Of course, there are outright bastards among them, who humiliate you in every possible way with their behavior and words and try to make you understand that you are a beast. Such people are worse than the most disgusting prisoners. My advice to you is to be patient and not pay attention. Understand that they are unhappy in their own way, offended, after all, they have essentially served more time in this prison than many others. Of course, this is not an excuse for bastards, it is only an attempt to warn you against rash actions like searching for the truth and appealing to the law: a baton and a punishment cell - that's the truth and the law for you.

If you are an intelligent person - and I sincerely hope you are - then you will start reading some books from tomorrow. They are called laws: criminal, criminal procedure, about the FSB, about operational-search activities, about the police, etc. You will not understand much there, without experiencing it on your own skin, without feeling - sometimes literally - with your own liver and spleen. But there will still be benefit. They will not take you on a show-off, on a scare, they will not have the advantage of the element of surprise. Remember: 80% of your case can be obtained from yourself during the very first interrogation, when you are thoroughly imbued with fear of the unexpected and the unknown.

The psyche is your enemy and your enemies' ally. Everything you say not only can be used against you, it will certainly be used against you. So gather your courage in advance, and therefore patience, and also make friends with a good lawyer, in whose work quality is the lowest bar. You should know his phone numbers better than your own.

And now I'll cheer you up. You won't disappear in prison, you'll survive, get used to it, and in three or four months you'll be able to talk in thieves' lingo and trifles, like water in the tap once every three days, be happy, draw notes and write letters to your wife of such content, for example. "Good health and happiness to the people in the hut! For the delivery you get a hearty shower. For the boar - also. The blend and meat tops did a particularly clever job... Tell Ustaty to bring his ID to the allotment. Let him encrypt it, otherwise he'll get mad when the cops file a sting. If he screws up - I'll straighten his helmet on his armor and change his nickname..."

Of course, this is hyperbole. But I assure you, prison slang is ingratiating, corrosive, sticky and clingy. After two months, I couldn't communicate with lawyers without using criminal words. And I know more literary words than some other prisoners. I mean that being determines consciousness.

It would be best if you perceive your time in prison not as a great grief, but as a temporary period of stay... on a business trip. Exotic. New people, impressions, smells, food. Learn to do something new with your own hands, such as: unraveling vegetable nets and weaving the end out of them, sewing tea pouches from leather, drawing. For the mind, I recommend books, chess, exercises in poetry, etc. Use prison to your advantage, develop yourself, work on yourself.

As I am working on myself now. They say that what is written testifies to the writer no less than to the subject of the presentation. So I am writing not so much to you and not so much about you, as about myself. And this also helps me survive.

Once again, I will tell you, Gingerbread, about the course of people, about prison. In military language (and we are all military in our country, one way or another, and our clothes, as Zhvanetsky said, are military, and our thoughts, and humor...), then the human course is a means of communication and a means of ensuring this communication. For example, you have an accomplice - a person with whom you committed a crime. Of course, you will be scattered among different huts and even among different buildings of the pretrial detention center - farms.

But you should talk to your accomplice. What to do? Each hut has a window, or even two. There are no frames with glass, but there are bars - grilles, and in a solitary confinement cell in Vladivostok there are also eyelashes - oblique wide metal strips welded additionally and on top of the bars. In each grille there is a bend, into which you can stick your fist. Near each grille there is a duty shift - for the expensive. The road is a rope to which small pokurki-malevki are tied - letters and notes sealed in a special way (this is a kind of art, which is easy to learn if you want), as well as intestines - long thin bags in which tea, candy, cigarettes, etc. are sent where needed. If you hear the cry "For easy weather", know that a "train" of small pokurki is being formed, "for heavy weather" - of intestines, which then go to another farm. On one farm, the roads also run quickly, and it is enough to just "mayak" - call the required addressee with a password - and from there they will respond and accept your road with a small pokurki or intestine. The call signs can be different: Trali-Vali, Neptune, Tucha, Saigon. If the cargo has arrived safely, a response may follow, such as Irkutsk, Chita, Ural... You can also transmit information by air or, as they say here, by oxygen. Sometimes you can hear - and everyone hears - for example, something like this: "One-four-three! - Yes-yes! Who is it? - Vitek! What time is it? - Time to smoke!" Or something like this: "Who is speaking? - Andrey! - Listen, Andrey, get out of there!"

It happens that someone negotiates with someone, argues, finds out why there is no answer for a long time, and can receive such an explanation: "He didn't answer you because he didn't consider it necessary." And once I heard a desperate cry: "Prison-old lady, give me a rattle!" There are other jokes.

These cries are heard not only throughout the prison, but also in the extensions. The Dubaki can burst in, frisk the roads, and commit repressions. Therefore, it is the duty of the person at the peak - at the door - to listen attentively to the movement on the extension and warn those on the road, for example, with the words "office" or "piano".

By the way, if, say, you drive up to the prison in the evening, you can easily hear these same cries through the oxygen. This means that the prison is alive, that the human passage is functioning.

There is also a means of communication - a nature - a hole in the wall used for both paintings and intestines. A blown-up - discovered - nature is very bad. The entire hut will be resettled, a punishment cell, the removal of the TV and other unpleasantness. Therefore, the kaburo must always be closed carefully and heroically, like Matrosov closed the embrasure of the pillbox. The human passage is also a concern for the "holy places" of the prison - the punishment cells and the hospital. Bringing food and smokes there is the duty of each and every one. They say that even sewer pipes are used as a communication channel for the little ones in the punishment cells. In a word, you realized that the human course is very serious. Useful, vitally necessary and to some extent romantic in a military way. (I could also tell you about the "guns" and "arrows" flying away with their cargo to freedom, about the pictures that can be observed from behind the bars in freedom, in the windows and balconies of residential buildings, about the sawing and bending of bars and pipes, about many other things that are also included in the concept of "human course". But I do not do this for one reason: I have not seen it myself.)

Listen, Pryanik, I keep forgetting to ask you: did you serve in the army? If you did, then many of your army impressions will be remembered very quickly in prison. And this will be good, and everything will be cool. (By the way, do you know what a "goodie" is? You'll find out in prison, I won't tell you). So that's the army. I served in it. And while the investigation is ongoing, I've been serving for nineteen years. Four of them were in a military school. And although it was a political school, and although it was a department of military journalism, we still had everything that any of our military collectives have: classes, self-training, exercises, drinking, AWOL, fistfights, competitions, shooting, suicides... If you served, you know yourself. Remember how you gained authority: not immediately with fistfights, because there were old men, grandfathers. They are in prison too, but they are called differently, not gingerbread. Remember how you learned to sew, wash, darn, iron, cook, snap, fall asleep to wild noise at any time of the day or night, freeze, endure any illness on your feet, love strongly and hate just as strongly, with what joy you received letters from home and parcels with home-cooked food, how you hated some officers, how you loved to go to the bathhouse and be alone in silence, even if not for long - remember! - how you demobilized! How you thought about it every day, how you colored in the days on the calendar, with what love for this day you took pictures for the demobilization album, how you imagined yourself in .........and in a cocky form appearing in their native lands!..

Reread the entire paragraph, Pryanik. So, all of this, or almost all of it, is in prison. And you will wait for the day of your release as you have never waited for anything in this world. Here, even the comparison with demobilization pales. Because being released from prison or from the zone is the same as being born again. (Regarding Pryanik: for repeat offenders, this feeling, used for its intended purpose several times, becomes slightly dulled).

And do you remember, Pryanik, how on the holiday "100 days before the order", you old men got drunk as a skunk and almost deliberately ran into the platoon commander's eye? And then in the guardhouse, you suffered for five days? So, the guardhouse is also a prison. I was there - I know. But there is a difference. And a significant one - age. We were 18 then, now I'm 36. And I feel these "extra" 18 with osteochondrosis-radiculitis back, nervous rash on my body, almost chronic insomnia and memory lapses. So, Gingerbread, age is age, even in Africa. Quit smoking, go in for sports, don't abuse alcohol, love your wife more often and don't get worked up over prostitutes, in prison your body will live more in harmony with your spirit. Amen!

So, am I fit to be a preacher? I can see for myself that I'm not, but there is no other for now, be content with this.

Do you know how tattoos are made? In slang, a tattoo is called a partak. I haven't gone into the etymology, but the word "partachit'" (to ruin the skin) is probably very close. In fact, tattooing has been known since ancient times. They say that the ancient Egyptians indulged in it. Then somehow this matter was forgotten, and in the era of great geographical discoveries somewhere on the islands of Polynesia the natives were asked why the hell they drew their skin with needles. "We worship the god Tatu," the Indians answered. Since then, Indians have multiplied on the earth in countless numbers.

And our prisons and camps are full of them. In those ten countries that I accidentally managed to visit before my arrest, I saw people with tattoos everywhere. I remember dragons on a Saigon docker, a lotus on a Japanese man in Tokyo, some hieroglyphs on a street vendor in Beijing, the word "VITA" on a man in a pub in Prague... I was especially struck by the portable workshop of a tattoo artist in Cyprus. He offered several albums, a kind of catalogs, from which you could choose any design. God! What designs, what colors! And what's surprising is that the drawing in the album after it was tattooed on the skin remained the same in clarity and colors. And it cost pennies and in terms of hygiene there were no doubts. I still regret that I didn't leave myself a memory of Cyprus in the form of some nice tattoo.

In Russia, the word "nakolka" is in use. A tattoo is in use among prisoners. Our prisoners make up a third of ex-convicts, a third of those serving time, and a third of those preparing to serve time. "You can't live your life in Russia without having been in prison." That's why, unlike the bourgeoisie, no one is shocked by prosecutors, deputies, and government members with prison tattoos on their hands. Tattoos and other traditions of prisons and zones have somehow naturally and quickly spread to our armed forces and have generally become little different from each other. True, the theme of the tattoos has changed slightly: the letters DMV, naked girls, anchors, ships, and border service missiles have appeared.

The technology for making a tattoo in the army and in prison is the same. It is based on an electric razor motor with a needle drive. The needle with a reservoir of paint suspended from it quickly nods and pecks at the prisoner's skin along a pre-applied outline of the design. The speed of nodding is regulated by a kind of rheostat, the role of which is played by a jar of water of different salinity with two plates lowered into it. The paint is prepared as follows: a heel is burned (not a simple one, but a good quality one from a tarpaulin boot) to the state of ash. It is diluted with water, urine, and, if available, ink of a certain color is added. Burnt, that is, the paint is ready. In fact, of course, all this is done for a long time and carefully, because the paint should not clog the needle, inflame the skin, etc. The drawing is first drawn on paper, then a stencil is made and already from the stencil the contours of the image are applied to the body: shoulder, chest, forearm, thigh, back.

In my presence, for example, the Statue of Liberty, the face of our Jesus Christ, spiders in a web, a temple with domes, crosses and rings on the phalanges of the fingers, inscriptions like "Fest Killer" and other nonsense were drawn and pricked. A tattoo artist in the hut, that is, a tattooist (usually both the name and the specialization coincide) is a rarity. Especially a good tattoo artist, who will not inflame the skin and will apply the drawing not just schematically, but with halftones, shadows and lines of different thickness.

The machine buzzes from morning till night, from night till morning. In any case, this was how it was in our common hut, because the tattoo artist (Picasso's rattle) was being prepared for the stage. Minor inflammations happened, I remember, they were rubbed with furacilin solution.

I was also offered to get something or other tattooed somewhere. But if I refused in Cyprus, then here in prison and even more so. I advise you to decide for yourself. But before that, answer the following questions: can you live without a tattoo? To whom and how often will you brag about the tattoo? Will it embarrass you and those around you in the office, at a conference, in the theater, in front of your children? Perhaps these questions are enough to know my attitude to tattoos. Well, in principle, the owner is the master...

Well, have I entertained you a bit? Have some coffee, eat a gingerbread - this is a rarity in prison. Walk around the office, apartment. It is advisable to keep your hands behind your back, so that the habit develops. Wait, think or, as the prisoners say, "poke around". Because now I will launch into reasoning. By the way, you do not have to read them, they do not carry any practical load, and I need to kill time ... intellectually beautifully.

Erich Fromm once wrote that man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem ... No, still, you, gingerbread, had better read on. Because further on we will talk about madness and suicide. Despite all the external well-being of prison life, thoughts about these two things (let's call them that) visit anyone. So, one particularly dreary day you are burdened with the fact that your life, having wandered into prison, is a problem. Your soul becomes heavy and sick, you feel like you have a globus hystericus - a lump in your throat. Everything around you becomes unbearably unbearable: this dirt, this stench, these disgusting prisoners, these bastard investigators and thugs, this failed life... Isn't it time to end it? Ahead of you lies 8 - 10 - 12 years in the camps, so what the hell is this life for. It's not worth living it out like this and there. That's it! You are full of determination. You know what to do. You will find something to do it with: a belt, a drawstring from sweatpants or a washer (blade) for opening veins - you will always find it. You can even imagine your beloved self, lifelessly hanging somewhere on a belt or under a bunk or lying breathless next to a pool of your beloved blood. You feel very sorry for yourself, and everyone who found you feels sorry for you. And imagine your family and friends, dressed in mourning robes... Now wake up, Pryanik, because you still have to think about how and where you are going to deprive yourself of your worthless (in fact) life. Staying alone in prison is practically impossible and prohibited by the rules. If you try to hang yourself from a noose, they will take you down in unison and disqualify you according to your armor. Even if you slit your wrists at night, they will definitely (one hundred percent) save you. And not because they will try to save your life, but because no one wants to serve time because of you, an idiot. Even if you slit your wrists at night, they will definitely (one hundred percent) save you. And they will put you in solitary confinement with those who are just as clouded as you. And then you will start watching each other. In a word, suicide is a dead end. Don't even dwell on it. Romantic Dumas, on behalf of romantic Dantes, could of course write that he "fell into a gloomy stupor that comes with thoughts of suicide." And "woe to him who on the sorrowful path lingers on these gloomy thoughts." You won't go further than your stupid stupor (which, by the way, comes when you are given a crust of bread, thickly rubbed with garlic and with a piece of lard on top).

Suicide, according to Camus (not to be confused with cognac and the existentialist writer), is prepared in the silence of the heart. To commit suicide means to admit that life is ending, has become incomprehensible. So try to understand it - you have enough time. Suddenly you will stumble upon the truth. True, according to the same Camus, the search for truth is not the search for the desirable. Thinking, like breathing, is not forbidden to you in prison. Evaluate this - and think. Without strain and panic, but calmly, slowly, with breaks for lunch and dinner, for reading and communication.

I also thought ... And about suicide too. Sooner or later, I recalled someone's words, the time comes when you need to choose between contemplation and action - this is called becoming a man. I remembered my pre-prison life, my work and suddenly saw from the outside that almost always walked on the edge of the abyss, played with fate, as if testing it. I chose the topics for my articles specifically - dangerous ones, often ignored or openly disdained caution, did not respond to warnings... Destiny, seeing my assertiveness, responded: with the paws of the FSB, it put me behind bars. And I thought: they will give a lot, so is it worth living my life in this camp "a lot"? Or maybe I should seriously take up creativity? In any case, there is a choice.

The powerlessness of a person in front of conventions, also created by man, gave rise to fear and despair and the desire for suicide. The feeling of powerlessness of a person in prison is different from, say, a weightlifter who has not lifted weight. In prison, the factor of lack of freedom is mixed in. (Hell is the impossibility of objecting). At the same time, in prison you often hear: these are the rules here, as if prisons and rules were not created by people. Having learned to live by these rules, you will learn to find loopholes in them. One of them is to turn your powerlessness into strength, i.e. use your prison term to your advantage. Accept reality, take it calmly. Although I understand your feelings. But you are not the first, you will not be the last. Nietzsche also noted that the instinctive hatred of reality is a consequence of extreme irritability and morbidity, when you no longer want to be touched, because any touch acts too strongly. Do not think about death. Not to see beyond today's troubles is the lot of the spiritually blind. Reject your useless anxiety: it gives nothing, and, as Castaneda wrote, only makes you close in on yourself. Therefore, detachment is necessary. Then the idea of the inevitability of death does not turn into a mania, but becomes indifferent.

Well, have I convinced you at least a little that thoughts about death are fruitless, although not unfounded and harmful, although inevitable.

I hope, Gingerbread, that you too will survive. A strong hope, as Nietzsche wrote, is a much better stimulant to life than any happiness that has become reality. And since prison is your reality, then happiness must be sought somewhere nearby. It seems to me that it is not only in avoiding thoughts of suicide, so as not to get tuberculosis, but also in not going crazy, so that the lid does not slide off. The lid, as you understand, is directly connected with the soul. If there is peace in the soul, the lid will be in place.

So let's talk about the soul. Maybe all this will seem banal and not worth attention to you, but I don't think so. In the end, distracting reading leads to distracting thoughts. You should not delve too deeply into them: you can achieve the opposite result, and then instead of peace of mind you will acquire, as the prisoners say, "brain cancer" or get meningitis. And we will talk about the soul in a simple way, as it is more convenient for us, prisoners. And since we are literate prisoners, we will take smart people as our interlocutors. Carl Jung, for example. According to Jung, the soul is the only direct phenomenon of the world and constructs its own private system for its own world, often with hermetic walls. (When I read this, the thought occurred to me that even in freedom, having constructed such a cage for himself, a person can also quite safely withdraw into himself or go out of himself, in a word, go crazy. In prison, this condition is aggravated by the brick walls already around.)

Further: Jung has three functions of the soul: anticipation, intuition and dreams. (If you are interested, read Z. Freud, E. Fromm, etc.) And three stages of the soul: consciousness, personal unconscious and collective unconscious. Consciousness, therefore, is a part of the soul, and it has a very valuable property - to adapt to the conditions of the external environment. Hence - "being determines consciousness", "when you fall among the wolves - howl like a wolf" and other equally well-known statements. The soul, Jung asserts, is an adaptive system conditioned by external earthly causes. As an example of adaptability, Jung cites an American. According to his definition, an American is a European with the manners of a black man and the soul of an Indian. In the same way, if you end up in prison (for you it is terra incognita, as for Europeans the New World and the environs of the Yukon and Klondike rivers were in their time), you will adapt. You can acquire criminal habits, slang, become a prisoner, while remaining a normal, cultured person at heart. To achieve such unity, in other words, mental balance, is your task, and it is quite within your power. Of course, it is difficult. Of course, the longer you sit, the less chances you have to remain a normal person, but if you are a person, your task is to resist as long as possible everything that will try to corrode your soul. Save yourself with creative work. Do not forget to toughen yourself physically. Daily mental gymnastics (books, letters, chess, poetry) should be supplemented by physical gymnastics in the cell and in the prison yard. Laziness of thought leads to stagnation of the mind and obesity of the soul, laziness to play sports - to obesity of the body, hypodynamia and other ailments. Work, fight! And remember: there are two cures for every misfortune: time and silence.

...I'm writing all this crap and thinking: have I gone crazy or not? Is my mind boiling, or is it just my imagination? But don't pay attention. Let's assume that it doesn't concern you. You know, going crazy is as hard as hanging yourself. And what does it mean to "go crazy" in a country where almost everyone is an idiot, where almost every face bears the imprint of sluggish schizophrenia? Maybe you've been crazy for a long time, and that means that madness is not a threat to you in principle?

And I feel sorry for the children who are forced to see and hear advertisements for Tampax, Fairy, soap and toothbrushes from morning until night. It seems that we are a country of, if not idiots, then assholes. And with such an abundance of annoying stupid advertising, it's very easy to become an idiot.

Sorry for getting back to my own, sore subject. So where were we? Yes, it's very hard to go crazy in prison. Even if you really want to. You see, in prison, whatever you don't want may not be there. Or it may be there - but yesterday, or it may appear - but not for you. So get ready for letters and packages to be sent to everyone except you (at least, that's how it will seem to you), that many will be released, but not you, that other prisoners are coping with it easier than you. It certainly seems that way. In reality, we are all in the same boat, an underwater one. We have set out on an autonomous voyage. It is unknown when we will surface and whether we will. But life as a form of protein existence, alas, continues. And that means we must live. And there is no escape from this, just as there is no escape from a submarine...

I interrupted my scribbling to you for a day, and two more were shoved into our cell. If they stick another one in tomorrow, there will be a square meter of living space per person. Space, like in the tundra: walk as much as you want. I don’t remember if I told you to learn to sleep in the wild with the radio and TV on and the lights bright? If not, then learn. I didn’t learn, and now I’m suffering. As you understand, we sleep in shifts. And the awake shift, naturally, eats, watches TV and talks. And the sleeping shift must sleep. And woe to anyone who can’t close an eye in such conditions.

But that’s not scary. What’s scary is the future, because it’s unknown. Who knows what kind of nastiness our enemies will come up with for us, what kind of la tradinento – black treason in Italian – they’ll concoct.

...One of the two who swam to us seemed interesting to me. And I decided to tell you about him. His nickname was Malysh, there are many like him at the central prison. But not many people get the death penalty in court. They did for him. He spent three years in a pretrial detention center, the trial lasted three months. Tomorrow is the verdict. And he, having written the last word in red ink on several sheets of paper (I read it - sometimes quite competently, sometimes convincingly, in places - a bit harshly) is cheerful and happy. Although, the devil knows what is going on in the soul of this twenty-eight-year-old man. And I found his healthy attitude to prison life interesting. It is at home in any cell. I also remember his language - typically prison, with a healthy dose of humor. However, I will cite it "live".

" - I started going to court - I really got hooked on bickering... A cop came in and got hooked on a knife, like a dog on a piece of meat. He flicked it into his pocket - snip!... I had to sharpen the oar.

" - They asked for the death penalty for me, can you imagine. And I also have a three-ruble note... Well, it hangs there and doesn't jingle... They gave one gingerbread man three years, and he says - the term and he's loading and his horn is growing... And then he finds out that I'm in for... - he turned pink-e-e...

- Thursday at the Central is a day of miracles: some kind of shit always happens, they order a transfer, a camp, they resettle someone on Thursday. And at seven or eight the door bursts open and four of them swim in at once, fuck you... A transfer from Nadezhdinsk, only from the temporary detention center.

- And then one Thursday a striped guy swam in, he did 20 years. You can tell a man by his mug. And in our hut there was a Potter, a VCR... He stuck all this out and got stuck, and his voice was like a wolffish: "What kind of hut is this?" Maybe I got to the wrong place? "Where were you going?" we asked. He ate some crap, spent 5 minutes talking some bullshit, and then spent another hour wondering where he got to...

- I was sitting in three-one-four, and then the fun, the commotion started. They ordered ten of us at once. I drove into a new hut, and there was a tiger cage. The hut was long, like a submarine... I was immediately overcome with nostalgia. Well, we tore off the mosquito net, got caught by a thick road with a hut opposite and pulled. The regime officer got fed up: "I'll throw you all apart!" And we said to him: "Hurry up!" And he said: "Why aren't you afraid?" "What's there to be afraid of? It's so hot you can't breathe."

- I once had a hallucination: I wrote two complaints and forgot about them."

We listened to him, rolling, the hut was shaking from our laughter. But he didn’t make anything up on purpose. He wasn’t playing to the public. He just told it as best he could. And that was the only way he could. His language is his life. And his life is prison, a stage, a camp. Still, in my heart I, and not only I, hope that they won’t award him the death penalty.

In the monologues cited above, I consciously changed almost nothing, so as not to “litter” the prison language with the normative vocabulary of a member of the Writers’ Union with two higher educations. And here’s what I caught myself thinking. In principle, the meaning of many unknown words was clear to me, that is, I intuitively guessed that “to cubature” means to think over, and not, say, to saw through a grate. And the overwhelming majority of words are known to you and me, Pryanik, by will, because you and I children of the Soviet Union - the most imprisoned and imprisoned country in the world. Prison vocabulary has been formed in our country for decades. You've probably heard of the GULAG. So, the French linguist Jean Rossi served 20 years in Soviet camps, and after being released, he wrote a dictionary-reference book on the GULAG. This dictionary contained more than 2 thousand words from the official and unofficial language of Soviet prisons and camps. We still use this language. We discard some of it because it is archaic, modernize some, and leave some untouched, like, for example, the word "central". Dahl's dictionary gives about ten synonyms for the word "prison": prison, dungeon, convict's, sack, flea market, fortress, casemate... Rossi's dictionary gives 45 official names of prisons (pre-trial detention center, special facility, stationary general prison, special design bureau, etc.) and 41 designations in prison slang (Ispravdom, zakrytka, hospital, vnutryanka, dacha, rest home, Kichmak, krytka, pereshkola, tsentral, sharaga, etc.).

In one of Rozhdestvensky's last poems there are the following lines: "The lieutenant looks out the window, won't stop drinking. Half the country is already in jail, half the country is getting ready." Let me remind you, who are getting ready: our entire country is one big prison. It has always been like this and, apparently, will remain like this. There are some grounds for believing so. For example, the measures taken by our law enforcement agencies to combat crime are often criminal. That is why it is not uncommon for an investigator and an accused to be found in the same cell in a pretrial detention center. That is why the language of prison is similar to the language of freedom. Listen to yourself, Pryanik, on the outside: blat, bullshit, to dodge, to shirk, to be sneaky, to snitch - all these are your words and mine, and his, and hers, and our children, who are still ignorant... Read our books, Pryanik - it's all slang. And there are prison words, literary over time and polished by everyday life to a normal habit: shoot, go to jail, get into trouble, get rowdy, rags...

There is no question: to study fenya or not to study it - it is in our blood, just as there is no question: to sit or not to sit. The only question is when. And here, as they say, the sooner you sit, the sooner you get out (or the sooner you sit, the more you get). Well, it doesn't happen with us that you can have your cake and eat it too.

I'm just surprised why there is so little serious literature about prisons and camps. It's not like we spend all our time subscribing to French linguists... We have our own writers, of course... And sometimes I get bored alone.

I would like to work as a teacher, you hear, Pryanik. No, I'm not under any illusions. I love children. And my father worked as a teacher for a reason all his life. The main thing in pedagogy is to tune in to the student's wavelength, like a tuning fork. You have to be a bit of a kid yourself, or a serious young man, a student, for example. Yes, I would teach students. Journalism, for example... I am so grateful to one cellmate that he is seriously concerned about the differences in genres, the difference between the grotesque and hyperbole and what an oxymoron is. And I am starting to forget, to think for a long time, to remember what, for example, nonconformism, aberration, infernal are... I would like to return to life, clear my head. To hug my beloved wife, to raise a son. And I am sitting here like a fool, cherishing my sluggish schizophrenia and giving you - I hope, not idiotic - advice on how to survive the first two or three weeks in prison. You will survive without my advice. Almost everyone survives. And not because they read smart books (woe comes from wit) or listened to advice. Because with my mother's milk I absorbed hatred for the police, the state, the government (they lie because it's chronic and pathological), their laws. That's why half the country is already in prison, half the country is getting ready.

We will survive, Pryanik, we will serve our time and return. Let them not wait for us, but we will, God willing, get ours. And we will forgive our enemies (if they ask for forgiveness), and debtors too (if they repay their debts with interest). Well, and with the unconscious, one prisoner I know suggested to deal with them in a completely humane way: chop off their arms and legs, gouge out their eyes, pierce their ears - and let them live.

We will survive, Pryanik. And someday we will definitely return to our former pre-prison life. I do not say "free life", because freedom is ultimately determined by one thing - the length of the leash.

... After a day in a quarantine cell, chilled to the bone during one cold winter night, having talked to a wet rat that brazenly sat on the tank-toilet, you will happily sip the gruel handed to you in the feeding trough. Then you will go through small circles of hell, called a medical examination.

When they take three fingerprints from all your fingers, take a photo of your unshaven mug against the background of a nameplate, you will receive a lump of soft stinking dirt, called a pillow, and walk along the length of one of the prison buildings. Perhaps this will be the first. Perhaps it will be a corner hut-tee and, perhaps, under number 99. With a confused look and a wandering gaze, you will stand at the entrance and squeeze out "hello". We will measure and enlighten you with our confident prisoner's gaze and, smiling, we will say:

- Well, hello, Pryanik!

Copyright © 1998 Grigory Pasko