Nora arranged the old photographs—Genrikh’s legacy. There were quite a few of them. Some of them were signed, and these Nora put aside. Many photographs depicted people she didn’t know: relatives and friends whose names it was no longer possible to recover. At the turn of the twentieth century, amateur photography was virtually nonexistent; all of these were taken in a studio by a professional, and affixed to a piece of cardboard bearing the address of the studio, and often the name of the photographer. The earliest photograph was dated 1861. It was a picture of an old man with a large beard, in a yarmulke. Most likely Marusya’s grandfather.
A strange, powerful feeling gripped her, as though she, Nora, the one and only Nora, were floating down a river, and behind her, like a fan opening up, were her ancestors, three generations of them, imprinted on pieces of cardboard, with familiar names. Behind them, in the depths of these waters, was an endless line of nameless predecessors, men and women who had chosen one another through love, through passion, through convenience, or by arrangement of their parents. They produced and protected their progeny, great multitudes of them, and they settled the entire earth, and the shores of all the rivers. They had propagated and multiplied, in order to produce her, Nora; and she to bring forth her only son, Yurik; and he to produce still another little boy, Jacob. It is an endless story, the meaning of which is so hard to discern, though it always beckons, as the most fragile of threads.
All the work of generations, all the games of chance—all so that a new child, Jacob, would be born and become part of this eternally meaningless, meaningful current. This play has been performed for thousands of years, with insignificant variations: birth-life-death, birth-life-death … So why is it still interesting and exciting to float down this river, watching the landscape change? Is it not because someone, at some time, dreamed up an intricate little bubble, the sheerest of membranes, to enclose within delimited boundaries each living being, each “I” floating down the river—until it bursts, with a dull moan, and pours back into the waters of eternity? These ancient letters, preserved by some miracle, are the everlasting contents of this “I,” the trace of existence …
Why did I wait so long to read these letters? Nora asked herself. Out of fear. I was afraid to discover something terrible about Jacob, who lived in exile and in labor camps for at least thirteen years; and about Marusya, who was always hiding something, and constantly almost revealing secrets, and then maintaining a deafening silence again. I was afraid to find out about the fears and passions that devoured them, and about those base acts that fear pushes people to. But the letters explained a great deal.
Now there was just one thing left to do—to find out about what happened beyond what the letters revealed. That was Nora’s final step. She visited the KGB archives.
The archives were located by Kuznetsky Bridge, five minutes by foot from the dark heart of the city, from the Lubyanka. Nora said she would like to see the papers on file for the case of Jacob Ossetsky, who was released from prison at the end of 1955. The archival assistant asked Nora whether she had any documents attesting to her relationship.
“I have the same surname, and I have my father’s birth certificate, which bears the name of my grandfather.”
“No problem, then. Leave your phone number, and we’ll order the file of your grandfather’s case and call you within the next two weeks,” said the very forthcoming archival assistant.
Two weeks later, she called to inform Nora that she could come to acquaint herself with Jacob Ossetsky’s case. Nora went to the archives.
The woman delivered a folder, on the cover of which were these words:
Case. OSSETSKY, J. S.
Opened: 1 December 1948.
Closed: 4 April 1949.
Submitted to archive R-6649
KGB Archive No. 2160
The folder was thick. There were large-format sealed envelopes inserted between the yellowing pages, sewn together. The archival assistant warned her that the envelopes must not be unsealed. It was also forbidden to photograph, scan, or photocopy the contents, but she was permitted to take notes and copy extracts. She found a photograph in an unsealed envelope. Jacob Ossetsky, on the day he was processed, in profile and full face—with a shaved head, a small mustache, and a firmly compressed mouth.
The face took her breath away.
Nora placed a plain notebook she had brought from home next to the case file. The first three pages of the notebook had been filled up with Yurik’s handwriting in 1991, not long before he left for America; she hadn’t been able to find a fresh notebook at home, and the stationer’s store was closed. She turned the page with Yurik’s chicken scratch, and began to take notes:
Born … studied … served in the army … worked …
First arrest 1931: 3 years exile (Stalingrad Tractor Plant)
Second arrest 1933: 3 years exile (Biysk)
Third arrest: December 2, 1948
Nora had already read about the first two terms of exile in her grandfather’s letters. About the last term, she knew only that he had been imprisoned in 1948 and released in 1955.
Her eyes came to rest on a sheet of thick, fine-quality paper on which was written, in wonderful prerevolutionary clerk’s script: “Arrest Warrant from December 1, 1948.” And a fingerprint!
On the other pages—yellowing, dog-eared—was written the entire history, in an awkward, unlettered (in every sense) hand. Nora barely noticed these shortcomings, however.
The search was carried out at the place of residence of his sister Eva Samoilovna Rezvinsky at 41 Ostozhenka Street, Apt. 32, who works as a teacher of French and German in School No. 57. During the search, his sister E. Rezvinsky and the yardman and building janitor Soskova, M. N., were present. The witness was Chmurilo, A. A.
What followed was a long list of his belongings, which Nora began to copy down, though she stopped before reaching the end of the list.
DESCRIPTION OF PROPERTY:
1. Iron bed
2. Bookstands, two pieces
3. Telefunken radio set, imported
One page of entries was missing. The list began again with:
17. Plywood suitcase
18. Abacus
19. Safety razor
20. Slide rule
21. Men’s overcoat, mid-season, herringbone, used
22. Men’s overcoat, summer-weight wool
23. Men’s suit, wool
24. Black two-piece suit—old
25. Men’s jacket, wool
26. Shirts, 3 old
27. Undershirts, 2 old
28. Long underwear, 4 pairs, old
29. Underwear, 4 pairs, old
30. Towel, cotton
In her mind, Nora arranged the bed, the two bookcases, and a table in a narrow room. She distributed some of the “used” objects, and realized she was already staging a play …
DURING THE SEARCH, THE FOLLOWING ITEMS WERE CONFISCATED:
1. Dissertation of J. Ossetsky, Demographic Notions of Generations, 3 volumes, 754 pp., 1946–1948
2. Brochure by J. Ossetsky, Statistical Data on the European Economy
3. Journal, Thought, issues 6–11 from 1919, Kharkov
4. Materials in draft form, British-Palestinian Handbook, 577 pp.
5. Notes on economic statistics, 314 pp.
6. Letters, 173 items, numbering 190 pp.
7. Newspapers in various foreign languages (English, German, French, and Turkish—according to J. Ossetsky), 18 items
8. Reports for the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee on the Palestine question, 4 volumes, typewritten, with an inscription on each volume: “Mikhoels”
9. Report on the Palestine question for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the USSR (with an inscription: “to B. Stern, adviser at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs”)
There were sixty-eight entries altogether. Following this was a list of books, also lengthy: