Possibly he was playing for time, aware that the Soviet Union was unprepared for war, both militarily and industrially; more likely he was simply burying his head in the sand, expecting his own wishes automatically to take on the status of objective reality. In any case, he clung desperately to the Nazi-Soviet pact. As a result the Soviet armed forces were taken largely unawares by the German offensive of 22 June 1941.
During the ensuing months the Soviet forces were thrown into headlong retreat. Armies that attempted to hold their ground were for the most part encircled. By late October the Germans had taken nearly three million prisoners, had isolated Leningrad, and had breached the outer defence line of Moscow itself. Meanwhile more than 1500 factories, not to mention entire universities and scientific institutes, had been evacuated by rail to the Urals, Siberia, the Volga and Central Asia.
The first important Soviet success was Zhukov's defence of Moscow in December 1941. This gave an important boost to national morale, destroying the myth of German invincibility. The Soviet counter-offensive of early 1942, however, was largely unsuccessful; throughout the rest of 1942 the Germans continued to hold their ground in the north and centre, while sweeping through the Ukraine towards the Volga and the oil-fields of the Caucasus. By September 1942 they were laying siege to Stalingrad, the key industrial and communications centre on the Volga. It is at this point that For a Just Cause ends, and Life and Fate begins.
From an historical point of view, Life and Fate is on the whole accurate; Grossman's observations as a journalist have clearly been supplemented by a vast amount of detailed historical research. Like Tolstoy, he includes in the novel a number of historical figures: Hitler and Stalin make brief appearances – as do Paulus, Eichmann, several important German officers, and most of the senior Russian officers at Stalingrad. Several of the minor characters are also based on real figures: Naum Rosenberg, for example, the Jewish accountant, was derived by Grossman from his researches for the Black Book.
The Jewish nuclear physicist Viktor Shtrum, perhaps the most important character in the novel, is a portrait of the author himself: his mother's death, his growing consciousness of his Jewish roots, his increasingly hostile attitude to Stalin, his agony over whether to write a letter of repentance – all these reflect the various stages of Grossman's own development. In other, more superficial respects, Shtrum is based on Lev Davidovich Landau, a brilliant physicist, not a Party member, who was dismissed from his work during the anti-Jewish campaigns of the early fifties, only to be reinstated by P. L. Kapitsa, an ex-student of Rutherford's and one of the most important Soviet physicists of the time. Kapitsa himself, at least in his eventual refusal to work on the development of the atom bomb, is clearly a model for Chepyzhin in Life and Fate.
The novel does contain one important departure from historical truth, though only in regard to chronology: Grossman considerably telescopes the rise of official anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union. Symbolically, Grossman is justified in linking the Stalingrad victory to the rise of Russian chauvinism; in reality it developed more slowly, reaching its peak in the late 1940s and early 1950s. The campaign against Einstein, for example, began only in the late forties, not – as in the novel-in 1942…
THE TEXT AND THE TRANSLATION
The Russian text of Life and Fate, first published in Lausanne in 1980, is based on the collation of two incomplete microfilms. For the main part, the two microfilms complemented one another; gaps and obscurities in one could be filled in from the other. Nevertheless, there are still passages where the published text breaks off in mid-chapter or mid-sentence. No attempt has been made to conceal these hiatuses; they are indicated in this translation by a bracketed ellipsis: […]
I have also chosen to omit or abridge some of the more sententious philosophical passages. Grossman's style is occasionally repetitive; I hope that my abridgments allow the power of his thought to stand out with greater clarity. In justification of such high-handedness, I can only plead that the manuscript was never finally prepared for publication by Grossman himself, and there is evidence he himself wished to carry out further revision. The omissions amount to approximately six pages in the Russian text.
A translation of this length must always, to some degree, be a collective task. I offer my sincere thanks to the large number of people who have helped in their various ways: Igor Golomstok for first bringing the novel to my attention and suggesting I attempt a translation; George Theiner and Hugh Lunghi for publishing extracts from my translation in their admirable magazine Index on Censorship; Mark Bonham Carter, Carol O'Brien and Dan Franklin for their patience, understanding and extraordinarily conscientious editing; James Greene, David Black, Barbara Hart and Dinny Thorold for their criticisms of sections of the manuscript; Robin Leanse for his versions of the poems in Chapters 70 and 72 of Part I, which I have adopted with only slight alterations; Christine and Benito Difazio for providing me with a home while I completed the translation; Elizabeth Grimwade for retyping a number of chapters; Christopher Donnelly of the Soviet Studies Unit at Sandhurst, and Brigadier B. C. Elgood for their help with military terminology. Above all, I must thank Harry Willetts of St Antony's, Oxford, for checking the entire manuscript against the Russian; with his encyclopedic knowledge of both Soviet history and contemporary Russian idiom he has saved me from more blunders than I care to admit.
I wish to dedicate this translation to the memory of four people I would very much like to have read this book: my father Colonel R. E. Chandler; my ex-wife's father, the Russian-Jewish theoretical physicist Grigory Lazarev; Colonel G. H. Nash, a friend and expert on Soviet military history; and my former teacher, Gordon Pirie, who disapproved of dedications.
Robert Chandler March 1985
PART ONE
1
There was a low mist. You could see the glare of headlamps reflected on the high-voltage cables beside the road.
It hadn't rained, but the ground was still wet with dew; the traffic-lights cast blurred red spots on the asphalt. You could sense the breath of the camp from miles away. Roads, railway tracks and cables all gradually converged on it. This was a world of straight lines: a grid of rectangles and parallelograms imposed on the autumn sky, on the mist and on the earth itself.
Distant sirens gave faint, long-drawn-out wails.
The road drew alongside the railway line. For a while the column of trucks carrying paper sacks of cement moved at the same speed as an endless train of freight wagons. The truck-drivers in their military greatcoats never once looked at the wagons or at the pale blurred faces inside them.
Then the fence of the camp appeared out of the mist: endless lines of wire strung between reinforced-concrete posts. The wooden barrack-huts stretched out in long broad streets. Their very uniformity was an expression of the inhuman character of this vast camp.
Among a million Russian huts you will never find even two that are exactly the same. Everything that lives is unique. It is unimaginable that two people, or two briar-roses, should be identical… If you attempt to erase the peculiarities and individuality of life by violence, then life itself must suffocate.
The grey-haired engine-driver watched casually yet attentively. Concrete posts, revolving searchlights on high masts, and glass-domed towers flashed by. In the domes stood guards with mounted machine-guns. The driver winked at his mate and the locomotive gave a warning hoot. A brilliantly lit cabin passed by, then a queue of cars beside a striped level-crossing barrier and a red traffic signal.