Chapter 3 - Dinner • An alarming noise in the canteen • The failed attempt on Warden L— — ’s life • Prisoners’ malevolence • A penal laborer’s death by gunfire • A walk outside the prison • Assignment to Tymovsk District • Administrators’ opinions regarding the wounding of Warden L— — • A meeting with him
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 13 September 2022
Summary
“You’re invited to dine upstairs!” one of the warden's servants addressed me, pulling me from my weighty rumination.
“To dine? I don't want to eat.”
“How ‘not eat’? Im-possible! You’ve been invited!”
So as not to anger the warden, I followed his servant. He led me to the same room where I’d dined the day before. No one was there. The table was laden. Unattracted to the meal on display, I went to the window, through which I could see the entire yard with its crowd of penal laborers, the warden, and surrounding structures. They had been summoned to dinner. Lines of laborers issued from all the barracks toward the canteen located at the opposite end of the yard, directly facing my window. After a while, the warden got up from behind his table and headed to the canteen as well. Upon his approach, the gray mass of penal laborers became rather enervated. I realized those being allowed to eat were being called into the canteen. My comrades were all still standing with the rest of the crowd.
Suddenly I heard a loud bang and noises from the canteen.
“Here comes another scandal!” I thought. “The starving throng's probably lost its patience with the warden's harassment and begun rioting.” I had heard what seemed to be crockery breaking. But soon everything became clear. The warden appeared on the canteen's porch with his revolver in his hands, without his hat, eyes wandering. Guards and soldiers with rifles rushed toward him. The warden took a few unsteady steps forward and, grabbing his head, fell to the ground.
“He's obviously been wounded,” I immediately realized. “His bleeding needs to be stanched.”
In an instant, I was in the yard moving toward the warden; but, remembering I was in a prisoner's uniform, I stopped, electing not to force my way through the clutch of guards to the wounded man, though he lay on the ground unattended until a paramedic and a doctor came running. They carried him to his quarters and bandaged him there.
Like lightening, news flew round the city that a veteran penal laborer had attacked and wounded the warden with a knife. When he’d tried to stab him a second time, the warden managed to pull his revolver from his pocket and shoot him point-blank. Soldiers then jumped in and freed the wounded man.
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- Eight Years on SakhalinA Political Prisoner’s Memoir, pp. 15 - 18Publisher: Anthem PressPrint publication year: 2022