Arev After Brezhnev, Part 3

Part II of this series entitled, “Arev’s Brezhnev’s Years” appeared on EVN Report on January 18, 2024. It is the story of Arev, a woman “who always wears Chanel suits in Almodovar colors that she gets from who knows where, red lipstick, and high-heeled shoes” who survived a Soviet prison. As told by her niece Ella Kanegarian.

So this is how it happened: I was very lucky to immediately get a job at the wine factory. Initially, I started in the construction department as a technician. I knew nothing about it. I wasn’t an expert at all. But let me explain it this way: the others in that department were in the same boat. Nobody really did any work. They only killed time — a classic Soviet scheme, really. 

I complained that I didn’t want to earn a wage for doing nothing because, after prison, I didn’t want to waste any more time. Quite the opposite, I realized how many things I had missed, and I wanted to catch up quickly. What I mean is that I was full of energy and ready to take risks, and I knew I could use these traits wisely. So I was moved to another department and started going on business trips. My duties included taking and bringing back documents, and signing this or that. It was more active work, but again, something still didn’t feel right. 

Later, as the mid-1980s started, anti-alcohol legislation known as sukhoy zakon was enforced. Throughout the entire USSR, only we in Armenia, had alcohol, and we distributed it to all Soviet countries. A railway track ran directly through the factory, enabling us to send goods from inside the building to Siberia and the Far East. That railway track existed until recently; it has just been paved over with asphalt. 

We used to receive large bottles and cisterns of wine from the city of Florești in Moldova. However, one day, they abruptly stopped the shipments, causing a panic. We had orders waiting and an abundance of wine, but no bottles. The director decided to send me  to resolve this issue, arming me with various drinks as bribes. In reality, I almost always left those bribes at home, opting to negotiate and persuade instead. Bribes are necessary only when you don’t know how to negotiate, and I had learned how. 

So I headed out and, in several hours, reached Chisinau. From there, I had to switch transport to reach this place at the end of the world. As soon as I got there, I was shocked. It was a factory city with more than half of its area occupied by the bottle factory. 

I hurried to the hotel to drop off my belongings. The hotel was small and lifeless, almost like a booth. I doubted I could survive a day in such a sleepy city. I quickly changed into a suit, looking pretty and cultured and headed out. I didn’t want to waste a single minute. My plan was to go, talk, and reach an agreement quickly. But as I was leaving, the hotel’s security guard said it was already 5 o’clock, and everyone had probably already gone home. I thanked him, but I still ventured out towards the factory, certain that I would find someone there.

When I got there, I was sent directly to the director. Entering the room, I was met by an old man with an extremely tired and bored expression. It was as if he was still killing time, unaware that he had already killed and finished it and could go home. 

Seeing me, he perked up, hurrying to bring me a chair. 

I told him I had just arrived from Yerevan, was short on time, and tired. I had left my child with the neighbors just so I could make this trip and return with bottles.  

He listened to me attentively without making a sound. At one point, he became so still that he appeared to be sleeping with his eyes open. Suddenly, he got up, grabbed a microphone, and commanded: “Three railway cars. Send them to Yerevan.”

I knew that my looks and my confident demeanor always had an impact on people, but I wasn’t prepared for the quick reaction this time. I was very happy, I thanked him and left. Before I left, he insisted that I should return. 

I quickly went to my hotel room, called our factory, and instructed them to prepare for three railway cars. Afterwards, I changed into my travel clothes and took a short tour of the city. I told myself not to judge the city too harshly and that I might find something beautiful. But the city was eerily quiet. I was happy I wouldn’t have to spend any more time there. 

I went back to see the director. Upon my return, I found him seated in the same spot. This time, he had food and drinks in front of him and a man from the Central Committee [of the Communist Party] at his side. I had brought a bottle of Kagor, a dessert wine, as a gift, which I placed on his desk. They were delighted. Back then, they called it tserkovnoye vino, or sacramental wine. 

We each had a glass, and he reciprocated with gifts of his own, one for me and another for my director. The man got so drunk that when I was saying my goodbyes to return home, he bashfully confessed, “I think I’ve fallen in love with you. Would it be alright if I called you to know how you are?”

Back then, I was often told that and was impervious to it. I ignored it and said, “Of course,” thanked him, and left. Do you know what’s funny? After that, he would call me every holiday for 15 years to ask about me before politely hanging up. It’s nice when people are enamored with you, but it’s also useful if they also are a little scared of you. Otherwise, people tend to violate boundaries. 

I arrived in Yerevan, and my director was stunned. He knew the gifts he had given were not worth three railway cars. He wanted to know what I had done for the man to send so many bottles. He said that if I spent any money, I should tell him so he could reimburse me.

I told him what happened. He was shocked both by the story and my decision not to exploit the situation for additional money. A few days later, he called to ask how he could reward me for my work and integrity. He probably remembered that I was living in a rental and suggested registering me to receive a house so that I could finally have a home of my own. Overjoyed, I said yes. 

We went to look at properties near the wine factory. Now, that area includes Dom Moskvy and a large neighborhood. Previously, houses were stacked on top of each other there, with a section called “Tsakhi Meydan.” The property that was shown to me was in terrible condition, and was still housing two residents. And one tenant had forced the other into a storage room and had taken over his room. It was an appalling sight. The displaced man, elderly and frail, was bent over and lying in that storage room. 

I met with the director of the trade union, a beautiful and pleasant woman. I told her I did not want the first place I had been shown. As we continued to other spaces, none appealed to me. Suddenly, she turned around and pointed out something to me. 

The space was elevated, enclosed by a green gate and wall, with a sign indicating a “bottle pick-up point.” She suggested we take a look. Although it required a lot of work, I really liked it. It was in the downtown area and was fenced in. But I noticed one thing: it was state-owned. 

“Dear girl, listen to me; turbulent times are coming, and everything will be gone. Take this place. You can privatize it, fix it up, and live there. It’s going to be a good place…. Listen to me,” she said.

The idea of acquiring a state-owned property for just three railway cars full of bottles seemed ludicrous. Yet this woman spoke with such conviction that I felt determined to take the property. 

I told my director, who immediately refused, saying, “Don’t desire the impossible.” But the woman from the trade union insisted that I shouldn’t decline, to say that I didn’t want anything else, only that property. 

Later, it became apparent that the Soviet Union was already in its death throes and on the verge of collapse. The banking system was also failing and everyone had issues with money. Different regions of the USSR owed the wine factory millions of rubles, but they were unable to send it. In turn, we couldn’t send money to the Saint Petersburg Mint for our excise taxes. And so, I was sent again, this time with 50 million rubles — an amount that could have bought 20 houses in Yerevan. Looking back, I doubt it would have worked out. 

Oh yes, so all by myself, I started flying across the USSR in a cargo plane, attempting to recover our money. It took six months, but I managed to retrieve all the money. Along the way, I also settled our 17 million debt in St. Petersburg and returned. 

Everyone was surprised when I returned. At first, I didn’t understand why. Then I was told that the foundations for this money had been destroyed, there was no record, and the money was essentially embezzled. Everyone assumed I would figure out how to take the money for myself, but I’ve always avoided such large, short-term gains; they always scared me, so I always avoided them.

Once again, my actions inadvertently helped the wine factory. The director began looking at the problem from a different angle. I went to see him with the same woman, and reiterated that I didn’t want money or extravagant presents. I wanted nothing but that property with the green fence.

Arev pauses, helping you back to the present, remembering our house, the green fence and its transition to a different color. 

I spent years building that house, stone by stone, I bought the furniture piece by piece from Moscow and transported it here. Back then, there wasn’t much available locally. You remember our three-story house, right? It started as a single story, and then I added the other two floors. Your grandfather and I planted the garden, which later turned into a magnificent orchard with fruit trees and plants.

But all these changes took place gradually and with interruptions. First, the Soviet collapsed, my job ended, and the construction work stopped. Later, I realized that it was pointless to stay in the country during those depressing and difficult years.

I borrowed $80 and moved to Moscow, where I eventually started a business. I even appeared on the morning show of the 1st Channel, which was a big deal back then. Do you know what my business was? I sold fish in a common market, reserving a special spot for exclusive high-end products. It was there, my child, that my knowledge of wine expanded to include fish, seafood, other dishes, and how to pair them. I learned a lot and still remember many of those lessons, even though I don’t have the chance to use them now. But if you’re interested, I can tell you and talk about flavors with you. 

I don’t know what else to tell you. After I left prison, I only saw two people from there, Ano and Sofia, who stayed with me until recently.

Yes, your godmother [Sofia] was also in prison. Do you know why she was jailed? You won’t believe it, but the reason was also bribery. Here’s what happened: Sofia was born in Greece and had many relatives abroad. She was multilingual, speaking Arabic, Greek, French and English. She worked as a guide for the Intourist Institute. From the outset, she was viewed with suspicion but was also a valuable asset, particularly for the KGB, who wanted to recruit her. 

At some point, Sofia’s cousin wanted to move to the U.S. and asked if she knew anyone who could help with the paperwork. Naturally, Sofia did know someone, her next door neighbor and arranged a meeting. The neighbor took the money and did nothing. It turned out he was a scammer. Sofia’s cousin reported the scam to the police, who ignored him  and instead focused on his desire to move to the U.S. and the involvement of the mediator. They told Sofia they had to arrest someone from her family, either her or her brother. Since her brother was very young, Sofia decided it would be better if they took her.  She was a strong person, always thinking of her brother even though she had two young daughters, one of whom later became my daughter-in-law. That’s another story though, and you already know it. Just let your readers know how two children fell in love by helping and healing each other.

After her release, Sofia moved to the U.S., worked her whole life, and helped many people. I know many people in Burbank would call and ask that she pray for them or ask for her positive energy. She was a strong, positive person. That’s why I loved her from the very beginning, when we met in that madhouse. Look, I said “madhouse” without being dramatic, it was just a very chaotic place.

Let me say one more thing I remembered from our previous conversation. Prison didn’t differ all that much from the Soviet system. Many things were similar — the laws, regulations, and daily routine. Looking at it more closely you could see that it was a microcosm of the whole system. The only thing that upset me was that my son was not with me.  Not witnessing how he grew up caused me pain. 

You’ll definitely remember Ano, whom I call occasionally. When you were young, she used to send you Kinder Surprises, Snickers and Coca-Cola everyday. But you didn’t like them. You would break open the Kinder Surprise, discard the chocolate just to see the toy inside, and then hand it out to passersby. You would also give Coca-Cola to the children from the courtyard, or sometimes you wanted to paint the walls in “Coke color.” We never reprimanded you so you wouldn’t get used to being pressured, so you wouldn’t fear doing anything, and if you wanted to share with strangers, you would continue to do so. I was much older when I understood that a person adapts to pressure more easily and quickly than to fulfillment. It takes a lot of effort to accept fulfillment without fear. Now, as I look at us, at us Armenians, I see the lack of that effort.

Alright, let’s wrap this up. It’s already been a lot. It will take time for you to cut, paste and edit all of this. Don’t forget to check your spelling, it’s not your strong suit. Meanwhile, I’ll go for a walk; the weather is lovely. Next time, should I tell you about Ano and that friend of hers who you called Uncle Shusho and how they ended up in jail in Qatar? 

A faint image of Shushanik comes to my mind, with her beautiful long legs, always dressed as if she’s out of a magazine. She wore luxurious women’s suits, bright lipstick, and large gold earrings. She was a delicate woman but very hairy. Frankly, I feel embarrassed that I had called her uncle. 

Arev interrupts my thoughts.

My child, you know that Shusho really was a man, right? So don’t feel bad if that is how you are feeling.  Arev was able to tell how surprised I was even over the phone. See, when you were younger, it was more difficult to trick you, so now… haha, so there’s some room for improvement.

Her voice filled with warmth, as it always did when she smiled. She took a deep breath and added today’s last memory:

During the Soviet years, laws regulated vagabonds, prohibiting them from living or sleeping outdoors. If they were caught, they were arrested. Many vagabonds stayed outside during the summer, hiding from the police. When winter approached, they would intentionally get arrested for a warm place to stay, and then were released in the spring. But why did I bring this up? Oh yes, my house. Let me tell you how, after everything, I ended up owning a house in downtown Yerevan…

To be continued…

Part 1

Part 2

Outside In

Et Cetera