Part 1 of this three-part series entitled, “Arev’s Brezhnev’s Years” appeared on EVN Report on August 21, 2023. 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.
You’re writing again? I know why I want to tell you everything, but as to why you want to write about it or why someone would want to read it, I can’t imagine all that well. But, fine, let me briefly sum up my prison years, and let’s move on, OK?
My aunt, Arev, stops here. For a moment, the phone is swallowed in silence. Then the sound of a lighter is heard, a deep breath, and Arev continues to speak.
So, during those Brezhnev years, they passed so many moronic laws, my child, that the prisons were full of people with higher education, accomplished, intelligent people. Of course, there were many criminals as well, but let me put it this way: these were two separate groups who seldom interacted or confronted each other.
Personally, I treated everyone normally. And my typical nose-in-the-air, youthful self with her “red diploma” was gone, she had disappeared. Mmm, maybe because I, too, with my red diploma, found myself next to thieves and murderers. So how could I think I was better than them or knew more than them? I understood that early on, and I didn’t make a big deal about interacting with them. And they very much respected me because of that and treated me uniquely.
Thieves and scammers dominated the prisons. When they were imprisoned, they were kept for long periods of time and for many years. But they were also pardoned very easily. For example, people convicted 10 or 12 times could receive amnesty.
There, my understanding of people who committed crimes changed. For example, there I saw these same thieves and scammers for who they were. I have to say that they were mainly people with sweet and flexible tongues; their brains worked quickly, and they were devious. For example, today, you would call them salespeople. I am confident that they could have ideally been one or dealt with your generation’s beloved crypto. But there was something interesting about them… I came to understand that later on. And that kind of trickery or how you guys call it “ktsel” [conning people] was the only kind of mental work for many people and the only way to live because they didn’t see any other way or didn’t trust in the potential for positive outcomes. It was their craft. And from all those I interacted with, no matter how many years they were convicted, they didn’t change. There was a woman like that who was bent over like a comma, already dried up, convicted a hundred times but still repeated the same crimes… they called her Luxe grandma… yes, yes, I knew you were going to laugh at her name.
Instead of making notes, I drew a comma and wrote “Luxe” beside it so I could ask for more details about this grandma later, even though I was sure her name already said much about her. Arev continued to talk, and it seemed like her long and thin feminine cigarette was already finished.
What other kind of women did I meet there…? Oh yes, state fund-eating accountants — they were a separate race — and… murderers. Yes, let me tell you this as well. My view on murderers changed in prison. On one hand, murder sounds horrible, and you imagine a monster-like figure, but in reality, in everyday life, they can be a very random poor person.
For example, one of the women there was a poor village grandmother. She was convicted of murdering her husband. Her story went like this: her husband, as you can guess, was an alcoholic and beat his wife and children. The children grew up, and the wife remained. That poor woman bore the beatings for three people on her own. But, you know, this woman was obedient, lived her life with her head bowed, their whole economy laid on her shoulders: their crops, sowing seeds, plowing, harvesting. Can you imagine? You fight with your balcony plants, say they tire you; well, imagine this woman’s state. She was past 50, I think, and she bore the burdens of all those things. One day, her husband comes home drunk and beats her. She lightly pushes back to somehow protect herself, and all of a sudden, “hop”, her husband falls down the stairs. Let’s pause here for a second, OK?
The delicate sound of water can be heard, and I already know that my aunt is drinking green tea — a sakura-scented Sencha. She used to drink tea when she was about to get sick. Now, she’s changed her approach toward tea and opened a new connection between herself and me.
So this woman is scared she killed her husband and thinks to secretly take him to the garden to bury him. Imagine what she’s thinking… She takes out her stockings and ties them around her husband’s neck to move him. That is how she is caught and kills her husband at the same time. Later, during the forensic examination, it turns out that her husband was still alive but died from asphyxiation. There you go, my child.
Let me say that the stories behind most of these women murderers were beatings and an abnormal life.
She stops again, and for a second, it seems she’s going to change the topic, but she suddenly remembers something and continues.
I just remembered. There was a Kurdish woman, very beautiful, with dark black hair and large eyes. She had also killed her husband. Again, a similar story, but of course, without the stockings. However, everyone was scared of her, and, honestly, so was I. When she got mad, her eyes turned so frightful that you couldn’t look at them. Recently, I read something interesting about anger. I think it was a Kabbalist approach, even though I’m sure all religions have this. It said that when you lose yourself and get angry, you give your spirit away to evil spirits. Well, you know me, all this would interest me in theory. But honestly, when I read that text, I remembered her. She hadn’t crossed my mind in a long time, and to be honest, I’m remembering these stories as I tell them to you, and when I tell them, it’s as if I’m reliving an old movie that I myself can’t remember all that well.
Again, silence. I had time to make better notes in a not-so-doctor-like handwriting. Arev gave me some time and continued.
Drinking coffee in the prison was considered illegal as well. We would secretly drink coffee together in small hideouts. That was also very interesting and strange, even though maybe they did this so you wouldn’t relax, to feel discomfort. What else was there…? Mmmm, New Years. The first New Year, I thought would be dramatic, sad, etc. But it was completely the same as we would have done at school. The usual: events, games, quizzes, a Christmas tree. When I was chair of our brigade’s council, we organized stand-up competitions and concerts. You know, there were many gifted people there, and I believe that all their energy was directed at doing bad things because they were smart, they didn’t know where to focus their energy; a lot of bad things come about from idleness. That’s why when there were some classes on the art of writing in those kinds of places, all of them took part excitedly so they could see the results of what they had done, something visible.
I didn’t interact a lot with my mentioned criminals [thieves-in-law], thieving masses. And they kept themselves far from me but treated me with respect. I would get involved in their shenanigans once in a while, for example, when I heard of very moronic things or found out they had bothered a very poor woman. In general, I don’t really like that culture to dominate and pressure. But where we were, it was all around us. For example, there was a woman there who was head of the criminal groups, and they had to bow to her. Moronic, really, but it was law there. There was a villager woman there, again a “criminal authority”, I think her name was Seda. She went against this and didn’t accept those rules. They started harassing her. They did horrible things, and that poor girl didn’t even want to wake up. I told their leader to leave her alone, and for a while, my words had their effect. I was also surprised. But later, after I was freed, they started to harass and terrorize her. Then I found out that she couldn’t take it anymore and committed suicide. I was very sorry. She was a good, active young woman. But then I later found out that the leader, Susanna, not long after that suicide incident, was left outside drunk and died of frostbite.
Arev stopped again. It was probably hard to talk about so much death in one paragraph. But, no, she wanted to say something else.
So now, who is reading this? Are they older in age or younger? Do you know why I’m asking? I want to say that when I was young, I would get upset about a lot of things. I thought there was a lot of injustice in this world, and people would do many things that were left unpunished. Years later, I understood that it’s not like that at all. Everything settles in its own time, in its own way. Today, you call that karma. But no matter what you call it, the idea is the same: a negative charge does not bring a positive. I was listening to something recently; it said that the translation of “karma” is “deed”. It was surprising. It’s become such a mystic word nowadays, but the idea is simple: if your deeds are bad, one day, something is going to happen to you. That day may not be today because the context of today somehow digested your deed, but that context constantly changes. If your deed stays the same, it won’t bring about something good. Whatever, what I’m trying to say is that my director, Ghushchyan, with whose “help” I ended up in prison, met a very cruel fate. He had a house in Sev Kar: palaces, magnificent, built on bribery money. He died of a serious illness, suffering for a long time. Within a week, his wife hung herself in their garden from a tree. Another week later, his son kills himself in Moscow. He had a daughter as well, I hope she’s fine and alive. I never wished them ill, but I understand that if he treated my life in such an uncouth manner, he did so as well with many others, and all of that could not go unseen.
But if what I’m saying is too much of a moral lecture and you don’t like its style, you can easily remove it. I’m not opposed to it… Oh, I remembered something else. So, during the Soviet years, there were also laws on vagabonds, and they weren’t allowed to live or sleep outside. If they were caught, they were arrested. Many vagabonds lived outside during the summer and hid away from the police. Once the cold started, they would get arrested on purpose so they could have a warm place to live and then were released in the spring… But why did I remember that? Oh yes, my house. Let me tell you how, after all of this, I ended up with a house in downtown Yerevan.
To be continued….
*All names, locations, and characters are real, only the name of the main character has been changed
Part 1
Arev’s Brezhnev Years
“A murderer could get amnesty, but not people like me. Bribery was considered the worst thing, although during Brezhnev's time bribery was everywhere, widespread and first of all in his own system…”
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