Page 15 - Issue 16

the procurator general I protested against the violation of
my national and religious rights, and against KGB
interference in my personal life.
When you begin an unlimited hunger strike, you never
know when or how it will end. Are the authorities
interested at that moment in putting a swift end to it, or
don't they give a damn? In a few weeks a commission
from Moscow was due to arrive in the camp. I didn't
know this at the time, but the authorities, presumably,
were very aware of it, which probably explains why I was
summoned to Major Osin's office two days later, in the
evening.
Osin was an enormous, flabby man of around 50, with
small eyes and puffy eyelids, who seemed to have long
ago lost interest in everything but food. But he was a
master of intrigue who had successfully overtaken many
of his colleagues on the road to advancement. During my
brief time in the camp he had weathered several scandals
and had always managed to pass the buck to his
subordinates. I could see that he had enjoyed his power
over the zeks and liked to see them suffer. But he never
forgot that the zeks were, above all, a means for
advancing his career, and he knew how to back off in a
crisis.

Osin pulled a benevolent smile over his face as he tried
to talk me out of my hunger strike. Osin promised to see
to it personally that in the future nobody would hinder
me from praying, and that this should not be a concern
of the KGB.
"Then what's the problem?" I said. "Give me back the
menorah, as tonight is the last evening of Chanukah. Let