Kommunar

I stick out to see it - a golden vein that glues among quartz. But gold is hiding from me. It is wise and ancient, it is practically a volcano that existed millions of years ago. And I am just a person who was measured in a maximum of 100. The second essay of Oksana Mamlina from the series about the mines of Khakassia.

Rain poured all night, and the road to the village of gold miners was blurred. Khmar, puddles. We go to the unknown. There are places where a journalistic certificate does not work. And nothing works at all but human relations! We drive into the technological road of the mine. Niva behaves very decent, despite the fact that the wheel pierced on the road.

The board of the mine is a beautiful old two -story mansion. Nothing has changed here for a long time. The same spiritual Siberian simplicity, hills in the fog, children rush along the road, not afraid of cars and nobody, geranium on the windows, chamomile at the porch of the managerial corps. Somehow everything is very warm and calm.

We climb to the second floor, Katya, a beginner blogger from St. Petersburg, sneaks after me, the wooden steps barely creak. Everything in this house is saturated with human destinies, the difficult fate of the miners. On the walls of photographs of the XIX century, the very beginning. This is the era of Ivanitsky and Tsybulsky, about which we have very vague ideas. Hard labor, carts, horses, ore in cars, men with dark faces. Thus began “granted God”, after the revolution renamed the “communal”. We knock on the director of the mine with faith in the result. There are no guides this time, we ourselves somehow. The door opens, and the quiet concentrated space of the office accepts, lets us down.

Oleg Ishkov, the managing director of PJSC Kommunar Mine, gave us coffee, patiently listened to the snow that had fallen like snow on the head of the journalists and spoke a little about the mine. During the whole conversation, I had the feeling that a person talks about his house, where every corner is his, native and secret. Oleg Nikolaevich has been working here since 2011, and he has been managing the mine for a year. Six years, which, according to him, passed as one day. He arrived from Moscow, but here it seemed to spend his whole life. All of its own, very homemade and comfortable. A small world, where every house, every look is nourished by the history of the formation of the “granted God”.

Distant 1833, untouched taiga, September. The worker Alexei Ulchugachev walked along a small stream and saw a quartz dump with gold visible in it. For nothing, he sold his find to a certain merchant Fedulov, who a week later transferred the deposit to the long -term lease of the gold miner Ivan Ivanovich Ivanitsky, and he to his son Konstantin. The place receives its first name - the mine is “granted by God”. The production from 1899 to 1917 amounted to 4576, 7 kg of gold.

The owner of the mine, Konstantin Ivanitsky, was a difficult, cholery personality, a little late to open the gates of the gate with the gate, entering his mansion on the three thoroughbred quick horses. He chose his wife, grabbing her into a convoy from the porch of his parental house somewhere in Chebaki (south of Khakassia). She cried with combustible tears for a week, then reconciled. He demolished the servants for disobedience with a saber of his head. But the ore business knew! He understood that the place was the richest and promising, the discipline on the mine was iron, the construction of the village for the miners was carried out. In 1912, Ivanitsky transferred the mine to the Russian gold industry.

According to legend, in Chebaki and the village of Shira, there were several uninhabited caches with gold ingots, which Ivanitsky hid reliably, before leaving Russia to Harbin forever. However, an attempt to find them has not yet been successful with the success of adventurers. Perhaps this is one of the myths, which are many next to gold?

The deciduous floorboards in the house of Ivanitsky creak slightly, the windows are waiting for a lurk. The spiral staircase smells of an old tree and the sun. Here is the balcony-the one from which Konstantin Ivanovich released a pigeon-piercing with a note tied to his paw. And he flew, carrying it at the place of destination, most often the controller of the Tsibulsky mine. He flew over foggy hills, where larch and birch were richly faded on the eve of winter. Children are playing in the courtyard of the house now, an orphanage from Abakan is resting here. And it is somehow strange to imagine that in the dashing times of Gaidar (that very children's writer) and Ataman Solovyov on the roof there was a machine gun, and the Gaidarians “mowed” everyone who passed the gate. In Chebaks, old people still tell how girls and piglets with chickens were hidden in the cellars, with which the Solovyevites were dumped with the hills, in which lake the Solovievites were drowned. The writer Arkady Petrovich later became, as he wrote to Dzerzhinsky, he read and said: “Yes, Batenka, a writer, and even a child!”

From 1918 to 1928, the mine stood. The war, a lot of gangs around - the men left, and not all returned, and there was no one to work. At the same time, the village from the “granted god” is renamed “Kommunar”. Having stood in the dashing time, in 1928, the mine resumes prey. The intelligence and development of new places begins, mining in the areas of Maslovsky, Taisinsky, Podolachnaya and Caliostrovsky.

There are almost no people in the village among the day, everyone works in a factory, or in a mine. Only the children with a bush -burning from the sun are worn from home to house, and all their wealth are large and scooters - lie in the grass near the store, there is a halt and ice cream. Children argue about something and rolled from the mountain. The picture for me, a person from the city, has long been forgotten, to be honest. Yes, my childhood was just that. And in the same village! I stop chatting with a pretty smiling woman, the name of Valentine is called her and she sings in a local veteran choir, the voice is powerful, thick, her eyes were wide open: “I was sent to Moscow to the transmission, they shot, as I sing, gave interviews, but Moscow did not impress me. There is little air there. She is beautiful, big, but in Kommunar it is calmer for me, and people here are relatives. And you come to the club, listen to how the choir sings! "

I remove the factory from the hill, it is white, new! All morning they walked along it with the main enrichment. Vladimir Maryasov grew up here, about the mine, about the factory, about the process of enriching gold can talk for days. He drove to the workshops, like a museum, about all processes and technologies with such love and hobby, he told me that every step of gold seemed to me. And in general, the main thing is not a technology that, I must say, is at a factory at the highest level, but people who are in love with their own business, without a trace. Vladimir Sergeyevich introduced us with an amazing woman, with Nina Nikolaevna Mikheeva, a technologist of the gold -in -law factory. They drank tea with local branded pies with potatoes and listened to the story. A love story for your work. You can’t even call it work, it is a part of life, part of a person.

135352 Golden life

Here is her story:

“She graduated from the Krasnoyarsk Institute of Non -ferrous metals, arrived at the factory. And the people, manufacturers, they, you know, are already broken. How much gold - they can determine by eye. Here is the director of me, Fifochka is city, he himself led the hand everywhere and taught everything himself. We, youth, were then crazy, at five in the morning we got up to take the exam first. There were many of us, from Krasnoyarsk, from Sorsk. There were elected from Norilsk - we admired them! And they were not afraid of any work, everything was nothing, there was an interest in everything.

The most heavy were the nineties. We were a state -owned enterprise, and the state gradually refused us. And now what they reached - they washed, “went out” of the workshops and sit, wait ... They wrote a letter to the government. We were all given shares of 18 pieces in our hands. Cards began, two rolls of bread for the family. The director in the evening from the hill watched whether anyone had excess light. We collected shares to sell, wrote a letter to the government of Khakassia. An uncle with a briefcase arrived, said: we have no money, but we will find sponsors. And they found us sponsors from Moscow. Which we sold shares. They convinced the mine veterans to sell, they said that there would be no light, there would be no water, that they would give you to this action? Wheel from the excavator? And people gave the shares for nothing. Moscow sponsors got into loans, tried to raise production, it all ended with the next debts. Again, we washed the factory, cleaned, there is nothing to work, we are sitting, waiting.

The uncle with the portfolios then went a lot. The director at that time told me - you do not cry there much. They ask - show everything. Here is the last uncle with the briefcase and helped us, our president of the company. He took us with debts, paid a salary from the funds of former shareholders. And debts had to work out the whole world. There were rallies, strikes. Of all the mines, only the Kommunar survived. Salaries of Chinese blouses were given to the booters. The team must be erected as survived. ”

Not only survived, but also built a new factory, master a new, illiterate way of enriching gold! Even to me, a person far from chemistry, is conveyed to the mood with whom Nina Nikolaevna tells about this, and you no longer think about promotions and blouses, because you understand: with such people the factory will not disappear, it will be protected, lifted, cleaned, cleaned like a native beloved house.

After the roar of working structures, the silence of the local dining room seems to be bliss. Tasty! Katya appreciated the cutlets with home meat, I was content with buckwheat and chicken, because I have not eaten meat for a long time. We rested, enjoyed silence, now in the mine. We are going to the kingdom of Aida! On the way, we run into the places where open work is underway. Tractors, excavators, grades. Everything rumbles and moves: the chief geologist of the mine Viktor Sutormin opens up a truly enormous panorama of developments. Caterpillars clang, around a multi-kilometer pit filled with golden bugs-machines. The taiga retreated, ate recoiled in horror from such an onslaught.

We go to the mine. There we are given boots, footcloths, jackets, helmets, lanterns and an individual rescue kit for breathing underground in an emergency. Ruslan, our heroic and permanent driver, teaches us, urban young ladies, to wrap the footcloths on our feet. He has an army school behind him. And in general, if it weren’t for his iron logic in our roads, it would be not easy for me and Katya. Our guide in the kingdom of Aida is Oleg Ataev, the head of the Severnaya mine, a thorough and very calm person, patiently waits and helps us to put lanterns on a helmet, checks every fastener, talks about safety underground.

As a miner with solid experience, this experience was given to difficult years of practice. Everyone, he says, saw. We are equipped, instructed, checked for fastened and prolonged, we are waiting for the entrance to the dungeon - the species is an ordinary wooden painted door, similar to the one that leads to the basement. You open it, and you get into another world, where not people are dominated by people where gold reigns. The dungeon is just more than 600 meters deep, and to be precise, the last passage on a marked 610. But this is not important. A pretty woman is sitting in a hare room, controls the elevator, stone chips are carefully whitewashed, and even chlorophytums grow. The elevator is served, we are lowered deeply uphill, the ears are laid a little, it smells of wet stone. Darkness! No, not even darkness, a haze. Somewhere now the abyss with gates will open up, on which it is written "Leave hope, all here." Does not open. And thank God. Today, just in case, the local temple prayed - the door was locked, so I am at the entrance, slowly.

133328 people from a happy intersection

The castle clanged, the door opened, we arrived at the second level, went down even lower to the dungeon, and now we need to walk to the wagons with ore. Our guide grumbles a little: “If you were a master, with such a slow pace I earned a little!” I’m not a master, yes, I’m a photographer hanging on every drop of underground water, I stick out to see it - a golden vein that glues among quartz. But gold is hiding from me. It is wise and ancient, it is practically a volcano that existed millions of years ago, and I am a person who was measured a maximum of 100. Yes, he, gold, does not care about me. It lay myself calmly, and here I am with my camera: “Well, show yourself, show me, I will only look a bit, I won’t even touch it!” And then I see a white transparent silhouette in front of me. No, of course, I heard the bacca about black cavers and white climbers, but not to the same extent! The steps of Katya and Ataeva are removed ahead. The silhouette stands, smokes. Well, I think, just standing, let's take you! I consider my “vision” to the lens, and this is just pairs from my mouth, which plays very strangely in the light of a plot lantern. Great, and you do not need to look for a toilet. Moreover, here, in grief, he is not. Perhaps I will run for my own and will not lag behind anymore.

The trolleys are empty - the end of the working week, the miners also need a vacation. Ataev insists at the end of the "photo shoot". No, I can’t leave like that, without taking off a single skeler, not seeing her, a small brilliant vein, otherwise why all this? I came for a distant land to remove gold, but did not take it off? No! I insist on further shooting to the victorious end. I feel how our conductor under the helmet stands on end. But he conscientiously leads us further along the tunnel. I vowed that when I get out of here, my report would be a monument to his great patience and kindness. And now I can't retreat. We wander further along the ankle in the water, the boots come down, slippery. In the cut off the compartment - a small lupis car. Oleg Vasilievich running towards the guy catches: "Where is the driver?" - “I am the driver” - “Listen, you are answering the drillers, huh?” There is little joy in the eyes of the driver, but invites you to sit down. “Urrrah,” we scream with Katya! We smile with might and main, and, apparently, the harsh miners thawed a little, the motor was furious, and we went to the drilling point.

A little more on the almost sheer staircase up, clinging to the hands, almost on the knees, crawl to the drillers. And here it is a small sunny vein, two centimeters in length. Ataev shows: “Here, here it is, under the finger. See how it shines? " I see! Now the mission is completed. I took it off, almost invisible. I highlighted a headlamp so that she would play at least a little. “Well, that's it, now it’s my turn,” the drill smiled and took up a huge punch. Tons of the breed for the sake of this thread, weaves of two centimeters. Hundreds of years of work of the mine for these centimeters and grams. Life, fate, difficulties and joy for the sake of brilliance of small grains. Or maybe on the contrary? Maybe small shining grains are a reward for difficulties, losses and hardships? Rather, the second.

The return trip is much easier, the boots fly, the equipment does not weigh anything, and pairs do not seem to the spirit of the mountains from the mouth. We will go back others, we will never be the same.

The fingers on the feet themselves are unclenched, feeling freedom from the footcloths, a load of an oxygen apparatus weighing five kg leaves the shoulders. We are on the street. Ataev takes off the helmet, his hair is really on end. Hedgehog! Thank you, Oleg Vasilievich, for everything! Ataev goes to the bus that transports miners, and we - into the car, simultaneously grabbing a sweet lady who helped to try on the mining outfits to us. We talked along the way, and we heard the story of school love: “We got married. She left Kommunar. And then, having arrived for the summer, I met my first school love here and returned. And I do not regret - I love, happy! Well, so I arrived, goodbye! ”“ Goodbye, ”we say. Hmm, I think, what about gold? People should want him, probably? I look from the mountain to Kommunar. Gold of Kolchak, Gaidara, Solovyov, Ivanitsky - where is it? And the river meets with a reflection of golden sunset rays. The sunlight hides in the grass, climbs on the shoulder, warm and funny! And I understand that the main gold is inside a person, his rays go to other people, warm, inspire faith. And the evil and insidiousness that is around the pebbles, let it remain with pebbles in the ground, and let no one ever dig it out of there.

The sun sets over the "communal", we still have a long way. I'm going to the car. These people struck me with their everyday modest household heroism and some other, incomprehensible to us, urban, simplicity. An amazing village. And I do not regret. I love, happy!

Oksana Mamlina, especially for Taiga.info