Arrival

The new chapter from the book of ex-Poluzek Ivan Astashin "Traveling at the places of deprivation"

From the editorial office
“New newspaper. Europe ”continues to publish chapters from the book of the former political prisoner Ivan Astashin“ Traveling on the places of deprivation ”. Astashin is a defendant in one of the first “invented” special services about young terrorists. In 2012, he, a 20-year-old student, was sentenced to 13 years of strict regime. Three years before, Ivan with the “accomplices” set fire to the windowsill and several chairs in the FSB department on the “Chekist Day”. Then no one was injured, but the special services inflated the arson to the case of the "autonomous combat terrorist organization." Of the appointed 13 years, Ivan left almost 10-including in IK-17 of the Krasnoyarsk Territory and Norillag.

He was released only in September 2020, but the zone did not end there either - the Politzeku was appointed 8 years of administrative supervision with a ban on leaving the house at night. “This is worse than a conditional term,” he says.

Over 10 years, Astashin has accumulated quite unique material, some of which he had previously published in the now suspended work of Novaya Gazeta. Soon the book of Ivan will be published in one of the independent leftist publishers in Russia. Such guides in the Russian prison, unfortunately, are becoming more and more necessary for life in a repressed country.

September 7, 2012. The funnel [1] is rolled into the goal of the Krasnoyarsk pre-trial detention center-1. The chill makes his way through my body.

The bad glory of Krasnoyarsk among the prisoners was widely known and outside Siberia-back in Moscow, I have repeatedly heard that here is “nothing good”, and already in the “Stolypin” “Chelyabinsk-Irkutsk” one of the prisoners said that there are press khats in the Krasnoyarsk pre-trial detention center, and that the director was sitting everywhere in the huts-the Zeki who cooperate with the administration. The last for me was the news - unexpected and unpleasant. It is clear that when garbage is beaten and indicated what to do, but when the same cuts are played by Vertukhaev ... Although, of course, in Moscow there were stories about the convicts that sided with the administration and meet the clubs in red zones along with the garbage. But not with one direct witness of what is happening in Krasnoyarsk or another similar place, I did not communicate, so that the brain was forced to finish the picture.

Already leaving the car carrier, I expected a shock with a baton, knocking down or stunning ora of the brutal Vertukhaev. But in reality, everything turned out to be a little different. Dead silence and deaf orders of two -meter guards in black uniforms and body armor. “We pass. Facing the wall! Hands on the wall. We do not turn your head! The legs are wider. "

All prisoners who came out of the autozak stretched along the wall lined with white tiles. The meeting stage of Vertukhai systematically inspected us. First, the arms, then shoulders, collars of jackets, sides, legs. Sensations, as if they are felt - check how strong you are, will you crumble if you will break under these strong palms.

“We are standing. We look at the wall, ” - this is already completed.

Bred in prefabricated cameras. Prodol's device itself resembles a "sailor". But silence, sterility, tiles are completely different from the black central [2]. It seems that there is no place for a person.

I went into boxing alone - the rest of the prisoners were divided into other prefabricated cameras, including Seryoga Gavrilov, who also rode with "sailor silence." And here I was not met by either the smoke of cigarettes, nor the Homonus of the prisoners, nor the smell of parashi and chifir. And only again - silence, sterility and tiles. Only even more sinister: the walls in this 15-meter chamber were full of abstract drawings from fragments of red, yellow, blue and white tiles-as in some kind of kindergarten or recreational hall at school, but everything else did not allow me to forget about the prison-almost half of this boxing, narrow shops, parash.

After some time, another prisoner was brought into the camera. He looked good for 40. Tall and thin with the face of the old man.

- I'm offended . Tolya is the name.

- It's clear. Vanya me.

- And who do you live?

- A man .

Before that, I never found myself in the same cell with the offended, and it became interesting to me what kind of person it was, for which he was sitting and how he ended up in the lowest caste in the prison hierarchy.

- And what is your article? I asked.

-132th. Part 4th [3]. The youngster is sewn, but this is not mine.

- I see ... - I only found what I was to answer.

“Think,” I thought, “it is him or not his.” In the "sailor"-there were a lot of those to whom the "pedophilia" was unreasonably sewn, but there were those who really did terrible things.

- And how did you become offended ? - I continued my question.

“Yes, even at the first time ...” Tolya answered, lowering the tone and, as if reluctantly.

- So this is not the first time. And for the first time for what?

-According to the 131st [4]. In 1992 he was freed.

- It's clear…

“Well, there is no“ set up ”twice in a row,” I concluded for myself. And I decided to switch to common questions from personal issues - to explore about this pre -trial detention center and about local camps.

- Where did you come from now?

- From Yeniseisk. With a pre -trial detention center there.

- And what, how is it?

- Yes, nothing good. The cameras in the huts, you won’t get on the shkonka, almost that - the svn begins to yell. Violations are ...

- Who starts to yell? - I did not understand.

- Well, the operator. They look into the camera and, if you go to the shkonka, they begin to yell at the loudspeaker.

- Wow!

- Yes, now it’s not that ... sitting is not an option.

-But in Moscow there is no such thing.

- No cameras in the huts?

- No. Only on a special block. And then, no one yells there. In general, it seems that no one is looking into the cells there.

- And I thought, everywhere already so ...

For such conversations, I came to the realization that Simka and flash drive, which I drove with me from Moscow, I will not need here. Hove knows what shmon is here - they can find it ... And the consequences of the discovery of prohibitions in this institution are also unpredictable. In general, I decided to break the remnants of my lovely life and let them go into a parach - away from sin. He went to Dalnyak - here he was fenced with a meter wall - he crouched and, hiding both from the camera lens installed under the ceiling in the opposite corner of the box, and from the gaze of the cellmate, began to break the chips soldered into the plastic ...

A frantic whirlpool with sounds inherent in some mythical monsters carried a hundred telephone numbers, dozens of photographs and a couple of gigabytes of music-like a Haron, sending the soul of the soul of the soul to the kingdom of Hades. And it became easier for me - now I have nothing. There is nothing forbidden, there is nothing that in case of seizure could be used against me or other people. You can go to the shmon with a calm soul.

* * *

The iron door dissolved:

- To search. No, you, ”stopped my cellmate and showed me a coping already in an ordinary spotted gray-blue form.

I went out to continue and almost immediately went through the door opposite. There were two more prisoners in a cramped room, hurrying and throwing their clothes in blue plastic boxes.

“We undress to the panties, clothes in the box,” Vertuhai gave the door to closing the door.

An interesting system, I thought. - And then, then hang out in shorts? And how much? Not summer still. ”

After a while, another door in this room opened:

“Next,” I saw only a hand in a spotted tunic, and one of the prisoners dived into the opened opening.

With the prisoner remaining in this closet, I spread a few phrases. It turned out that he was a local, not the first time was sitting, now he has come with an IVS.

After 15 minutes I reached me.

The room for the search after close cameras seemed just huge. And what was not there: a moving tape and x -ray like at the airport, a frame of a metal detector, many tables. Two employees in rubber gloves commanded a parade here:

“A bag and a box with clothes on the tape, himself - in the frame,” one of them said, and the other was already resting in the X -ray monitor.

I put everything on the tape and went into the frame.

“So,” the cop continued to command, “yeah.” Now let go of the panties to the knees and sit down.

Of course, it was reluctant to take off his panties: the prisoners have never that panties, but even the pants did not take off, and in the Moscow City Court we even received blows from the convoy for refusing to undress.

But here, on the one hand, everything was done quite delicately-after all, the cop did not offer to completely take off her underpants, but, on the other hand, after the stories about the press khats did not really want to experience fate.

I lowered my underpants to my knees and crouched, and immediately put them back.

After things drove through the X-ray, they, contrary to my expectations, began to carefully examine them carefully: two Vertukhaev meticulously felt each seam, carefully studied each bag, leafed through the books and tried to look at something under their roots. Finally, she shmoned, and I was again taken to the camera.

* * *

The camera was already different, but here I was alone again. In its own device, it was no different from the previous one.

I looked a little like a cell, indulging in thoughts. The calmly passed Shmona seemed to have pacified consciousness: they turn to “be kind”, no one yells, doesn’t beat - maybe there will be no tin? But at the same time, silence and severity created an ominous background. "Why is it so quiet in prison?" - Involuntarily the question arose in my brain. "Sailor silence" buzzed like a hive at any time of the day, but here - not a sound. Maybe this is not a residential building?

Having noticed a socket, I decided to disperse anxious thoughts with tea. Fortunately, I had a boiler with me.

After 10 minutes, I already warmed my hands on a plastic mug in which the Lepton bag dangled. Still, tea is salvation in any situation! If you are sad, anxious or simply there is no mood - brewing tea, and it will become better.

After tea, I lay down on a bench and dozed off. I woke up, walked again. He listened to Prodole - no sounds. He brewed Rollton, ate. I walked again. The clock stretched, but nothing happened.

In jail, I was brought in the morning or closer to dinner. How much time was there: 4 hours, 5, 6 pm? It was impossible to say.

Suddenly, the doors of the buxes began to clap. And four people were brought to my camera. One of them was offended and remained standing near the parachm. The other silently sat down on the bench and began to delve into his bag (as it later became clear, he was looking for cigarettes, after the shmon , which appeared at the bottom of the bag). And the remaining two, apparently, continued a lively conversation.

- ... they are planted now! They threw one to me. I tell him, - the cigarette cigarette, the prisoner of a strong physique, dressed in a track, was narrated in a tracksuit, - take the machine, go Bray Ass!

- And what is he? - with surprise and obvious interest asked his other prisoner of about the same age, but less dense and dressed in a sweater and jeans.

- I took the machine and went to Dalnyak! Can you imagine?! This is the convicts today! I went to shave the ass! - And the narrator laughed strainedly.

Then these two paid attention to me:

- And you, Malaya, from where? - with curiosity looking at me, asked the tracksuit.

- From Moscow, today they brought the Stolypin.

- Wow! What is the article?

“205th,” and I once again told my story.

• The FSB department set fire to?! Of course, you performed it! How else ... In Krasnoyarsk, for this, maybe they would have killed. Well, they gave the deadline, ”commented on a tracksuit.

-Probably, they will raise the 6th post, right? The second asked him.

-Well, yes, the 6th post, of course, confirmed the first.

-And what is it-the 6th post? - I did not understand.

- Special block. There are no TVs, hanging courtyards, ”began to explain in a sweater and jeans.

“I'm sitting there, normal there,” the tracksuit interrupted.

“I see,” I answered, although, of course, I did not understand what kind of “suspended courtyards”.

Then, in BOKIC, prisoners were brought up. It became crowded in the cell: they sat tightly on both benches, stood on the bus to go to Dalnyak, it was necessary to ask someone to squeeze. Many have been talking lively. Those who are in age are calm, and the youth is somehow anxious.

-I left the 63rd, now they will raise me there? - asked the thin shaved convict from the other a little older.

“No, usually after the stage they always raise it in another hut,” he explained to him.

- This is good. I hope not to the working one will raise it.

Most of the conversations were incomprehensible to me, and they were conducted mainly so as to voice the minimum of information. But I realized that at least the vast majority of prisoners in the Boxing House now returned to the pre -trial detention center after the vessels or the IVS, where they were taken out for investigative actions.

The atmosphere here was completely different, not like a sailor. Brotherhood here did not smell. They did not speak with strangers. They talked, looking around.

And I have not heard such words as “watching”, “position”, “thief” at all. Nobody spoke about mobile phones and drugs either.

Meanwhile, they began to breed on the cameras. The door opened and Vertuhai read a few names - they were taken out, and the door slammed. Finally, my last name sounded.

* * *

I went out to the continuation. There was already a chain of prisoners facing the wall. “Yeah! This is not MTC [5]! I thought. “Here they immediately face the wall.”

- In two lines they built! Went! We do not defend, ”the tall Werthi, accompanying the convict, commanded.

- Hold your hands behind your back! - shouted another garbage, walking at the end of the system.

I looked at the hands of the prisoners - everyone held them behind them. "Wow! - flashed in my head. - In Moscow, no one would take his hand behind his back, but here they were trained! ”

Closer to the beginning of the construction, I noticed a large figure of Seryoga Gavrilov - it became a little warmer in my soul. He, turning around, also saw me and winked.

We walked along the dimly lit corridors with vaulted ceilings. Either one or the other side appeared the gray doors of the cameras. Periodically, the system stopped, Vertuhai read 2-3 names, the camera opened and our construction was opened.

Of course, I imagined a press Kata: you go in-and they immediately begin to beat. Therefore, I had a secret hope that, by some chance, I would be thrown into one camera. Together, it will be simpler, and Seryoga is healthy-you can’t fill it so easily.

But no. Seryoga was brought into the camera before me.

And at the next stop they already called my last name. He looked at the door door-like 158th. I have not heard about her in a boxing.

I stepped into the opening. Behind her back, the door slammed shut like a coffin cover.

February 2021.

[1] The same as the car.

[2] Black centers are called pre -trial detention center, where power belongs to representatives of the criminal world and, as a result, there is no regime.

[3] Art. 132 h. 4 of the Criminal Code - “Sodies, lesbianism or other actions of a sexual nature using violence or with the threat of its application to the victim (victim) or to other persons or using the helpless state of the victim (victim) committed against a person who has not reached the age of fourteen.”

[4] Art. 131 of the Criminal Code - "Rape".

[5] MTC - sailor silence of the central; The abbreviation used by the prisoners themselves.