That's what we need

Tvardovsky breathed a deep sigh of relief. Finally some peace and quiet. He lay down in bed, his silk pajamas rustled, he turned on the night lamp and took the manuscript that Kopeljev had told him to read. The title was: ŠČ-845. He read the first sentence:

...

"At five o'clock in the morning, as always, the jackhammer was hammered into the rail near the staff barracks. The intermittent echo made its way through the windows covered with two fingers of ice and soon died down: it was cold and the guard couldn't beat his hand for a long time.

He paused. Something tugged hard in his chest. No, it wasn't the heart.

- Maria - he shouted, but she did not hear him.

- Maria Ilarionovna! - he repeated even louder. He called his Masha by the name i fatherhood when he wanted to tell her something important.

- Bring me a suit - he said when Maria appeared at the door - the formal one.

It was a black suit that Tvardovsky wore only when he went to a meeting of the Central Committee or on an invitation from the Kremlin. Black suit, red tie, white shirt. And two orders on the left side. Two Orders of Lenin for Literature. In recent years, he did not wear the other two orders with the portrait of Stalin.

Having put on his formal suit, Tvardovsky sat down at his desk, shouted to Anushka to make tea and be stronger, and continued to read the story of Ivan Denisovich.

After ten minutes, he said to himself - this novel calls for vodka.

Before morning - Tvardovsky read slowly, enjoying himself - he reached the last sentences:

"The day passed, undisturbed by anything, almost happy. There were three hundred and sixty-three thousand five hundred and fifty-three such days in his term, from bell to bell. Due to leap years, three more days were added..."

An empty bottle of "Kremlivka" greeted the end of the text.

There was no signature. He didn't know who the writer was.

FREEDOM AND FEAR

In the editorial office, Lav Kopeljev was waiting for Tvardovski, impatient to hear what the editor-in-chief would have to say, although he had no doubts about his assessment. He knew Alexander Trifonovich well. After eight years in the camp, Tvardovski gave him the chance to work.

The editor-in-chief had only one question: who is the author?

- Solzhenitsyn, answered the associate.

– Which Solzhenitsyn?

Instead of an answer, Kopeljev handed Tvardovski a pre-prepared envelope with a document.

Supreme Court of the USSR, solution number 4n 083/56

Military Collegium of the Supreme Court of the USSR, under the presidency of court advisor Boris Glebski and colonels Dolotsev and Konev, considered at the session of 6. February 1956. the appeal of the military prosecutor against the decision of the NKVD special commission dated 7. July 1945. according to which on the basis of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR Article 38system. (10) in 38system. (11) issued a verdict by which Aleksandar Isaevich Solzhenitsyn, born in 1918. in Kislovodsk, higher education, sentenced to eight years of correctional labor in the camp.

The accusations against Solzhenitsyn that he led anti-Soviet propaganda from 1940 to 1945 and that he and his comrades created an anti-Soviet organization have not been proven. In a letter to his friend ND Vitkevich, Solzhenitsyn came out from the position of Marxism-Leninism, criticizing certain wrong steps of the government and the personality cult of Stalin, which does not constitute a criminal offense. Witnesses confirmed that Solzhenitsyn was a patriot and denied that he spread anti-Soviet propaganda.

Captain Melnikov, who served together with Solzhenitsyn, confirmed his bravery in war, for which he received two orders and the rank of captain.

Due to all of the above, the Supreme Court annuls the NKVD verdict from 1945. years.

Tvardovski thought to himself. So, another returnee.

Rehabilitated, like Kopeljev. The first to write about the camp. Everyone avoids it, they don't even like to talk about it. They are afraid, maybe even ashamed.

- Do you know Solzhenitsyn? Where is he? Who gave you his story?

- Solzhenitsyn lives in Ryazan, works in high school, teaches mathematics and physics.

- Bring him as soon as possible. I have to meet him.

During that time, in Ryazan, about two hundred kilometers from Moscow, Solzhenitsyn wondered if he had made a mistake for which he would suffer for the rest of his life. How could I do that? No one forced me, I reported myself to the KGB. And that in writing. It could cost me another ten years of lager.

Solzhenitsyn turned over his life path in his head. He was 43 years old, five years of which he was in the war, eight years in the camp, six years in exile and the last four years as a free citizen in Ryazan. Free? Very conditionally, because he was still afraid of his shadow.

He lived in fear of being discovered writing. Fear ruled his life, but not his creative soul.

ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF ALEXANDER ISAJEVICH

The story of a day in the life of the inmate Ivan Denisovich Shuhov, typed on both sides of the paper, without spacing and therefore difficult to read, lay for days on the desk of Anna Berzer, editor of the literature department in "Novi Mir". Kopeljev handed over the text to her because he knew her character: persistent, honest, consistent. And one more thing, perhaps more important – Anna's father and uncle ended up in the camp described by Solzhenitsyn.

Anna Berzer was an experienced editor. She knew that she should not raise too much dust around the text that she read in one breath.

In such a non-unique newsroom, Aleksandar Tvardovski, a writer of great talent and proven honesty, had the main speech. His word was final when it came to publishing the manuscript. But he also had to take into account the opinion of the editorial staff, even more so about censorship, and above all the opinion of the political leadership. His "final" decision was conditioned by the current political line within which he could ask for more or less free space. Twardovski asked for more.

Finally, that day has come in the life of Alexander Solzhenitsyn. For the first time he entered the editorial office of a literary magazine and for the first time he was present at the meeting of the editorial board where his short story will be discussed.

They welcomed him warmly in the editorial office, shook his hand firmly, patted him on the shoulder - apparently the editor-in-chief had already expressed his opinion about the story.

Of course, the editor-in-chief did not forget to mention "our Central Committee" which expects the writers to give their full contribution to exposing Stalin's mistakes.

The editorial board unanimously accepted the novella, with some minor remarks that Solzhenitsyn accepted. One of them is to change the title ŠČ-854, so by mutual agreement they decided to change the title One day of Ivan Denisovich.

How is she living - Solzhenitsyn was later asked by the editor-in-chief. Well, don't complain, he has a job, a regular salary of 60 rubles, he doesn't need more.

Tvardovski called the secretary: Write an advance payment order to Aleksandar Isajevic. According to the A group.

That was Solzhenitsyn's two-year salary.

READING IN PITSUDA

It was not easy to publish Solzhenitsyn's novella, even though the editors headed by Tvardovsky had already decided so. There was state censorship that gave the green light. Formally, because the fate of important works was decided by the party presidium itself or at least the culture committee of the Central Committee.

Nikita Khrushchev had a lot to do that summer. It was necessary to support Nasser, supply Fidel Castro with rockets, find a way for the USSR to produce the largest ears of corn in the world, of course, and not to neglect the space race, and especially not to weaken the ties in the socialist camp.

The editor-in-chief was already in a relationship with Khrushchev. Of course, not directly but through his cultural advisor. It was VS Lebedev who first, before Khrushchev, read the novella.

At that time, Khrushchev was resting in Picunda, on the Black Sea. There was a huge residence there that was used by the first people in the communist hierarchy. Khrushchev did not know how to swim, but he loved the sea: he sunbathed or enjoyed the shade. For some reason he didn't like straw hats to protect him from the sun. He liked to put a simple handkerchief on his head, the four corners of which were tied in knots. And that he always listens to one and the same song from the record player: Sub-Moscow evenings. It was the same when Lebedev brought him a novel about Ivan Denisovich. The General Secretary did not like to read, especially not longer texts, so he told the adviser to read aloud, and he would listen carefully.

And while Lebedev was reading him the story of one ordinary day in the camp of Ivan Denisovich, Khrushchev said in a moment, intuitively, without engaging in literary finesse: That is the real thing! Call Mikoyan immediately. Anastas Mikoyan summered nearby, in a house slightly smaller than Khrushchev's. That politician was considered indestructible: he was close to everyone at the very top of the government, devoted to work and carrying out orders, but with an extinguished ambition to climb to the very top. That is why he survived Stalin, Beria, Molotov, and later Khrushchev himself.

When Mikoyan appeared on the beach, Lebedev had to read the novel once more. Now he has already accentuated the most important moments with his voice.

- And what do you think, Athanasius? - Khrushchev asked his party comrade after the reading and, without waiting for an answer, said: - A very powerful thing. That's what we need.

SMART AND SENSITIVE

Khrushchev called Tvardovsky and told him to come to his office with Ivan Denisich. He didn't remember the writer's name, maybe he thought that inmate Ivan himself wrote the story.

The meeting in the Kremlin - Secretary Lebedev was also present - lasted longer than Tvardovsky expected. The party chief was in the mood for a story. Solzhenitsyn watched and remembered everything carefully. It was inconvenient for him to carry a pad and pen, but he absorbed every word. He noticed that Khrushchev really looked like a stereotypical peasant from deep-sea: of short stature, wider in the waist than in the shoulders, with two underarms, bald, with a thick nose, clipped ears, long hands with which he constantly gesticulated and gave importance to some of his sentences. Only his small, gray-blue eyes gave him away: sometimes kindness would shine from them, sometimes anger and unstoppable rage that he could not hide.

Solzhenitsyn knew that Khrushchev, like all other managers, was Stalin's loyal servant, that he not only carried out his harsh orders, but also devised and implemented them himself. And that he always lived in fear of Hazja's. Now he got rid of that fear, but Stalin's shadow, like his own, still followed him. Solzhenitsyn understood that in that game of shadows the story of Khrushchev himself was hidden: as if he were having a conversation with himself, his double, his conscience.

Let's have a drink., let's have a drink.

Lebedev poured cognac for everyone, Tvardovsky seemed to hardly wait for it, and Solzhenitsyn just licked the glass.

– Ivan, what's wrong with you?

– I don't drink.

- At all? Illness or break?

- Neither one nor the other, I simply don't drink.

- You are a strange writer. It's the first time I see someone from your industry not drinking.

That was the end of the meeting.

Twardovski said later in the car: what a smart and sensitive man he is. We are happy that he is at the head of our country and party.

(To be continued)