Paulina Simons > Quotes

“The truest wild warrior of the steppes is the one who, when there is nothing left in him, when he’s got no horse, no weapons, no endurance, no strength, when he’s got no fight left, who thinks he’s been beaten and all is lost, still somehow finds the will inside himself to pull to his feet and keep going. The one who, where there’s nothing left, can turn to his right and help the fellow next to him who is down. He is the one who makes it out, the one who finds the divine inside himself.”
― Paulina Simons

“Tonight," began Potapov, his wrinkled nose twitching above his thin lips, "we plan to pass a new resolution, not just for Ispas, but for all the villages in the region. Effective immediately and until further notice, every horse breeder, like you, Comrade Lazar, will not just try, but will ensure—no, he will guarantee—the pregnancy and birth of all female horses!" The fifty people in the hall fell silent, and Potapov asked, "Is that clear? Is there anything unclear in my words?"
"Anything unclear in my words?" Isabel echoed him.
"Yes, Comrade Potapov," Roman replied. "There are some unclear aspects." Isabelle and Sissy pinched him, and Isabelle mimicked Potapov's grating tenor, "One hundred percent pregnancy and birth of all female horses!" Sissy nearly burst into laughter. Roman detached himself from his wife and sister and strode to the aisle between the benches, where he could speak without their interruptions.
"You claim to be an animal husbandry expert from Moscow?" Roman inquired. "Please enlighten us on how to achieve such remarkable outcomes."
Ostap stood up—Ostap, who never spoke at these meetings! Even Yana was taken aback. "Excuse me," Ostap said, seemingly astonished at his own audacity, "but is that what they call female horses in Moscow, 'women mares'? Because here in Ukraine, we simply call them 'mares'."
"Never mind that," dismissed Potapov.
"And by the way, mares don't 'give birth'," Ostap added, his eyes ablaze with animosity and his voice dripping with scorn. "They foal."
"Let's proceed," Potapov gestured towards the Lazar family members seated with Mirik and Petka. "Comrade Zhuk has informed me about you, the Lazar family," he stated. Petka immediately stood up and moved to another seat. Mirik also shifted his chair slightly further away—just a few centimeters, but it was enough! He distanced himself so as not to be associated with the troublesome Lazars, Isabelle realized. Incredible. As problematic as his wife.”
― Paulina Simons

“Ukraine, March 1929

Roman founded an organization called OWK. He and Ostap made leaflets with their own hands, with the help of thick pencils, and distributed them all over the city, nailing them to doors and walls. When one of Afros' OGPO men stopped him on the street and asked about his actions, Roman replied, "I serve the revolution, comrade. And what are you doing?" The brothers were brought before Afros and Zhuk in the house they had confiscated in the village square. Zhuk asked if Roman wanted to be taken to Murmansk. Roman said no. He explained that apparently there were no kulaks left in Ispes after the concentrated purge six weeks ago. Therefore, Roman And Ostap decided to form an organization that anyone can join, and they are holding the first assembly next week. The organization is called OWK, the acronym for 'Organization without Kulaks'. "I even used the abominable Russian word, out of national solidarity with you and your friends, Comrade Zhuk," Roman said. "It is an organization of non-wealthy farmers, a definition that applies to the entire population that remained in Ispas. It is difficult to continue to maintain in Ukraine the class war between the successful farmer and the less successful farmer, in part because the classification changes from harvest to harvest. Kulak Mouser is the bane of the current harvest. And because the harvest was so bad and despite your laudable efforts, of course, there don't seem to be any kulaks left in our village. So we don't know exactly how to conduct the class war about which you spoke so eloquently a few weeks ago." Her novel to Jouk has a friendly smile. "We are deeply committed to purging the last of the anti-communist elements. And therefore - OW-K. "If you're serious, you'll participate in collectivization," said Jock. "I understand your point about the inefficiency of the small-scale farm, comrade," Roman said. "I am attentive to her. But listen to me until the end. The land of the Lazar family is far from the other farms, and it is impossible to connect it to them easily and create the collectivization, savings and cooperation that you strive for. So this is my proposal: my family and I will agree to meet your quota without collectivization. Let's show you how we work - with your help, maybe lend us a steel plow that expresses our new understanding and partnership? I'm sure it will work much better than our old wooden plows, and we'll do the rest. We will plow our land now, we will plant your wheat in August. We will work tirelessly for the cause and bring you the grain you demand. We will not give and we will not bargain.” "And in return?" "Nothing," Roman said. "In return we will continue to fatten horses and cows in peace." "You intend to pay other people to work in your wheat fields, Comrade Lazar?" asked Zhuk in a smooth voice. "Of course not," said Roman. "I know that even if I only have three horses, and I only pay two people to work for me, it means that I am a fat and lazy kulak, lower than a human pig. Then, as a founding member of OWK, I will have to destroy myself. So the answer is no. I will not pay anyone to work for me. Every person who passes through the fields will work for free, and that is the duty of all Ukrainians, right? As you told us we have to do to be counted for true patriots.”
― Paulina Simons

“Tonight," said Potapov, and his wrinkled nose quivered above his thin lips, "we intend to adopt a new resolution, not only for Ispas, but for all the villages in the region. From this moment on, until further notice, every breeder of horses, like you, Comrade Lazar, will endeavor— No, he won't try, he will succeed! - Yes, he will succeed 100 percent The pregnancy and birth of all female mares!" The fifty people in the hall fell silent, and Potapov asked, "Is that clear? Something unclear in my words?"
"Something unclear in my words?" Isabel came back after him.
"Yes, Comrade Potapov," said Roman. "There are some unclear things." Isabelle and Sissy pinched him, and Isabelle continued to whisper in Potapov's unpleasant tenor voice, "One hundred percent pregnancy and birth of all female mares!" Sissy almost laughed out loud. Roman broke away from his wife and sister and walked to the aisle between the pews, from which He could speak without interruption from them.
"You said you were an animal enclosure expert from Moscow?" Roman asked. "Please teach us how to achieve such extraordinary results."
Ostap rose - Ostap, who never spoke at these assemblies! Even Yana was shocked. "Forgive me," said Ostap, seeming not to believe his own impudence, "but that's what they call female mares in Moscow, 'mares women'? Because here in Ukraine they simply say 'mares'."
"Never mind," said Potapov.
"And the mares, by the way, don't give birth," added Ostap with eyes burning with hatred and in a low voice with contempt. "They give birth."
"Well, let's talk." Potapov pointed to the members of the Lazar family who were sitting with Mirik and Petka. "Comrade Zhuk told me about you, the Lazar family," Potapov said. Petka immediately got up and moved to another place. Mirik also moved his chair a little further - only a few centimeters, but still! He was staying away so he wouldn't be lumped in with those troublesome lazars, Isabelle thought. Unbelievable. Problematic like his wife, himself and his flesh.
"We believe," said Potapov, "that you are using your horses by means of sabotage against the Soviet state." "And how do we do that?" asked Roman, who stood beside his brother. By having your mares give birth only once a year!"
I don't create a horse, Comrade Potapov, I only quarter him." The mare's gestation period is eleven months," Roman said. "If you need to improve! Why do your horses, which you are apparently so famous for, only give birth to one foal per horse?" Potapov asked. "Why is their pregnancy so long? Almost a year? It's unthinkable! Can't you speed up the birth earlier and quarter them again? Or see if there's a way to make a mare carry two foals in one place? That would be very productive!"
The members of the Lazar family looked forward and not at each other, lest they openly express contempt and be arrested for the crime of rowing under the Soviet Union. It is impossible to respect something that is despised, the Christian Jesus was right in that, Isabel thought, and wished that Roman would bite his tongue. Vitaly and Stan, Oleg Tretyak, the evicted Kubal, and most recently Andreyush - all these poor people were witnesses and victims of Stalin's total dedication to the reign of terror. Soon even the pretense that the rule of law exists will be abandoned. Yana got to her feet with an effort and held the chair rest. "I have to go," she said. "As you can see, I'm a pregnant female about to give birth. But maybe the experts from Moscow should spend some time around the stable during the calving season before they start giving recommendations." Yana nodded to Roman and Ostap and left the hall with a wobbly gait. Isabelle thought that Yana was slowing down for Potapov's sake. Just a few hours ago she jumped on the back of a horse and then got off above him without help and without effort. Potapov paid no attention to Yana's words or to her departure. "We need to solve th''e horse problem!" said the man.”
― Paulina Simons

“They trod into Majdanek, which had been liberated by the Soviets barely three days earlier. The Nazi camp lay on a plate-flat field of brown-green grass and its squat, long green barracks looked almost like camouflage. Alexander smelled the acrid-sweet smell of burning flesh in the air, but said nothing, though by the gradual quieting down in his tank and around his formations, he could tell his men smelled it, too.
"Why did they want us to come here?" asked Telikov, coming up to Alexander and staring with him at the city of Lublin through the barbed wire fence. Lublin was just over the field and down a slope.
"The high command wants us to see what we're dealing with as we force our way into Germany," said Alexander. "So we don't feel pity for the Germans."
Ouspensky asked if the residents of Lublin could smell what he smelled, and Alexander replied that they had probably been smelling it every day for months.
The camp was small and seemed almost serene-as if the humanity had left it, leaving behind only ghosts-
And ash-
And bones-
And blue remnants of Zyclon B gas on the concrete walls.
Femur bones, and clavicles
And spy holes in steel doors.
A "bathhouse" on one side of the small camp.
And ovens with one long tall chimney stack on the other.
A road that connected them.
Barracks that divided them.
A commandant's house.
SS barracks.
And nothing else.
The men walked through slowly and silently, and then bent their heads, and finally, standing at the back of the camp, they took off their caps.
"Can't pretend this was a forced labor camp, can you?" Ouspensky said to Alexander.
"No, can't.”
― Paulina Simons, Tatiana and Alexander- By Paulina Simons-hebrew Books/israeli Literature

“Ukraine, March 1929

Roman and Ostap founded an organization called OWK. They handcrafted leaflets with thick pencils and distributed them across the city, sticking them to doors and walls. When an OGPU agent of Afros confronted Roman, he boldly stated, "I serve the revolution, comrade. What about you?" Later, Afros and Zhuk summoned the brothers to a commandeered house in the village square. There, Zhuk questioned if Roman wanted to be sent to Murmansk, which Roman refused. He argued that no kulaks were left in Ispas after the severe purge six weeks earlier. Therefore, they decided to form a group open to everyone, planning its first meeting for the next week. OWK, standing for 'Organization without Kulaks,' was envisioned by Roman as a collective for the non-wealthy farmers of Ispas. He believed that maintaining class struggle among Ukrainian farmers was difficult, as the categories changed with each harvest. Given the recent bad harvest and the absence of kulaks, Roman was unsure how to continue the class conflict as Zhuk had outlined. Nonetheless, he reassured Zhuk with a friendly smile about their commitment to removing the last anti-communist elements, thus establishing OWK. Jock insisted that true commitment meant joining collectivization. Roman recognized the inefficiency of small farms and was open to discussing it further, alluding to important details about the Lazar family's land.”
― Paulina Simons

“In the bedrooms some of the men were fighting two women. One threw a knife and aimed it at Isabel's face. He missed, and the knife embedded itself in the wall behind her. Isabel grabbed her weapon, but Roman had already entered the room. He pushed Isabel aside, threw the knife at the assailant, then pointed the weapon at the other man. "Where is my mother?" he demanded. in a loud and scary voice.
"How should I know, for all..."
Roman interrupted him with a shot. He passed the gun to Isabel, took the machine gun from her, and proceeded to the next room. There, Sissy and Ostap were holding two men at gunpoint. "Move aside, my wife," Roman commanded, as he took hold of the DP machine gun. "Where is my mother?" I don't know where she is," Roman no longer listened. He repeated "no, no, no," his expression echoing the denial. The other man raised his hands defensively. "I'll only ask once," Roman declared. "I don't know where your mother is!" the man yelled. Roman shot him. In the living room, Nikura pinned four men against the wall. As they tried to avert the inevitable, one of the Soviets offered a different tactic. "I know where your mother is," he claimed. "Jock told me." "Where is she?"
"I want my life in exchange for..." Roman didn't let him finish the sentence; he shot him. "Where is my mother?" the remaining three men demanded again. "In Castropol," an enterprising Soviet offered, "I'll make one phone call..." But it was Isabelle who shoved Roman aside and unleashed the machine gun's fury. She aimed and fired again. The lead bullet from the second burst silenced the two who had yet to speak.
"I had a good feeling about the last one," Roman said. "I think he knew something.”
― Paulina Simons