Our friend offered us his bed, but we said we preferred the floor.  So after carefully shutting all the windows, and seeing that his four children were adjusted in a filthy bunch of old bedding on the floor, and ourselves likewise, he blew out the light….  In spite of tucking my trousers in my socks, etc., the flea and bug situation was very discouraging to any connected shut-eye.

 

During breakfast, a pleasant-faced man, who had asked many questions the night before and impressed us with his keenness for the Party regime, came in. He went over and held a whispered conversation with the vice-president, and then came to where we were sitting and eating.  His entire expression and attitude had altered.  The gay enthusiast had become utterly dejected….

 

“It is terrible,” he said, as he shook his head.  “We can’t speak or we’ll be sent away.  ‘They took away our cows, and now we have only a crust of bread.  It’s worse, much, much worse than before the Revolution.  But in 1926-27 - those were the fine years!"

 

This fellow took us around to the Soviet offices again.  A number of muzhiks were standing about.  They stared at us and one old man with a cap on the back of his head came up and greeted us: “We are starving. Look what they give us - nothing! nothing!  How can we live with nothing in our dvor?  And we can’t say anything or they’ll send us away as they did the others.  All are weeping in the villages today, little brother.”

 

We turned to leave and he followed us out into the dark corridor.  Suddenly he seized us both by the arms and whispered hoarsely: “For God’s sake, don’t say anything.”…

 

Outside, a horse was tied to a post - one of the worst kept and fed I have ever seen.  Said our last mentioned friend: “That was my horse once; now he belongs to the Kolkhoz.  I fed him well, and now look at him - scraggy and dejected.”

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