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| 集中營城市生日會 流放者遙想當年 |
更新時間：2009-08-19 22:04:35
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| 記者∕作者：謝雯伃 | |
| 耶勒娜‧扎尤卡到現在仍不了解，為何她會被放逐到馬嘎丹（Magadan）。 今年7月，俄羅斯遠東城市馬嘎丹慶祝建成62週年。過去它看守著前蘇聯領導者史達林所設置的「古拉格」（Gulag，集中營）。 在當初「古拉格」關閉後，選擇要留在當地的生還者中，85歲的扎尤卡是少數還在世的。 第一批的屯墾者的生活中，是沒有什麼建城慶典的。 「我母親在剛搬來時，哭得有多慘呀！」扎尤卡說，她那時才23歲，原本住在烏克蘭。她被判流放至此10年。 當初，史達林需要人力來這個離莫斯科東北方超過6千公里的地區，挖掘地底豐富的金礦。將近20年內，他送了數十萬名囚犯來到這個令人聞之喪膽的「古拉格」集中營地區。 據估計，1932年（馬嘎丹正式建城前7年）到1950年代中期間，大約有80萬人停留在馬嘎丹。 瓦丁‧科辛（Vadim Kozin）博物館的執行長薇拉‧斯米諾娃表示，其中大約有12萬到13萬人被認為死於集中營中。瓦丁‧科辛博物館是以被流放至馬嘎丹的歌手瓦丁‧科辛命名，他最有名的事蹟是，他表示他的男高音嗓子不適合演唱歌頌史達林的歌曲。 被流放的囚犯全都為達思卓力（Dalstroi）勞改營服務，這個機構是由蘇聯國家安全局KGB的前身，蘇聯內務人民委員部（NKVD）所設立。這些囚犯在這個科力馬河（Kolyma）轉向往北流進北極海的地區，建起了金礦坑和相關基礎設施。 白骨之路 扎尤卡與其它女性擠在一列火車中，跨越了幾乎整個蘇聯領土，從蘇聯遠東港口納霍德卡（Nakhodka）坐船到達馬嘎丹。 她說，她並不是罪犯，她被流放只是時代的印記。 「我在溫室工作，我們在裡面種植食物。其他的女性在建築工地或是漁獲工廠裡工作。當然，他們一毛錢也沒付給我們。」她說。 男性的遭遇更為悲慘，數萬名男性在充滿了蚊子的森林裡，挖掘道路通往藏匿金礦的內陸時，死在路上。現在這條路被稱為「白骨之路」。 「在這條路上。情況很糟糕。」扎尤卡說。 「有多少人因此喪命？他們又是為了什麼而死呢？」 從她公寓的窗子向外望，看得見在馬嘎丹市的山坡上，有一座灰色的雕像。 這是旅居紐約的俄羅斯雕刻家恩斯特‧倪茲維斯尼（Ernst Neizvestny）於1996年所完成的「哀容面具」（Mask of Sorrow）紀念碑，獻給所有的古拉格流放囚犯。這座雕像沒有明顯臉部輪廓，臉孔深埋在雙掌中，低聲哭泣。 就是從這座紀念碑的所在處，流放者踏上了「白骨之路」。 當初的集中營，現在只剩下了建物所遺留的磚頭碎片。在紀念碑中，重建了一座集中營牢房。在重建牢房的地板上，破舊的工作靴和鶴嘴鋤的把手堆得高高的，上頭鋪蓋著滿是帶刺金屬罩網和凋零的玫瑰。 對知識分子而言，所面臨的情況最為困難，博物館執行長斯米諾娃說。反倒是罪犯，對國家來說不算什麼威脅。 扎尤卡則說，她既不是一個罪犯，對國家來說也不算是威脅。 在1955年流放期滿後，她決定要留在馬嘎丹。「古拉格」集中營系統的崩解讓她原本的刑期減少了2年。 「我家一個人也不在了，我的母親過世了，我的兄弟們也都死了。」 「此外，我找到了一名黃金級丈夫。他等了我5年。 來自俄羅斯南部克拉斯諾達爾（Krasnodar）的亞力士，比扎尤卡早5年被釋放，不過他決定要留在馬嘎丹等她。亞力士在1964年過世。 到最後，扎尤卡並沒有再望見烏克蘭一眼。 「我現在不會想回去了，」她邊說邊搖頭。「沒有我的拐杖，我連街上的商店都去不了。更何況，我還需要一本護照才能到烏克蘭。」 （路透） Yelena Zyuzka still doesn't understand why she was exiled to Magadan, but 62 years later she would happily share the enormous cake baked to celebrate the city's birthday. The cream-filled slices were served up for the crowds that gathered in July to watch street performers, open-air concerts and a midnight firework display to mark the 70th year of Magadan, a city in Russia's Far East that was gateway to the most feared Gulags set up by Soviet leader Josef Stalin. Too frail to walk on her own to the street party, the 85-year old shows cupboards stacked with biscuits, meat and vegetables. She is one of the few remaining survivors who chose to remain after the Gulags closed. There was certainly no celebration by the first wave of settlers. "Oh! How my mother cried when they came," said Zyuzka of the day when, aged 23 and living in Ukraine, she was taken to serve her sentence of 10 years' exile. Stalin needed labor to unearth the abundant gold reserves in this region more than 6,000 km (3,750 miles) northeast of Moscow. For two decades, he sent hundreds of thousands of prisoners to his most feared Gulags. Magadan today exists on its gold mines, fishing and trade in the goods that arrive across the Sea of Okhotsk from ports further south. Most of the cars on its sloping streets are made in Japan. The spare room of the apartment where Zyuzka has lived since 1961 is decorated with wallpaper depicting Dumbo, Disney's flying elephant, just in case her great-grandson comes back to stay. Only three, he now lives on the Pacific island of Sakhalin. "Age doesn't bring any joy," she said. "Before, I could feed myself on my pension and set a little aside. Now, everything -- food, medicine -- is so expensive." About 800,000 people are estimated to have passed through the camps of Magadan between 1932 -- seven years before the city was officially founded -- and the mid-1950s. Between 120,000 and 130,000 are thought to have died, said Vera Smirnova, director of the Vadim Kozin museum, named after a singer exiled to Magadan -- reputedly because he once said songs about Stalin were not suited for his tenor voice. They all worked for Dalstroi, the organization set up by the Soviet NKVD -- forerunner of the KGB -- to build the gold mines and associated infrastructure in the region named Kolyma after a river that runs north to the Arctic. ROAD OF BONES Zyuzka, the youngest of seven children, left her family behind in the western Ukrainian city of Ivano-Frankivsk in 1947. She still speaks with a Ukrainian accent. Crammed into a train with other women, she crossed almost the entire breadth of the Soviet Union, reaching Magadan by boat from the far eastern port of Nakhodka. She says she wasn't a criminal -- her exile was just a sign of the times. "I worked in a greenhouse, where we grew food. Other women worked on building sites or in the fish factory. Of course, they didn't pay us a penny," she says. The men had it worse, though. Tens of thousands died digging the road through the mosquito-ridden forests to reach the gold deposits inland. The route is now known as the Road of Bones. "Out on the road, it was terrible. The conditions were very bad," Zyuzka said. "How many people must have died, and for what?" Zyuzka lives on around 12,000 roubles ($386.2) a month. Her pension is supplemented by her daughter in Sakhalin. From the window of her apartment, it's possible to pick out a grey statue on the hillside above Magadan. New York-based Russian sculptor Ernst Neizvestny completed the Mask of Sorrow monument to the Gulag prisoners in 1996. A faceless, weeping figure shelters in the back of its concrete hulk. It was from here that prisoners left for the Road of Bones. A crumbling brick building is all that remains of the original camp, but a Gulag cell is recreated inside the monument. Battered boots and pickaxe handles lie in a heap on the floor, covered with barbed wire and withered roses. GOLDEN HUSBAND Conditions were toughest for the intelligentsia, museum director Smirnova said. The criminals were not perceived as a threat to the state. Zyuzka says she was neither a criminal nor a threat. Yet she decided to stay in Magadan when her forced exile was ended in 1955, the collapse of the Gulag system cutting two years from her original sentence. "There was nobody left -- my mother had died, my brothers had died." She flicked through a photograph album. "Besides, I had a golden husband. Five years he waited for me." Alexei, originally from Krasnodar in southern Russia, was released earlier than his sweetheart but decided to stay on in Magadan. He died in 1964, though his face still looks out from a commemorative plate on the cluttered sideboard. Zyuzka has seen the last of Ukraine. "I wouldn't go there now," she says, shaking her head. "I can't even walk to the shops without my stick. Besides, I'd need a passport." (Reuters) |
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