According to the rules of criminal behavior, Siberian men cannot communicate with policemen. It is forbidden to address them, answer their questions, or establish any relationship with them. The criminal must behave as if the police were not there and use the mediation of a female relative or friend of the family provided she is of Siberian origin. The criminal tells the woman what he wants to say to the policeman in the criminal language, and she repeats his words in Russian, even though the policeman can hear what he says perfectly well, since he is standing there in front of him. Then, when the policeman replies, the woman turns around and translates his words into the criminal language. The criminal must not look the policeman in the face, and if he refers to him in the course of his speech he must use derogatory words like filth, dog, rabbit, rat, bastard, abortion, etcetera.
In the Siberian Community you learn to kill when you’re very small. Our philosophy of life has a close relation to death; children are taught that taking someone else’s life or dying are perfectly acceptable things, if there is good reason. Teaching people how to die is impossible, because once you’ve died there is no coming back. But teaching people to live with the threat of death is not difficult.
At a very early age children are shown by their fathers how animals are killed in the yard: chickens, geese, and pigs. In this way the child grows accustomed to blood, to the details of killing. Later, at the age of six or seven, the child is given the chance to kill a small animal himself. In this educative process there is no place for emotions like sadism or cowardice. The child must be trained to have a full awareness of his own actions, and above all, of the reasons and the profound meanings that lie behind those actions.
Since everything American was forbidden, just as it was forbidden to flaunt wealth and power through material things, the people of our district dressed very humbly. We boys were in a terrible state as far as clothing was concerned, but we were proud of it. We wore like trophies our fathers’ or elder brothers’ old shoes and their unfashionable clothes, which were meant to emphasize Siberian humility and simplicity.
We could have enjoyed life to the full. We were an ancient and very wealthy community, the houses in our area were huge, the people could have lived ‘in grand style,’ as the phrase is in our country and in yours, but instead money was used in a strange way: no clothes, jewels, expensive cars, gambling. There were only two things the Siberians were happy to spend their money on: weapons and Orthodox icons. We all had an enormous quantity of weapons, and also of icons, which were very costly.
Our friend was thirteen and was called Lyoza, an old Jewish name. He was a very quiet, weak boy: he had health problems, was almost deaf, and wore enormous glasses, so in the Siberian community he was immediately treated with compassion and understanding, like all disabled people. My father, for example, never stopped reminding me to look after him and to get out my knife should anyone attack or insult him. Lyoza was very well educated, had refined manners, and always talked seriously—everything he said seemed convincing. So we had immediately given him an appropriate nickname: the banker…
He seemed exactly what he was: a kid who had nothing to do with our gang. With his perfectly buttoned jacket, his thick lenses that made him look like a monster, and his hair cut in the manner of the actors of the fifties, he looked completely out of place. “You’ve got to go there on your own,” I proposed. “That way those bastards will see you and show themselves. We’ll surround the area and stand behind the trees, ready to act. As soon as you recognize them, shout, whistle, and we’ll jump on them in a flash. The rest is already in the hands of the Lord.”
Lyoza adjusted his glasses on his nose, and in a resolute voice he said: “Sure. I agree. Only afterwards, when the fighting starts, I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’ll be able to hit anyone. I’ve never done it in my whole life.”
I was impressed by the dignity with which the boy told the truth about himself. He wasn’t afraid at all, he was just explaining the facts, and my respect for him grew.