They were in each other’s company for five days, during which they opened their hearts to one another. The wheel had come full circle, and the circle was at long last closed. Among the subjects they discussed so earnestly together was Yevgeni’s time as a guest of the Soviet Injustice system. “He did not complain to me at all about his ordeal in the concentration camp. Rather, he was thankful for the smallest compensation. Sometimes he was granted permission to leave the camp under surveillance, which was a rare privilege that was extended to very few prisoners, but an exception was made for this obedient, submissive doctor. Food was diluted soup, frozen potatoes, stale bread and water. Work consisted of cleaning corridors and pushing heavy wheelbarrows loaded with stones. Medical care was minimal.” Similar stories of even worse mistreatment are confirmed in the memoirs of Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Evgenia Ginzburg (Within the Whirlwind) or Gustav Herling (A World Apart), or in more accessible studies by Anne Applebaum (Gulag), Orlando Figes (The Whisperers) or Alexander Yakovlev (A Century of Violence in Soviet Russia). Sympathetic readers of any of these books may be tempted to cry out for retribution on behalf of the victims, but Yevgeni Provatoroff uttered no words of condemnation. He appeared to have borne his afflictions with fortitude, and bore no malice towards his tormentors. He was at peace with himself.
“Miracles happen all the time,” says Olga. “Life itself is a miracle because it is a gift from God.
The time with my father was another. It made me understand so much. It filled a void. During those precious moments his Russia and my Canada did not exist. We demonstrated our love for each other in words, in glances, in meaningful moments of silence. There was no hesitation, no shyness, no inhibition. He told me how he and my mother had met. ‘She was a beautiful young woman,’ he said, and sang I Recall That Miraculous Moment, a romance-poem from Pushkin, set to music by Glinka, that celebrated young love.” Olga quotes from what she calls “a badly-translated” version in English:
I still recall that magic moment
When you first came into sight
A fleeting vision, like an ‘Amen’
Of pure beauty and delight.
As years passed and storms grew stronger
I lost my dream in my worldly race:
I could recall your voice no longer
I could not see your angel face.
Imprisoned in my desperation,
Dragged into misery and strife,
Without God or inspiration,
Without tears or love of life.
And then one day, my soul awoken,
You came back into my sight,
A fleeting vision, like an omen
Of pure beauty and delight.
