One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn Page A

The days rolled by in the camp--they were over before you could say "knife." But the years, they never rolled by; they never moved by a second.

    When they went down, they found that everyone had settled around the stove except the captain and Fetiukov, who were still hauling sand. Pavlo flew into a rage and sent eight men out at once to move blocks, two to pour cement into the box and mix it with sand, another for water, another for coal. But Kilgas gave his own orders:

    "Well, men, we must finish with the barrows."

    "Shall I give 'em a hand?" Shukhov volunteered.

    "Yes, help them out," said Pavlo with a nod.

    Just then they brought in a tank for melting snow. Someone had told the men that it was already noon.

    Shukhov confirmed this.

    "The sun's already reached its peak," he announced. "If it's reached its peak," said the captain reflectively, "it's one o'clock, not noon."

    "What do you mean?" Shukhov demurred. "Every old-timer knows that the sun stands highest at dinnertime."

    "Old-timers, maybe," snapped the captain. "But since their day a new decree has been passed, and now the sun stands highest at one."

    "Who passed that decree?"
    "Soviet
    power."

    The captain went out with a barrow. Anyway, Shukhov wouldn't have argued with him. Mean to say that the sun up in the sky must bow down to decrees, too?

    The sound of hammering continued as the men knocked together four hods.

    "All right, sit down awhile and warm yourselves," said Pavlo to the two masons.
    "And you too, Senka. You can join them up there after dinner. Sit down."

    So now they had a right to sit by the stove. Anyway they couldn't start laying the blocks before dinner and there was no point in carrying the mortar up there--it would freeze.

    The coals were gradually glowing red-hot and throwing out a steady heat. But you felt it only when you were near them--everywhere else the shop was as cold as ever.

    They took off their mittens. All four men held their hands up to the stove.

    But you never put your feet near the flame if you're wearing boots. You have to remember that if they're leather boots the leather cracks, and if they're valenki the felt becomes sodden and begins to steam and you don't feel any warmer. And if you hold them still nearer the flame then they scorch, and you'll have to drag along till the spring with a hole in your boot--getting another pair can't be counted on.

    "What does Shukhov care?" Kilgas said. "Shukhov has one foot almost home."

    "The bare one," said someone. They laughed (Shukhov had taken his mended boot off and was warming his footrags).

    "Shukhov's term's nearly up."

    They'd given Kilgas twenty-five years. Earlier there'd been a spell when people were lucky: everyone to a man got ten years. But from '49 onward the sthndard sentence was twenty-five, Irrespective. A man can survive ten years--but twenty-five, who can get through alive?

    Shukhov rather enjoyed having everybody poke a finger at him as if to say: Look at him, his term's nearly up. But he had his doubts about it. Those zeks who finished their time during the war had all been "retained pending special instructions" and had been released only in '46. Even those serving three-year sentences were kept for another five.
    The law can be stood on its head. When your ten years are up they can say, "Here's another ten for you." Or exile you.

    Yet there were times when you thought about it and you almost choked with excitement. Yes, your term really is coming to an end; the spool is unwinding. . . . Good God! To step out to freedom, just walk out on your own two feet.

    But it wasn't right for an old-timer to talk about it aloud, and Shukhov said to Kilgas: "Don't you worry about those twenty-five years of yours. It's not a fact you'll be in all that time. But that I've been in eight full years--now that is a fact."

    Yes, you live with your feet in the mud and there's no time to be thinking about how you got in or how you're going to get out.

    According