I have a cellmate. An American woman. A dancer. Suspected of espionage. She's a noisy, demanding person. She "fights" with the prison guards via a translator. She brings "prison inspection" upon herself.
"She's very dissatisfied with the food", the supervisors report. "She also demands that they take her to big room every day, so that she can stretch her legs - she says that without practice her legs will get stiff and she won't be able to dance. And in the cell, no matter when you drop in, she's standing on one leg, or doing somersaults...
Her supervisors don't approve, although they're very taken with her silk underwear.
I spent the morning in the garden, where I met with some officers. All of them were mad with rage and spoke openly of restoring the monarchy in the person of Aleksey Nikolaevich. I advised them to be careful with their tongues.
A little after 9 we left the Tura and entered the Tobol. We stopped twice to take on food and fuel. On one of these occasions the children went for a walk in the woods. I rose at around 3 as my cabin was very hot. After 6 we arrived at Tobolsk-on-Irtish. See more
We navigated toward the Tobol. I got up late because I did not sleep very well with all the pounding and stopping. During the night we went from the Tura to the Tobol. See more
Someone sent us flowers in prison, and Semyon racked his brains until evening, losing himself in romantic speculation. And the next day, Roshal and I were summoned to the prison guard office, where a girl from some organization like the political Red Cross was waiting for us. See more
I keep recalling those memorable days and nights. A cold, starry night. The smell of freshly mown hay. A cloud of smoke from the little bonfire where we brewed tea in a big kettle. Strolling with Vladimir Ilyich. See more