The Way to Freedom
The three-headed Cerberus whipped and pushed. My hands were cuffed and steel chained. My burden was heavy, and I had to carry it in front of me with arms straightened. Everything that was saved over the two years: books and letters, notebooks with thoughts and all the things that Id managed to keep, going through a number of prison guard raids. I was carrying the bags, clenching the teeth from pain and anger. Handcuffs were scratching and cutting the body to the bones. There was a long way to go in hot endless Moscow traffic jams in the stuffy glass of the detestable autozak. The destination was a mystery for me, just guesses. In the keyhole I could catch some glimpses of the city, just a little freedom, but even this sip of fresh air was enough to endure the trip. Judg
