One time, I opened the doors of one of the train cars: A half-naked man was hanging from a belt in the corner. The mother was cradling the little one in her arms, while her older boy sat on the floor next to her eating his own shit with his hands like it was kasha. “Shut that door!” the Commissar shouted at me. “That’s the kulak bastard! There’s no room for them in our new life!”
This is good?
