I will only say that I have always been struck by his penetration into the soul, the heart of man; Speaking to Fr. Arseny or telling him about himself, he already knew what you wanted to say, he knew about your grief, misfortune, suffering, and perhaps he already knew when you first came to him. The Lord's mercy overshadowed him and gave him the gift of clairvoyance, and this came through great suffering, deep constant prayer, dissolution in love for a person, and the fact that for many decades of sorrow, resentment, sorrow, misfortune, death of thousands of people passed through his soul and he took it all upon himself, empathized and suffered together with the one who came to him, and found the answer necessary for this person. Combined with the mercy of the Lord, all this gave Fr. Arseny the gift of insight into the human soul.

I am very grateful to all those who helped me in my difficult life at that time, and to all those who took care of me and prayed for Maryushka, me and our family after the war. May the Lord's blessing come upon them, and may the Mother of God help them.

INVESTIGATOR

There came days when the past imperiously invaded my life, it palpably stood next to me and made me remember the years that had passed into oblivion to the smallest detail.

Insomnia was usually overcome by insomnia these days, she sat down near me like an importunate nurse, and nothing made it possible to get rid of it, and then in the middle of the night she got up, sat down at the desk, took a notebook and began to write. Through the light haze of oblivion, the past gradually emerged, at first the events, the faces of near and dear people, then it was united into an endless thread of a bygone life, counted in many years, and in these moments the good and the bad fell into place.

It was the year of brutal church repression, the year 1932, and Father Arseny, who had just been released, was arrested again and exiled to the north for five years. At the same time, they took 6 brothers and sisters of the community and sent two to Karaganda for five years, and four people to camps for a period of three to five years. It was a time when each of us was waiting to be arrested, waiting for our turn. We prayed a lot according to Fr. Arseny's behest, gathering several people at someone's apartment (our church was closed), sometimes a priest would come, and then the Liturgy would be celebrated, we would confess and take communion, everything would be done in secret. Fr. Arseny sent short letters instructing, supporting, and comforting. Receiving the letter was a great joy for each of us. Constantly, one of the sisters of the community lived with him in that village, town or village, but they were not allowed to live in one place for more than six months, each time. Directing to a harsher place, it was especially difficult in winter and early spring, when communication was interrupted.

Arrests in Moscow came in waves at intervals of one or two months. Night was falling, and each of us thought that maybe they would come for him today, a bag of things in case of arrest was always packed. A night bell or a sharp knock on the door spoke, they came, and on March 18, 1932, they came for me.

The search, the arrest, the inner prison in the Lubyanka, the days spent in the cell, the interrogations, Butyrki and the investigator interrogating me, appear clearly in the night's memories. Do not be surprised that I write the word "Investigator" with a capital letter.

A search of the room, thorough, long, rude. Books, papers, photographs were thrown out of the cupboards on the floor, things were shaken up and crumpled, the frightened faces of my mother, sister, father, a protocol was drawn up indicating the confiscated: the Gospel, letters (papers were indicated) of religious content. My letters, written to my mother since childhood, were called religious papers. I refused to sign the protocol, Witnesses signed the janitor Khabardinov and an old neighbor shaking with fear.

Painful farewell to relatives, heart-rending tears on their faces, rude shouts of the guards: Hurry, don't worry, don't pass on anything! Quickly! Let's go! Mom makes the sign of the cross and cries, I cried too, but I tried to restrain myself. You leave, perhaps forever, alive, but already buried alive, full of fear of the interrogations, prison, and camp that await you. It's still snowing and cold outside, it's dark (four o'clock in the morning), it's an internal prison on the Lubyanka, a man is conducting a humiliating search, although there are women from the guards dressed in uniform sitting in the waiting room. Stupid, indifferent faces, looking at you as if you were a thing, not understanding that you are a human being. I try to object, I ask a woman to search me. They answer that the women's guards are busy. They take away the laces, combs, ribbons and even force you to take off your bra, because there are also ribbons there. We walk through long winding corridors, bright, dazzling light everywhere. Stingy and meaningful instructions about behavior in the cell, you can only hear: forbidden, forbidden, forbidden. The door to the cell opens silently, and there is already someone in it. The door has closed, and I'm standing bewildered beside the empty bunk. A cellmate begins to greedily ask what is happening now in Moscow. A day, two, three passes; They don't call you for interrogation, the peephole in the door is scary for some reason, it seems that you are constantly being watched. I know I'm guaranteed a camp or exile, but most of all I'm afraid of interrogations.

In the year in which I was taken, I was usually sentenced to five years in a labor camp or exile, in other years the measure of restraint could be longer. Most of all, the interrogation was frightening, it was terrible because of the unknown, the unexpectedness of questions aimed at slander, loved ones, mockery, humiliation of human and female dignity, physical pain. The most terrible thing is if physical pain and humiliation break me, force me to slander and betray my family, friends, and spiritual father. Perhaps they will force me to confess that I am a member of some religious organization fighting against the authorities.

I turned all my strength to prayer, almost incessantly appealing to the Mother of God, begging Her to strengthen and support me, I spoke little to my cellmate, she was offended, but I prayed and prayed. Ten days have passed, we count the days by the lunches we bring, there are no windows in the cell, but the bright light is constantly on. Sometimes a terrifying cry is heard from the corridor: It hurts! Don't hit me, I'll tell you everything, you can hear someone being dragged away, and silence again. Perhaps they are being led for interrogation, or maybe it is just a frightening provocation. On the tenth day, they were summoned for interrogation, and they led me for a long time through corridors turning left and right. Doors, doors, doors, doors, one of them was knocked on by the guard, there was a dull sound: "Come in." Entered; Without raising his head, an elderly man was sitting at the table, the guard reported, the investigator continued to leaf through the folders lying on the table, and seemed to have forgotten about us.

Folders with files kept flipping through and flipping through, and I stood and prayed to the Mother of God.

The investigator finally raised his head, looked at the guard and me in surprise, saying: Why didn't you report that you had brought the arrested woman? I reported to you, but you didn't answer. The escort left, the investigator said: "Sit down," and again he continued to look through the files, probably more than half an hour passed, I prayed, and at the same time a thought flashed through my mind: this is a new frightening method of interrogation. After reading one of the cases, he raised his head, looked at me and began: last name, first name, patronymic, year of birth? I answered, rummaged through the folders and took out my file, a thin folder, and began to look through the documents sewn into it.