Father Arseny in “Two Steps to the Side” Sees the Rupture in the binding of Human to Humanity, the treatment of man, human life, as if it were target practice at the county fair.
Does one not feel this for our children, treated like Guinea Pigs for lab experiments.
When would it be time for a break? Sometimes somebody fell, the others would walk around him and the guards would make him get up by kicking him. The dogs were walking on their leashes and it seemed they didn’t see anything, their snouts were so close to the road. Everything was calm and quiet, no one talked; we heard no orders or threats, only the disconcerting rustle of our feet. Our feet hurt, our heads hurt, our bodies ached all over. I could only think about a rest. I was so tired that sometimes I couldn’t even see the people in front of me. They would disappear and reappear in the dust. This is it! I have no more strength. I am going to fall down.
Suddenly I hear, “I’m off! I am running!” I immediately came to and saw the Tatar who had been walking in front of us running up the hill, slowly because he didn’t have the strength to run fast. The whole file of people was astir, awakened from their daze. The guards lifted their automatic weapons and started shooting. The bullets hit the ground and raised a small cloud of dust, but the man was still running. This kind of escape had a special name: “escape to death.” It happened when a man could bear it no longer, ran to be shot, not to have to live any longer. The guards understood about this kind of “escape,” but they didn’t want to give in to a prisoner’s desire. With the help of the dogs, they would overtake him, beat him, and force him to get back in the lines, only occasionally killing the man—it all depended on the lieutenant.
The Tatar had great difficulty in climbing the hill. When the lieutenant and his assistant saw that he was losing strength they shouted to unleash the dogs. The dogs would stop him, he’d be beaten, the zek would get a few additional years in camp—but he would live. Everybody was silent, they were moved to understand that the lieutenant wanted to save the man’s life.
Then suddenly, we heard the sound of an automatic rifle. The soldier turned out to be a good shot: he hit the Tatar with his first shot. As he fell one might think that he was trying to hold on to the bright blue sky—he stretched one arm towards the sun and fell head over heels down the embankment. The automatic rifle was still firing. The Tatar lay still, but everyone could see him. His face was destroyed, his clothing was covered with blood, but the man was still shooting.
Tense and emotional the file of zeks walked towards the guards; the lieutenant in charge fired a few shots over their heads and shouted: “All of you! Fall to the ground!” The men dropped to the road, which was covered with leaves. Above their heads they could hear another volley of shots and the same voice, hoarse from straining so much, continued, “Down! Flat on the ground!” and he swore rudely.

Everything was quiet and you could hear the voice of the soldier saying, “Comrade Lieutenant! I got him like a sniper, with my first shot!” and you could hear that the soldier had a Tatar accent. At this moment you could hear a voice from the ranks: “You dog! You killed one of your own! You deserve death yourself.” The Tatar soldier turned around and aimed his gun onto the zeks, but the Lieutenant shouted, “Ibrahimov! Stop it!”
We were all flat on the ground and I suddenly heard someone crying. I turned my head and see Father Arseny, on his knees, above all of us flat on the ground; his face is wet with tears, as he quietly sobs with his lips moving in a whisper. I hit him with the flat of my hand and tell him, “Lie down, or they will shoot you!” but he didn’t move. Resting on his knees and looking somewhere far away, he whispered and made the sign of the cross. I pushed him a second time, but he didn’t want to lie down. What can I do? He doesn’t want to lie down, I can only hope that they will not shoot me. For some ten or fifteen minutes we could hear the guards running around and then someone dragging the body. Then we heard the order: “Up! Stand in line—stay in order. If you take even one step to the side, I will shoot!” We got up from the ground. We started walking. We noticed that the body of the man killed had been put away somewhere. There was still blood on the leaves. We walked on. The guards were fierce—we all knew that any attempted irregularity will be met with bullets. I look at Father Arseny—his eyes are wet, his face is serious and sad, very sad, but I can see that he is praying. I don’t know why, but this made me angry—what a time to pray and to cry!

Bouteneff, Vera. Father Arseny 1893-1973 – Priest, Prisoner, and Spiritual Father (p. 158). St Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Kindle Edition.