Вил Мирзаянов - State Secrets - An Insider's Chronicle of the Russian Chemical Weapons Program

My Student Days

Before I had this first contact with the KGB, I had studied for three years in Tatar High School N 1, in Djirtjuli. I am very proud of my school and I remember the names of all my teachers. I am sure that they were really highly professional people. They devoted their whole lives to bringing up students who came from the surrounding villages for their education. That was a very difficult time, when even a single piece of bread was precious.

My favorite subject was mathematics, taught by Gali Zilyaev, a graduate of Kazan University, but the other subjects were not a burden for me. I think this was mostly because of our teachers. When I was sitting in my Tatar literature classes taught by Sag’dat Aglyamova, who masterfully read the verses of Gabdulla Tukay, Khadi Taktash, and other Tatar poets, I even found myself dreaming that I wanted to become a writer.

My Russian literature classes taught by Maria Grigorievna Filippova with the poems of Pushkin, Lermontov, and other famous Russian poets were no less thrilling! She was a brilliant, democratic, and beautiful young lady from Ufa, and an idol for all the boys. Many of us were simply in love with her. Unfortunately, most of us were not at all skilled at writing essays in the Russian language, which was foreign to us and not related to Tatar, which falls into the Turkic group of languages. Still, it didn’t discourage anyone from taking Maria Grigorievna’s classes. I am grateful to her, because she introduced me to classical music, by encouraging me to listen to concerts that were broadcast on the radio, and tenderly cultivating in me such a love of music as she had herself. At that time, I didn’t have a record player, or even records, so the loudspeaker of the local relay system was my only source of this music.

Now, when I listen to masterpieces of opera, artfully performed by the world-renowned singers Anna Netrebko, Ildar Abdrazakov, Placido Domingo, and others, at the New York Metropolitan Opera House, I always remember my teacher with gratitude and admiration.

My other teachers were also very talented, and I owe them a lot. I was especially fond of the headmistress of our school, Gaishagar Gabbasovna Sharipova, who took me under her wing like a mother hen, though she was very young at that time. She protected me from many troubles that I faced, at times when my success made me dizzy.

For a long time, Faina Lvovna Levina, who had been evacuated from besieged Leningrad, was our thoughtful class supervisor. She worked hard so that we country villagers could develop polite manners and receive a good education. When the war was over, Faina Lvovna remained in remote Djirtjuli forever, never returning to her native Leningrad.

I have kept in touch with my school over the years, visiting it on vacations, sending different letters on many occasions. Over the course of time, this connection weakened slightly, but fortunately, it never broke, even though a few generations of teachers have changed over.

As for my promise to the regional KGB chief to keep the secret about their efforts to get me to enroll as a student for their school, I am writing about it in my book for the first time, for reasons that will become clear a bit later. Lieutenant Colonel Nasirov decided to take revenge for my lack of respect towards his “company”. I finished high school in 1953 with a silver medal, and that allowed me to enter any institution for higher education without taking the entrance exams. But there was a holdup, as it took me more than a month to get my draft card (a document allowing me to transfer my enlistment to another military office) from the regional military department. The regional commissioner insisted that I should enroll in the Orenburg Artillery School. But I was obstinate.

Every morning in July of 1953, I walked from my village to the military department, and every evening I returned home on foot, since there was no transportation between the village and the regional center in those days. There was no result. Many of my fellow students had already submitted documents to different institutions and I still haunted the doorstep of the military department.

Finally one day, after I had been sitting for the whole day by the door of the military commissioner’s office, I declared that I wouldn’t leave the building, and I would stay there for the night. It was the end of the workday and the employees looked at me as if I had gone mad. They didn’t like my resolute look at all, and threatened to call the police. At the same time, they realized that no threats could stop me now. At that moment, the military commander, Major Bezrukov, came out of his office and with a tone of disgust in his voice, ordered them to give a draft card to “this young whippersnapper”. I was so happy! I crossed the Belaya River and I ran the whole way to my house without stopping once.

At home, I announced that I was going to study in Moscow. My parents didn’t object, though my departure would cost them a lot of money. I got the money for my travel and for a month of living expenses in the capital. After that I was supposed to live on my scholarship and get a part-time job, so I could buy clothes and other necessities.

The delay with my draft card, which allowed me to enter a university, had its effect. With all the hardships characteristic of any journey at that time, I managed to reach Moscow only on Saturday, July 26. I was traveling in an overcrowded fourth-class train car, where passengers were sleeping on the floor. This journey took two full days and nights, and it was agonizing for me, even though I was a strong young man.

My ordeals were not over at that point. I was planning to enter the Bauman Higher Technical School in Moscow, and I wanted to major in “optical instruments” there. I arrived too late to go to the admission office there, and so I couldn’t get a place in the dormitory. I had nowhere to sleep even a little bit. I decided to return to the Kazan train station where I had left my luggage in the office.

I didn’t know Moscow at all, and it was difficult finding my way around on the metro. No matter how hard I tried to find the Kazan train station, for some reason I always ended up at the Kiev Station. Probably I didn’t have enough practice speaking Russian, since the subjects in our high school were taught in the Tatar. I was always speaking Tatar with other students.

By that time, I had suffered a lot because of my poor Russian language skills. I think it is the main reason why the first love of my youth ended in failure.

Once, when I was passing by the regional photographer’s studio, I saw a portrait displayed there of a wonderful young lady in a school uniform. Her large and thoughtful eyes and amazingly beautiful oval face struck me. Her long thick braids made her look like a movie star. This portrait was beautiful and surreal. Then I saw this girl in the street!

At that time and for a long time afterwards, I was extraordinarily shy, and I had to make an incredible effort just to speak to girls. That is why I couldn’t even dream of just coming up to a beautiful girl and speaking with her. I felt an insurmountable longing that I did not understand. Soon I learned that she was studying in the Russian school, though I am sure she was a Tatar or a Bashkir, not a Russian.

In those days, it was fashionable among the Soviet and local party officials to send their children to Russian schools, while the children who came from villages usually entered a Tatar high school. Certainly, this reflected the social stratification of the times.

Several months later, I made friends with Rishat Muratov, a decent and kind boy my age from the Russian school, who spoke the Tatar language mixed with Russian words. His father was the Second Secretary of the Raikom of the C.P.S.U. Soon I learned that my mysterious young lady lived in the same house as my new friend. Rishat explained that his neighbor was named Irene, and her father Bainazarov was the chairman of the Regional Council of People’s Deputies.