In the middle of the war, in 1943, a temple was opened in the village of Rudniki, located 15 versts from the lag point No. 3 of the Vyatka labor camps, where Father Pavel (Gruzdev) served his term. The rector of the newly opened church in Rudniki was appointed a former camper, “from his own”, priest Anatoly Komkov. His article was the same as that of Pavel Gruzdev – 58-10-11, i.e., item 10 – anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda, and item 11 – an organization, a conspiracy of some sort.
And for some reason, Father Anatoly Komkov was released ahead of schedule. The Kirov diocese was then ruled by Vladyka Benjamin. Archpriest Anatoly Komkov, having been released, came to him, and Vladyka Veniamin blessed him to serve in the village of Rudniki and gave an anti-mins for the temple.
The abbess Nina once said to me, “Paulusha!” The church in Rudniki was opened, the father of Archpriest Anatoly Komkov serves. The brethren should be communed in the church.”
And I had a blat in the camp with a part that manages passes, different certificates, in short, the entrance to the zone and exit from it. The head of the unit had a wife Lelia, a believer to the roots of her hair. Her husband ran the passes. She found a convenient moment, drove up to her husband and asked:
— Look, with Pavlukha, let the old women go to the Rudniki to commune, eh, sweetie?
He thought, he thought…
— Well, let them go, answers his Lele.
It’s been a while since they called me on the watch:
We hand you convoys, take you somewhere… we don’t know, the boss ordered 15-20 people. But look! — Fist to my nose oh! — You’re responsible for everyone’s head! If they run away, you know.
It is still dead at night, and I already hear people approaching the barracks where I lived: “Don’t sleep, Pavelko!” Let’s go, huh? I wouldn’t be late for us, my dear. 15 verst to go, far away. They’re the ones whispering to me to keep me awake. I don’t sleep like a rabbit on the edge.
Okay! Good! He got up, crossed himself. Come on. Three or four hieromonks, five or six abbots, archimandrites and just monks. Among them was the Optina hieromonk Father Paisius.
We went to the watch, they asked me again: Number 513! Sign for such and such numbers! I’m signing a pledge to get everyone back to camp by tonight.
Let’s get out of camp and go. Everyone’s happy! Give me a moment and freedom! But at the same time, it is not about running to someone where, and there is no such idea — after all, we are going to church, it is scary to imagine.
— Come, dear ones! — Father Father Anatoly Komkov gave cassocks. — Serve!
Everyone’s crying! I have never seen so many tears before or since. Jesus! So disenfranchised are the prisoners in the church! My family, they served like that! Fire itself came from the sky on this house made by the church. And the abbess, the nuns, how they sang! No, I don’t know. My family! They had communed that day not in a wooden church, but in the upper room of Zion! Jesus said, “Come, eat, this is my body.”
We all took communion, Father Anatoly put us all at the table, fed us. Potatoes crazy bowl, mushrooms fried… Eat, dear ones!
But it’s time to go home. We returned in the evening to the camp, and now, even though they were shot, the Holy Mysteries of Christ were joined. On the watch handed over everyone to the receipt: Well done, number 513! I got them all back!
— And if not all? — asked the listener of the father’s story his cellist Mary Petrovna.
— I would answer with all severity, head, Manechka, would answer!
— But you could have escaped, right?
— Of course they could, my father agreed. — Only where they go, because the forest is all around, Manechka, and they were not the people, more honest than honesty itself. In a word, real Orthodox people.
«My relatives» Archimandrite Paul (Gruzdev)
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