Diabolical tortures

New and increasingly diabolical forms of torture were introduced.

Among other things, we were forced to kneel with our hands raised. First by the dozens, then by the hundreds, and even by the thousands.

When someone fell to the ground, the torturers would jump on them with their boots. It was like the Apocalypse.

I still remember Paul Limberia, who had completed 1,200 kneelings (if I remember correctly).

I do not know what physical laws could explain this. Poor Paul fell gravely ill. He was taken out of the room and died shortly afterwards.

Paul Limberia lived in the town of Pitesti.

The news of his death reached his hometown. The official diagnosis of pneumonia did not satisfy his parents. They do not know how they managed to have him exhumed.

The autopsy revealed that a significant number of his ribs were broken. Probably a more sympathetic guard had whispered something to the family.

It was winter. Cold. We in solitary confinement had to sleep on broken metal beds without mattresses.

The window at the end of the room, facing our row, was always open. At night, it was torture. Sleep was impossible because of the bedbugs and the cold. We were forced to lie still, face up, with our hands over our bodies. Any movement was punished immediately by the planters, who took turns waking us.

We tried to hide at least one finger in the folds of our coats to keep warm. I was shivering with cold, waiting for the morning that I knew would begin with its tortures, but at least I was still slightly warm.

It was a strange situation:

At the end of the row of isolated prisoners, just under the window, was Rogobete, a student from Oltenia, slightly older than us. I envied him. Shortly after bedtime, Rogobete fell asleep, snoring like a free man.

I could not imagine how that was possible… when I could not sleep a wink.

In the midst of torture, we waited all night to escape the tortures of the day, and all day to escape the cold.

(Aurel Vișovan – My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?)