Jilava Prison – Dante’s Inferno
The van in which we were taken to Bucharest was “blind”, because the blinds blocked the window and took away not only the light but also the air. At the Gare de Nord we were met by a cordon of guards who greeted us with truncheons, their legs behind their backs and swearings.
The few lorries in which we lay on our stomachs, guarded by four guards stationed at the corners with guns pointed at us, were accompanied by the director of the Jilava prison himself, Maromet, illiterate and mean as a mad dog. That’s how we entered the Văcărești prison, a former convent that reminded us of the Văcărești family.
At ten o’clock, when the curfew was announced, the monastery bell rang. The same sounds that once rang out to the heavens to call the world to Holy Mass announced the end of a day’s work for the wronged and unjustly condemned slaves. The bells of yesteryear rang out for a better, fairer, more God-fearing world, while today’s bells ring out for a world ruled by the black shadow of the red devil.
– Lord Jesus Christ, do You see all that is happening to us?
Although it was still quite cold at the end of April, one night we slept out in the yard, lying on mats, under the watchful eye of the guards, of course. We all huddled together, one on top of the other, to keep warm. The sky covered us and the stars, so distant and cold, seemed to warm us this time with their light, filling us with energy and hope.
The next day we were taken to Jilava Prison, formerly Fort 13 – one of the 14 defensive forts on the Bucharest ring road – which was turned into a dungeon in 1907, when 11,000 peasants were arrested, tried and imprisoned after the Flămânzi-Botoșani rebellion.
Jilava is an underground prison at a considerable depth, above which grass grew and cattle grazed. It was guarded by the cruelest people from the other prisons in the country.
The regime was appalling. There were 150, 180 or even 200 prisoners crammed into a room with 30 to 35 beds. People sat on chairs, occupied every square inch, even slept under the beds. The walls were 2 metres thick, the windows had nailed shutters and the iron beds were stacked four high. Because of the heat, the inmates lay naked and drenched in sweat, often fainted, and those with heart conditions passed away in droves. As I had no place to sleep, I lay on the windowsill with my head towards the window.
In the room there was a metal barrel, about 200 litres, without a lid, where we poor people, climbing on a perch, took turns to shit, to the embarrassment of the others. We were not given toilet paper or newspapers for fear of writing messages on them. The stench became unbearable, especially in summer, and the toilet was emptied every 2-3 days, adding another atrocity to the others. The prisoners’ immunity declined, respiratory diseases developed and they became more susceptible to TB.
To get some oxygen, we would sit on our stomachs for a minute in front of the door and breathe in the air, which was also foul, coming from the corridor where the dirty guards were constantly on the lookout. Dante’s Inferno was a far cry from the hell that gripped Jilava at that time.
(Grigore Caraza – Bloody Aiud)