Night torture

Dinner arrived. It was an ordeal beyond cruelty. The palm of my right hand was blistered from the heat of the mess tins I had to hold. My left hand had to be raised, as did my left foot, while I balanced the scales on one leg.

After the meal, again came the beatings on the soles of the feet, followed by running on the spot to restore the crushed tissues of the soles. After this, I was ordered:

– “Rodaș, get with the programme!”

Lying on the bed without a mattress, only on the iron bars, I had to sleep—for the umpteenth time—on my back, head slightly raised.

Once again, I clamped my teeth to the lapels of my coat, cold sweat running down my forehead. The sweat found its way into a crease of my skin and from there straight into my eyes. I felt an incredible burning sensation and could not even rub my eyes. The guard followed my every move.

Eventually, I could no longer stand upright. My skin had wrinkled, forming deep lines that would not disappear. Wherever I pressed my fingers, they dug into my body. I was swollen from hunger and constant suffering.

Blisters had appeared on my legs. As they burst, they formed an extremely sticky mixture of pus and blood. My gloves clung to my skin, making the beatings on my soles excruciating. Those who held me did not show any mercy.

It was double agony. I could not tell which was worse: the burning of my skin, stuck to my underwear by the blister pus, or the relentless blows on my feet.

(Testimony of Tache Rodaș – Testimonies from the hell of communist prisons)