Prince Ghica, “the man who never knelt before the communist scoundrels”

Under heavy arrest with Prince Ghica

Prince Ghica, sentenced to hard labour for life, had to serve 40 days of hard labour. I, a poor peasant, had to serve only 29 days of hard labour.

We watched carefully to see how many doors opened in the prison, to know how many punishment cells there were. Then how many cups of water were distributed in each cell. When we did the maths, we found that more than 20 people were serving their sentences at any one time.

After I had received the cup of hot salted water, the Prince said to me:

– Ah, that was good! You know it’s not bad? Why don’t we ask them for more when we’ve finished?

– Why, Mr. Ghica? Compromise for a cup of water? I’ll fuck them all!

– Fuck them all! shouted the prince, so loud that even the guard could hear him, though he didn’t know where the cursing was coming from.

One day, when the cold had subsided, I said to the Prince that we should consider the possibility of a little rest.

We were so exhausted and tired that we couldn’t get up. Although the water had been splashed on the cement floor three weeks ago, it still hadn’t completely evaporated. The cement was wet. We lay on our backs, leaning against each other. A strange phenomenon was happening to both of us.

We didn’t know when or how we had fallen asleep. I was the first one to wake up. I was happy and refreshed. I also felt full.

Suddenly I remembered where I was. Peeing on the right, peeing on the left, I found that we were both lying “happily” on the wet cement. I didn’t realise how much sleep I’d had.

I elbowed the prince and woke him from his sweet slumber:

– Get up, Prince, we are dying!

The prince suddenly got up, swaying a little like a drunken man, and said to me:

– If we come out of this horrible sleep alive and unharmed, it means that it is given to us from above to enjoy life again.

We quickly rubbed the parts of our bodies that had been in contact with the wet and particularly cold concrete. We also did a bit of gymnastics to get the blood circulating and freshen us up. We didn’t have any after-effects. Not even the most banal guttural sound.

That same day, at an ungodly hour, the door opened and three well-dressed “punks” entered the cell, all three in civilian clothes. One asked the prince a question:

– What is your sentence?

– Hard labour for life.

Then to me:

– And you?

– 21 years hard labour.

– Why are you here?

-We don’t know.

The Prince, who was much bolder than I was, looked at him sharply from the depths of his eyes and also asked the “punk” a question:

– Who are we talking to?

– The prosecutor.

– I tell you once again, Mr. Prosecutor, we don’t know why we’re sitting here.

– The prosecutor made a (poorly disguised) surprised face. He ordered the guard to bring him the report. The political officer with an air of “humanity” said to the guard:

– Why don’t you tell people what they are being punished for?

Meanwhile the guard arrived with the reports and the prosecutor began to read out the great “crimes” we had committed:

– On the day of … he spoke so loudly that he could be heard in the third cell. On the day of… he listened with his ear to the door. On the day of … he was not buttoned up properly, etc.

The prosecutor made a grimace of approval and helplessness, then moved on. The guard shut the door triumphantly.

The Prince is a true knight

It’s been 29 days for me. Forty for the Prince, and we are back in the same cell from which we were taken to prison.

But the symbiosis didn’t last long. Two days later they separated me from the man who never knelt before the communist masses.

After a while I heard some kind of argument somewhere in the corridor. I didn’t understand the words being exchanged, but I recognised the Prince’s voice.

I was curious to know what lines were being spoken and I prayed to God to take me back to the cell with the Prince.

God answered my prayer and I ended up in the prince’s cell with a new ‘organisation’.

This is what the Prince confessed to me:

– I was alone in the cell. The warden gave me two polenta chunks for lunch.

– Mr. Warden, you’re wrong, there’s only one prisoner in the cell.

The guard looked at the cell number, checked it several times against a list he had, and then replied:

– You’re allowed a supplement.

– Why am I on the supplement?

– I don’t know. That’s what I got, that’s what I give.

– I don’t understand. I gave him the piece back.

The guard called the duty officer and the duty officer reported.

– Mr. Ghica, you’re on the dystrophic list. The doctor has prescribed a double ration for you.

– Officer, I haven’t seen the doctor. The doctor has never come to see me. I don’t get this extra food.

– Mr Dimcică (the prince said to me afterwards), if I had been given that extra food (which I needed so badly), I should have paid for it. The price of a polenta chunk and a ladle of soup is the stain of honour and the stain of conscience.

Prince Ghica also confesses

At the same time, Prince Ghica told me a truly sensational story:

– I was taken out of prison with other Legion commanders and driven around the country in cars to see the achievements of the communist regime.

On my return, Colonel Crăciun took me aside to discuss something “man to man”. He took me all the way to the vegetable garden, where it was quieter:

– Hey, Ghica, have you seen what the communist regime has done to the country?

– I have.

What do you think?

– What can I say? We did more without slaves.

Prince Ghica was taken to one of the club meetings. Colonel Crăciun insisted that the prince should speak.

– Tell me, Ghica, with your own mouth, what have your eyes seen of the country?

The prince, so persistently challenged, replied:

– What I see, Colonel, is a weeping willow.

The colonel’s face darkened, and he said to the other prisoners:

– How wonderful! How much money I spent with Prince Ghica to see a weeping willow!

The prison commander became deflated, but did not give up his attempts. Trained in all sorts of mischief, he changed the subject:

-Look what a beautiful vegetable garden the prison has. How did they water the plants in Antonescu’s time?

– With a sprinkler.

– You see? Now we have motor pumps and electric pumps. Have some nice tomatoes from this bush.

– Thank you. I don’t want any.

– Take some more and give them to your cell mates.

The colonel pretended to be very moved by my conversation. To please him, I took two tomatoes for the cell.

The last days in prison with Prince Ghica

They kept taking me out of the barracks room where I was imprisoned until I was alone.

I was weak from hunger. I took two steps through the cell and had to sit on the sharp edge of the bed again.

Suddenly the door opened and the guard ordered me to pack my things. He put the blanket over my head (so I couldn’t see where I was going). When he lifted it, I found myself in an empty room in the prison hospital.

Soon after, two guards brought in another man on a stretcher. It was Prince Ghica. The prince had become so weak that he could not stand. He was dystrophic, weaker than I was.

We enjoyed our reunion. They began to serve us good, hearty food.

We recovered quickly and were able to walk.

– What could have possessed them, Mr. Tiny, to put us on such a diet?

– Either they were preparing us for work in the prison factory, or for some outdoor work colony with plenty of sunshine.

– That’s what I think.

– I say, if I get to a labour colony first, I’ll send word through the released prisoners that you’re alive and well. Let’s at least make our families happy. You do the same.

– I will do the same, my prince.

While we were making these plans, batches of 100-200 prisoners were being released from prison every day.

While we were making these plans, more than half the prison population had been released. How would we know what the situation was?

Several days passed before a guard appeared with a list in his hand.

– Ghica Alexandru.

– That’s me.

– Pack your bags. The prince took his bag and left. (…)

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I quickly shut the door and entered my cell. The footsteps I heard coming up the stairs belonged to Gula Caranica, a comrade of mine. He brought me the great and good news:

– Everyone’s down in the yard. We’re putting on civilian clothes and going home. In the yard, our bags were lined up with labels bearing the name of each prisoner, so that they could be found more easily.

Fifteen years later I see myself in my own clothes. Next to them was a large pile of the inmates’ shoes, shoes that could no longer be used.

I also threw my boots on that pile and was given a pair of slightly better boots that fit me. (…)

At the other end of the yard I saw Prince Ghica, tall and thin like a reed left in the marsh after a fire.

When he saw me, he came straight to me and embraced me:

– Uncle Dimcică, this time we’re really going home.

– I can’t believe it. I’m afraid it will happen to us like it did to Radu Leonte. After they set him free, the dog catchers grabbed him when he got off the train in his home village and arrested him again. Then they sentenced him to life at hard labour to make sure he would never be released again.

– They didn’t. This time his release is certain.

(Testimony of Dimcică Sima – Testimonies from the hell of communist prisons, edited by Gheorghe Andreica)