The bath at Jilava

We were taken to Jilava Prison before being sent back to Aiud.

The situation did not disturb us; in fact, we felt a little more refreshed after the long languor of prison life. Even amidst the relentless oppression, an unusual event occurred—one that we experienced fully, with all its intensity.

In Jilava, we were put in a separate room, only thirteen of us. It was around February 1962. Outside, the winter was harsh, freezing cold. Inside, the thick-walled barracks maintained a damp cellar-like temperature that pressed down on our bodies, already dried out from so much suffering.

One day, the guard ordered us to prepare for the bath. In Jilava, prisoners went to the bath completely naked. After washing, we were expected to run back to the cell to retrieve our clothes.

We hurriedly undressed, and the guard led us into the shower room, closing the door behind us. First, he turned on a high-pressure shower of icy cold water. We shivered, moved around slightly, and waited for the hot water—but none came. A minute passed, then two, three, still nothing.

We knocked on the door. The guard appeared.

• What’s the problem?

• Guard, turn on the hot water.

• Wait until it comes.

We waited in vain. The cold water continued to pour, and it soon began to rise on the concrete floor, threatening to spill over into the corridor. We realized the drains had been deliberately blocked so that we would stand naked with our feet in freezing water.

When the water finally overflowed, the guard turned it off. We understood then that the ordeal was deliberate: they were watching to see how we would endure it.

One of the prisoners, in an effort to protect his feet, placed his cotton stockings on the grill. We followed his example, stuffing our socks and shifts with whatever we could to insulate our soles from the ice-cold floor. We hopped, rubbed, and jumped like fish floundering on dry land. The situation was desperate, but God gave us strength, and we did not despair.

This torment lasted twenty-four hours. At the end, the guard opened the door and told us to return to our room. The next day, we were loaded into a van and taken back to Aiud Prison for “re-education.” It was clear that the Securitate forces had first sought to weaken us and then deceive us.

I keep asking myself where we found such resistance. We did not utter even a trivial guttural sound during that icy ordeal.

(Testimony of Dimcică Sima, Testimonies from the Hell of the Communist Prisons by Gheorghe Andreica)