The death tablets – Aiud of 1950

For the political prisoners of Aiud, 1950 was perhaps the most difficult period in the prison’s existence. Apart from the large rooms, the 312 cells were filled to capacity with more than 2,400 prisoners, eight to a cell, lying directly on the floor so that not an inch of space was left unoccupied.

From time to time, politicians from two or three cells would be taken for a walk in the yard, keeping a certain distance between them so as not to come into contact with each other. On either side of the cell entrance were two blackboards, similar to those in schools, on which the daily number of prisoners on each floor was written. When the guards realised that we were keeping track of the totals, the boards disappeared.

At that time Aiud was in full extermination regime. At 7 p.m., when the guards were changing, the guard Pavel, head of the ground floor section, called his colleagues and told them about a certain situation.

Third floor:

– Maier, how many have you got today?

– Two!

Pavel said in a low voice, as if to himself:

– Too little Maier!

Second floor:

– Man, how many?

– One!

– Not enough!

First floor:

– Vasile Marcu, how many do you have?

– Three!

There were no more comments. Marcu asked each time in turn:

– And you, Pavele, how many do you have?

And Paul loudly added his own:

– Two, and with one – three, and with three – six, and with one – seven! Seven, boy!

We were all listening to this report and I, a newcomer, didn’t know what it was about, but someone who had some seniority in Aiud unravelled the mystery for us:

– Brothers, this means that seven people died in the cell today!

He went down on his knees, crossed himself, said “God forgive them” and “Our Father” and then prayed for those who had died that day.

What I heard from the guards’ report that evening was later confirmed to me. From the cell I was in, on the south side of the long wing of the cell, you could see out into the street, all the way beyond the wall, and especially over the bridge that crossed the Aiudel stream. From the shadows that reigned in our cells, we could often see the coffins of dead prisoners being transported on trolleys. Every time there was a loud bang on the wall to our right or left, a sign that something special was happening and we had to watch from the corner of the window. So we saw the first wagon with two coffins, a second with two and the last with three. It was exactly the number that Pavel had been told by the guards in the cell blocks a short time before: seven dead.

*

Often, when the guards were already on the ground floor to leave their shift, the guard on the first floor, Vasile Marcu, was missing. If Pavel insisted on coming down, he would lean against the railing in his shirt and sweat, shouting:

– Wait, Pavele, I’m not tired of beating yet!

(Grigore Caraza – Bloody Aiud)