The long-suffering Paul Limberea, in the torments of hell at Pitești

A talented storyteller was discovered in the literature group. The evenings became long awaited evenings again. The boy who had told us that we were in the yard of the Pitești station, Limberea, turned them into something very pleasant. He began to tell us stories about films. Some we had seen, some we hadn’t. He preferred and remembered the psychological ones. He portrayed the characters so visually that it was as if we could see them. And the settings where the action took place. And when they started, I had the impression that I had actually seen the film. As we applauded (muffled), Paul told us that he hadn’t realised until then that he could be an easy storyteller! Fortunately for us, his memory helped him and he was exceptionally good at capturing the irritating “backbone” of the plot! […]

Suddenly, however, I heard a command from one of the old-timers: “Get them!” At the same moment, the whole squad jumped on the captain and us at the same time!

I could see that Mr. Simescu had completely disappeared under a hill that was boiling above him. Now they were trampling on him. I was surprised to find myself lying next to Ion and Mihai, who had been watching the scene from their elbows. Toldișan, on the ledge, was shouting: “Get them! The bandits have revealed themselves, after them!” […]

I felt myself being twisted and turned by punches and kicks, spat at and cursed at. Each of us had been discovered and taken over by three… our own colleagues and brothers in suffering. Who would have expected it? Never before had I seen such broken, horrified figures expressing hatred! […]

The more you suffered, without showing how much you suffered, the more they stiffened, I felt it all “live”. My breath had dried up. I don’t know what happened next.

All I could hear were the sounds, interfering with each other, and I couldn’t understand a thing. Just as I felt myself starting to recover, I was kicked in the ribs again, which took my breath away. The man who was beating me said to himself that this was how he would try me if I acted crazy and pretended to faint. When they resuscitated me, even though I was drowning from the water being thrown in my face, they continued to hit me wherever they could so that they could get on with the show! I found myself pulled into the centre of the ring with my head at Limberea’s feet. We were both soaking wet. I recognised Paul by his mottled chest. I saw myself as a survivor, surrounded by the dying, in the aftermath of a massacre.

The mosaic of the “ring” that had been kept clean had now become a pool of blood in which most of us fifteen lay unconscious in various positions and directions. [In just a few minutes we had been mutilated and turned into bloody, frightened, helpless lumps! Our teeth were chattering with cold, wetness, and we dared to do exactly and immediately as we were ordered! […]

Of all of them, the one who seemed to me to be a real beast was Juberian! […] He gave kicks, blows and bludgeons, as equal in number and severity as possible, to anyone who fell into his clutches. While Rosca ze unleashed himself passionately, depending on the degree of antipathy caused by his social background. To him, Kendefy, Limberea and I were the mortal enemies of the working class. Vampires who sucked the blood of working people instead of our mother’s milk. That was the phrase he repeated with the same fervour, with every word, with every blow. […]

After a few days, we found ourselves in a room with some boys who had been brought in one by one. No luggage, nothing! They were taken to the “cave of the possessed”, literally and in a whispered tone of questioning. When they appeared, they were as white as chalk, and when they emerged from under the “dome” of the Committee, their faces were shining and sweaty. One after the other they called Paul, who rhythmically received a series of slaps and punches […] His colleagues had become witnesses to the accusation! I recognised one of them and remembered how, when I arrived at the Carantină, they had embraced in the joy of seeing each other again. [Paul probably couldn’t have known that one of his best friends had “betrayed” him! Otherwise, he would not have been beaten up and poured over with water to help him recover. Under the wandering eyes of the “witness”, Paul was dragged by his feet to his place, here beside us!

Thanks to the soaking and the drops of blood left behind, we were taken out to clean up. Kicks and punches were aimed at him, and the horsemen swarmed over each other!

Throughout the night we trembled at the brutality of his and Captain Simescu’s actions. They counted the number of times they changed positions fifty to fifty! They did all this with the “professionalism” of a sportsman in training. That’s how much their reflexes had developed! But the effort was almost superhuman, looking at them, seeing that they could still do it after so many rounds of shooting and sleepless nights. […]

The nervous exhaustion of the day before contributed to a deep sleep as soon as the mood was right and until the drums woke us up. [Meanwhile, today, which was turning out to be a real spring day, began with good news! The carali who had taken us in before closing the door turned and announced: “Prepare for the bath!”

The whole room erupted in a general exclamation!

As if on command, the first batch even began to unpack with such haste that you’d think they were timed! […]

We lined up like kindergarten children, two by two, in front of the door, waiting for the second batch to return. […] During that time I was terrified by the scars on Paul, Mr. Simescu, Turcu and Kendefy!

(Ștefan Ioan I. Davidescu – Journey through hell, Vol. II, Dacia Publishing House, Cluj-Napoca, 2002, pp. 50-51, 58-59, 78, 88, 96, 118, 136, 145, 162, 170, 181-182)