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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation
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finished her task. It must have been an interesting
scene for the guards.
The cell window opened on the courtyard through
which I had passed the previous evening. It could be opened only a crack, and
the stench from the corner that contained the hole that was used as a toilet
was particularly nauseating. In the center of the cell were a table and some
stools. The walls had once been painted gray, and a piece of frayed linoleum
half covered the floor. The girls had put a little of the water into an iron
jug that sat on the table.
At 6:30 breakfast was served. It consisted
of very sweet café-au-lait and a piece of stale black bread.
I
waited for someone to come for me. The fat girl was still crying. She was
questioned once or twice during the morning. Each time she returned she had a
lot to tell the others, who tried to calm her down. The younger one, who had
washed the floor, never stopped singing Western popular songs. She would knock
on the wall of the next cell, where some men's voices shouted back at her. I
would have loved to know how many times they had been in jail before and for
what reasons, but it was impossible for me to converse with them. They were in
a continual good humor, and from time to time the girls knocked on the door and
when the guard would come they would ask him for a cigarette and kid with him
until he gave them one. The rest of the time they rolled their own out of
butts, breadcrumbs, and a little dust; they would then savor every drag. The
good-natured girl made little sculptures out of the bits of bread we had not
eaten.
The time passed pleasantly enough. At noon we got some cabbage
soup with a morsel of meat swimming in disgusting grease. I sampled it very
frugally, for it certainly would not do to get sick to my stomach in that tiny
cell.
In the afternoon I began to get a pain in my back from sitting on
a stool, so I unrolled my mattress and lay down upon it. A few minutes later
the guard opened the door and yelled something at me. I knew what he wanted,
but I pretended not to understand. When he came back and saw me still stretched
out, he flew into a rage, yanked me up, and stood the mattress up against the
wall again. That time I did not pretend not to understand.
I was in
agony. The night before, I had been told that I would be questioned again in
the morning, yet no one had come for me.
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WHEREVER THEY MAY BE
© 1972, The
Beate Klarsfeld Foundation |
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Page 137 |
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