The Hungarian Student, 1958 (2. évfolyam, 1-7. szám)
1958 / 4. szám
6 the Hungarian student PRISONER OF THE SYSTEM: MAN AND MORALITY IT WAS NOT a long walk but we were looking forward to it. All we would see were the wings of the building and the walls surrounding us. A guard stood in each corner, watching the living dead so they could not exchange a word, could not know about anything. The elderly and the sick walked in the center of the court, those for whom the pace was too fast. The two circles paced the yard in opposite directions. Whether this was bad or good I do not know. I noticed an acquaintance opposite me. When 1 thought it was safe I stepped into his row. The guards in the corner noticed nothing, and the machine gun (necessary, because maybe we were fascists) on the top floor, did not move. I began to believe that I was the smartest prisoner in Marko prison, when the cruel reality of Dobrocsi himself appeared at the top of the stairs. Dobrocsi was the most sadistic of all the guards. His own mother would have been ashamed of him. “Stand on the side,” he shouted and, prepared for the worst, I obeyed. “Go upstairs.” I went ahead. Dobrocsi followed me. Naturaly the ^guards were most polite. They always allowed their victim to go before them. Perhaps they were afraid? There were four kinds of guards. Most of them stupid but malicious. A few were stupid but well-meaning. The smart and well-meaning were a rarity, the intelligent and malicious were the ones to be most dreaded. Dobrocsi belonged to this group. His small pig-eyes darted here and there, his oily face reflected evil and hatred and his filthy mouth never stopped talking. We arrived at the office. Dobrocsi sat down and, looking me over with sarcasm, said: “Why did you go over to the other line?” “I wanted to hear some news.” “You then admit to talking?” “No.” “But you wanted to?” “I would have like to.” I made the mistake of not showing fear of Dobrocsi, or at least of pretending not to be afraid of him. Of course, at that time I still believed 1 was a human being, I did not yet know that all I was was number 8,863 and that my fate was decided by the prison guards. I even smiled, not sweetly, just stupidly as a lion might at his tamer. This was the last straw. The sergeant’s wrath was now completely upon me. “I’ll see to it that you don’t feel like laughing,” he said. “I’ll have you report.” That was to be my first visiting day, but it was cancelled. Dobrocsi succeeded in punishing my mother quite severely, even though she had not smiled at him. Two days later I was taken to the warden, Commander Toth, who used to be a shoemaker. He did not even glance at me as I stood before him. I no longer had any reason to, or dared to smile. Toth was writing, (he had learned to write), then putting down his pen without looking up he started to read. “As punishment for stepping from one row into another during your walk, your privileges are revoked for six months. You will receive six days of solitary and three times, for six hours each day, you will be put in irons.” There was nothing extraordinary about solitary. A dark cell, with no window, no ventilation, no bench, no chair, nothing— only vast darkness. The floor was stone and not advisable to sit upon. At first, even moving in the cell was difficult until one’s eyes got used to the dark. Solitude may be proper for a monk but it was most unpleasant in a dark cell. One waited, having no idea of the passing time. I think, I imagined things, I dreamed, I prayed. Then boredoom took hold of me and I did not care any more. Finally, it was evening. Two trustees brought in a wooden bench. 1 might lie down. The bench was hard, but it suited me fine. In the morning they handed me a small tin basin. “Wash the floors,” they told me and also gave me some rags. The light now burned in the cell, the switch was on the outside. After washing the floor 1 had to wash myself in the same tin plate. Cleanliness above all! Then Dobrocsi appeared with the chains. I knew what came next. The grin on his face changed to pleasure as he ordered me, in an usually soft voice, to sit on the floor. I sat down. I might have caught a cold, but then the doctor said I was fit. He ought to know. “Pull up your knees all the way to your chest.” I obeyed. “Now push one of your arms through your legs.” I obeyed and the chain rattled as he fastened my left wrist to my right leg. “Now do the same with your other hand.” I did, even though it was quite difficult. Dobrocsi pulled my hand and the chain. My other wrist was fastened the same way. “Tight?” sneered the guard. “Yes,” 1 groaned. I would have liked to smile, but I did not succeed. Dobrocsi tried the chain. The steel cut into my flesh. “This is not tight,” he said and after another malicious grin, slammed the door behind him and darkness fell on the ceil. I did not even feel how cold the stone was. Within five minutes I wanted to shout. My upper hand was unbelievably heavy as it rested on the other. My back ached, my ankles hurt, and my muscles seem to be burn. In twenty minutes I started to groan and then my screams become louder and louder. I was no hero. I could not press my lips together and suffer in silence. The spirit may be willing but the body is very weak. I would have liked to faint but could not. Six hours, twice the length of a movie. And how long even a movie is. No, time stands still. I could not think any more . . . the pain had become unbearable. They advised me not to move because moving made the pain even greater. But I had to—I had to do something. In agony I tried moving my fingers. If only I could have bitten my nails, but of course that was impossible. I did not know how it came to an end. I thought a whole day had passed when the light went on in my cell and Dobrocsi took off the chains. My supper was there and they had put in the cot. “Eat and then lie down.” My supper was a dish of mashed, dried peas. This could not be true. Only those who have once been near starvation realize what this food means. Any other time I would have thought this a princely meal but now I looked at it indifferently and pushed it aside. I did not want it. I stretched on the hard bunk and tried to sleep but could not, my pains were too severe. Twice more they put me in irons. Dobrocsi was happy, he could hear my cries. He remarked: “You were pretty cocky before and now here you are crying.” What could I answer to this beast in human form? Should I tell him to change places with me? Let him sit there and I’d put him in irons. I’d better keep quiet, even though it is a hard thing to do. Then, finally it was all over, that is, the six days had passed. On the last day 1 was put in irons again. But one cannot ever get used to them. Finally, they took the chains of torture off me and took me back to my old cell. After six days of darkness and loneliness this cell seemed a beautiful dream. My cellmates surrounded me and at least I heard human voices again. “How were the chains?” asked an old man. Instead of answering I showed him my wrists and ankles which carried the marks of the chains on them. They were all shocked and only then did I fully realize to what degree they had tortured a human being. This happened in 1952. Since then, they have allegedly stopped using irons. Allegedly, because in practice they are still being utilized to the glory of a system where “the supreme value is Man.”
