Winfred

6

Torture at the Prison

This is not a pleasant subject to discuss. The methods which the Nazis use are so harsh and terrible that I do not see how anyone could have managed not to give them whatever information they knew about the BIA.

Torture could be anything from making you sit in complete darkness, with no idea where you were, until you screamed to be let out, or had served what they thought was your time. Or, it could be as severe as whipping you, or burning you, or sticking pins in you. And then, of course, little humiliations such as the removal of your clothes and then leaving you to shiver in your underthings, and forcing you to live in terrible conditions, cold and trembling, only added to the effect. Wounds received from torture were usually not treated. Some of the worst were, in some isolated cases, but most prisoners were left to suffer. I heard several prisoners cry at night, their sobs echoing down the hallway where they reached my cell. I curled in a ball and did my best to ignore them. I had to. I had to stay sane.

Whatsoever the torture for the night might be, you then were brought before von Steubon and interrogated. If you gave information, you were rewarded. One prisoner broke down in sobs and promised to give them everything they wanted to know. She then received a blanket, as well as her clothes back. I however, resolved to not give them anything. I think my temper and stubborn nature helped out here. Their harsh words and actions only made me extremely angry.

One night, after a torture session involving lying on your back and having water tipped into your face in a slow steady stream, with no stop, while you coughed and sputtered, I was taken before Captain von Steubon, as per the usual. I was feeling quite sick to my stomach, having swallowed huge quantities of water during the torture, with my throat raw from trying to cough it up and get a breath. It was all I could do to be alert through the interrogation.

Then, it happened. Von Steubon was right in the middle of asking me a question, and threatening me, calmly but firmly, with more torture if I did not give up information, when my stomach suddenly heaved. I could not bear it any longer, or hold it in. I threw up, then and there RIGHT ON VON STEUBON'S PERFECTLY SHINED BOOTS.

My vision was blurry as the two guards gave me several kicks in the legs and, when I fell to the ground, my back, as punishment for my offense.

"Stop," a firm voice commanded. Von Steubon.

The last thing I remember as I was half-led, half-dragged from the room, was von Steubon's intense look of displeasure at the situation. To his credit, he did not throw a fit of fury, but instead remained calm as a Nazi flunky brought him a towel to clean off his boots. However, the look in his eyes scared me. He was angry, just not necessarily showing it much on the outside. And I was the object of his wrath.

I could not think straight as I was thrown into my room that night. All I could think was that now, not only was I a prisoner, but the leader of the prison had a special reason to hate me.

***

image: a uniform such as von Steubon wears