Winfred

11

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986

Kathleen Winfred

Hygiene

Three weeks after my arrival at the prison, the ordinary routine was interrupted by a strange occurrence. 

Pirot arrived at my room with a bucket of sudsy water, a bar of soap, and a hairbrush and pins.

When I questioned her, she only frowned and told me that the inspectors were coming. 

I told her that to spend so much time cleaning the prisoners was useless; after all, they only tortured us anyways.

She glared at me, telling me that she only followed orders and that the Germans liked to maintain a certain level of professionalism in their camps, at least on the outside.

Aside from that, she said, no one is stricter about this rule than Von Steubon. Maintaining appearance is important to him.

I did not tell Pirot that, in my opinion, Von Steubon cared about appearence to the point of obbsession. 

Besides, the moment Pirot had mentioned Von Steubon, her mind was elsewhere. 

A bit about Pirot, I suppose. I had, of course, learned before that her name was Kare Pirot. However, she was not Kare to anyone in the hotel-turned-prison. She was Pirot. To everyone...always Pirot. To Von Steubon. To the guards. To me. Pirot. 

She was not "girly" in any sense of the word (except when it came to fawning over Von Steubon; I for one did not see the appeal) and her going by her last name only seemed to solidify the boy-ish impression that many people had of her. (Perhaps this is why she gets nowhere with Von Steubon.)

Pirot is short, but still a couple of inches taller than me. She has brown hair that is always done mostly up. She speaks in German to me. I have never said anything and neither of us have brought it up, but I believe it is easier for her to speak German to me, as I can understand her. She does not like to admit it but I believe that her English is not quite perfected and speaking it embarrasses her. I have heard the prison guards make fun of her before.

She is one of multiple female prison guards, guards whose sole purpose is to guard and watch the female prisoners. 

That day, she washed my hair, and brushed it roughly. I remember not caring about the roughness of her technique, as it had been so long since I had had my hair brushed. When Pirot was finished, I allowed myself to run a hand through my hair, feeling how soft it felt now that it was clean and brushed. 

I thought about Pirot, going uncomplainingly about her duties. She was not inherently mean to the prisoners; in fact, she was kinder than most of the guards. 

As Pirot turned to leave, I spoke up, thanking her for caring for my hair. 

She froze, then turned slowly to face me, a look of shock on her face. 

Finally, she nodded, before turning and leaving once more. 

I do not believe that Pirot has been thanked by a prisoner before.