Believe in Revolution ©

XXIV

Justizvollngsanstalt Plötzensee (Berlin, Duchy of Brandemburg), Friday, Second week April 1923

The cell was dirty and dark. The bed was cold and hard. Everything was cold and dark.

But Ivan had gotten used to all of that. Living in the darkness, eating inedible food, sleeping in a bed that seemed more like an iron table than a bed. He was pale and skinny and his lower ribs were a bit noticeable. It was the result of nearly two years caged in that damn hovel.

Well, he had Andrei. They had gotten along from the beginning. When he was in the work camp in Baku, Andrei was brought as a prisoner of the White Army. He was a sailor. He was a White. And him, a Red. They spent some months there until they took them to Berlin. He was a great friend. He had been changed to another sector of the prison recently, because he had gotten a bit ill.

Andrei was the only person in prison he had spoken about his life. He had shared nearly everything with him. He would never forget those talks. They had shared protegee.

He watched through the squared hole - they called it window - the grey buildings of Berlin. It was such a monotone view.

He sat down when he heard some steps approaching. One of those damn guards. He was looking to the dirty ceiling.

He caught the guard's presence from the corner of the eye. He was dressed in a plain, white and impeccable uniform. "He has never dirtied his hands for sure" Ivan thought.

"Prisoner 00357, get up! It's time for lunch" He said in a rough commanding tone.

Ivan wanted to protest, but he knew nothing good would come from that. So, he got up in silence and followed the guard.

"My name is not 00357, it's Ivan Petrov" He cursed mentally. But that didn't matter. Now he had no name, he was just a number. Why would they care of remember each prisoner's name if they were nothing for them, just corpses they'd have to clean?

He had heard about the death of more than a hundred of prisoners in his stay. During that, he had discovered that the guards were faithful Catholics. When prisoners died, they put their corpse in a coffin and bury them in the lowest part of the prison: The Cript. They made a little burial ceremony, if someone came. Andrei and him had been to some, as there were other White prisoners among the dead. He remembered asking for a piece of wood and a knife to make a cross, the guard's gaze fixed in him and when he was finishing it, the guard's question "Isn't it strange done?" He had tried not to laugh at the question "It's an Orthodox cross" he had answered. He had asked the same guard to give it to Andrei, in hope he recovered.

The guard and him reached the dinning hall. The whole prisoners lot of the sector was already picking that trash the Austro-Hungarians called food. The guard pushed him towards the queue for eating and left. Ivan cursed silently in Russian, but picked the plate to get the first of the two daily rations. It tasted like eating earth. Ivan felt like throwing up, but knew he'd not eat more until the night. So, he swallowed it.

"Tastes like hell, doesn't it?" He heard a known voice

"Hi, Andrei. You feeling better?" Ivan asked turning to see the former sailor.

"Yeah, it was flu" Andrei sat down by him "It's good to know that you've survived without me"

"You know I can survive without you, but submerged in infinite boredom" Ivan laughed.

"Oh" Andrei said "I'm the entertainment" He laughed

"Da, didn't you notice?" Ivan smiled

Both looked to each other and tried to finish their food