At the end of November Lebanese newspapers reported that East Germans in the service of Syria were torturing prisoners, but the general public couldn’t believe it. Surely men from the Eastern bloc wouldn’t do such things. In the camp, however, the situation of the socialists and communists became worse than ever. Jakob Daro, leader of the communist group, could find no answer to the growing contempt of the other parties.
“Those are your comrades!” the prisoners told him, and some even spat at him. Daro was an experienced polemicist, but words were no help to him now.
259. Helplessness
After only a week, the methods of the East Germans were showing results. In spite of all the efforts of their resistance committee, prisoners were changing their minds by the dozen and signing recantations. Some gave up because of injured pride, after suffering torture at the hands of foreigners. But Farid would never have expected such a tough character as Faleh to weaken. He was one of the boldest of the Muslim Brotherhood.
First Faleh was interrogated at length by Garasi, who asked questions that he had answered several times before. So he repeated those answers, and the Germans wrote down what he said.
Then the captain rose and left the room. The Germans stayed behind. Suddenly Faleh’s wife and three small children were led in. They were crying, and begged him to give in because they missed him and needed him. Faleh couldn’t withstand this pressure, and he signed his recantation. The administration gave him clean clothes and a little money, and took him and his family to Damascus in a Landrover.
The prisoners in Tad had not been prepared for this kind of thing. The innovation of the German experts was to use a man’s own family to prolong his torture. For many of the prisoners, the tears of their children, wives, or mothers struck more sharply than any whip.
Garasi’s fury at the East Germans and their methods knew no bounds. He swore, and drank more heavily than ever.
“Assholes! I treat the prisoners like my own children, but they all have to play the hero. And then along come these European weaklings, these half-men, no moustaches, not even any hair on their chests, and they manage to soften up the traitors,” a soldier heard him wailing.
It wasn’t until early November that the prisoners found out how to stand firm. One of the Muslim Brothers shouted at his wife and children that they should be ashamed of themselves, and they’d better clear out. He threatened his wife that if she wrote him another letter or came to visit him, she could consider herself divorced.
A week later it was known all over the country that East Germans were abusing the men’s love for their families.
Garasi heaved a sign of relief.
260. Silence
15 November 1968 was a warm day, almost like summer. Farid woke early. He had just been dreaming of Rana and the way she kissed his nipples. It had tickled, and he woke up.
He never celebrated his own birthday, but she always wanted to spend hers with him, and now it was November the 15th. He took a little candle out of its hiding place and lit it.
“Happy birthday, dear heart,” he whispered, smiling. He knew that wherever Rana was, she would be thinking of him today.
There wasn’t a soul in the courtyard. The German shepherd dogs were doing their rounds, and always glanced briefly at Farid as they passed his hut. “Rana,” he whispered.
At that moment he felt sure that he would live with his lover some day, and for a little while he was at peace with the world.
That same day, the committee had intended to discuss what the prisoners could do about the threat of those three blond men. They assumed that Garasi would have no objection to a rising against the Germans, but how could it be staged without offering provocation to the captain himself?
Farid was going to suggest a hunger strike, with the departure of the Germans as their sole demand for ending it. That way Garasi would realize that despite his own torture methods, the prisoners would accept him but never the foreigners.
Shortly before the planned discussion, however, two guards came to Hut 5 and took Farid away to be interrogated. They were civil enough, and Farid cursed his bad luck. He passed Hut 4, and exchanged glances with another committee member, who looked back at him with concern.
“Routine questioning,” whispered Farid.
“Shut your mouth,” shouted one of the guards. Farid walked on.
“Ah, good to see you. This is our strategist, the man who thinks himself Che Guevara leading an armed struggle,” Garasi greeted him. Farid glanced at the corner of the room, where the three blond men were sitting.
“What are these pimps doing here?” he asked the captain, who raised his eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses.
“There now, our young friend shows no respect! These are experts helping me out.”
“And I’m not saying a word as long as those bastards sit there. Captain, we are citizens of a free country, and no foreigner may interrogate me in my own land.”
“Calm down, young man. I’m asking the questions around here, and you will answer them if you don’t want me to lose my temper. So let’s begin. We can always torture you, but we don’t want to do that.” Garasi spoke as calmly as if he were under the influence of drugs. Although Farid kept his eyes fixed on the captain, he noticed Sausage, the tall German, nodding with satisfaction. And as if that had been Garasi’s reward, the commandant now stepped up his friendliness. “Farid Mushtak, you’re trained in chemistry, your country needs you more urgently than ever. Let’s forget our differences. You are a decent man, you’ve fought for the people and made mistakes. Come, give me your hand and leave this place to continue the struggle and build the country up again.”
Farid did not reply. So this is how they’re doing it now, he thought.
Garasi went on speaking forcefully. “Farid, you are a member of the prisoners’ secret committee. Tell me the names of the others, and no lies, please. Tell me and you’re free.”
“Oh, come on, captain! You won’t get any names from me. You have enough informers. As you know, I don’t belong to any political party. I’m always ready to make a public statement of remorse and loyalty.”
“A clever fellow. But you’re not tricking Garasi that way. Your Radicals couldn’t care less about remorse …”
“I was expelled from their group because I wouldn’t take up arms,” Farid interrupted.
“Hold your tongue!” shouted the captain, and Farid saw Sausage, in the distance, signing to him to play it down. Garasi immediately spoke more calmly. “We’re not interested in your signature. Tell us three names of your secret committee and you’re free. How’s that for an offer?” Farid saw Sausage and Potato turning their thumbs up approvingly. Shanklish remained deep in thought.
So that was it. He was to be destroyed piecemeal. Nausea rose in him. “Right, here’s my plain answer,” he said calmly. “I will never give you names, not if it costs me my life.”
The commandant beckoned to two guards who were sure to be standing somewhere behind Farid. He mustn’t turn around, he had quickly learned that, for he did he would be hit in the face.
The guards put leather straps around Farid’s arms and legs and tied him to a chair. Then they applied metal clamps to his fingers.
“I’m still listening. Isn’t there anything you’d like to say to me?” asked Garasi. Farid just looked at him steadily. What an asshole, he thought. If stupidity could make a man sick he’d be dead by now. The captain gave a signal for the torture by electric shock to begin. A young officer pushed a button on a console. At the first shock Farid felt as if his soul had left his body. He tried to scream and opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. He felt as if he had exploded and fallen apart, but he was still strapped tight to the chair, writhing in pain.