The Devil Couldn't Break Me

by Laura Aslan

  Occasionally my energy levels seemed to increase for no apparent reason and I’d find myself pacing back and forward in my cell for hours at a time. I was hallucinating too, patterns would appear on the cell walls even though I could hardly see them and sometimes when I closed my eyes I’d see arrangements of stars and bright lights. As always I was paranoid about the rats and the mice coming into my cell. Sometimes I’d wake from a particularly bad nightmare as the vermin poured into my cell and ran all over me. I’d always wake up at the point when the largest, ugliest rat was creeping up my chest to my face so that our noses were just about touching. His whiskers would be twitching and I’d know he was just about to launch himself towards me.

  One day that nightmare came true.

  I could hear the guards giggling outside the cell door and I knew they were up to something. They shouted that there were some friends who had come to visit and did I want to see them. I suspected they were lying but they kept on at me and said that they would only allow them into the cell if I sanctioned the visit. One of the guards opened the small grill in the door by sliding the wood to one side.

  I could see his face through the bars and he was quoting some provision from the Geneva Convention.

  “Every prisoner has the right to a visit but every prisoner also has the right to refuse.”

  I fell right into their trap.

  “But who is it, who has come to visit me?”

  “I can’t tell you that I’m afraid.”

  I dared to imagine that my father had somehow survived and had found out where I was. Could it be Brian or Peter, perhaps both of them or was it the lawyer or the solicitor I’d requested so often? Different possibilities and scenarios raced around my head. Had they checked up on my case number and verified my story, was it a policeman or perhaps a UN official?

  The guards seemed unusually patient for a change, listening carefully as I asked questions. I knew it was a ridiculous situation because they could have opened the door any time they wanted and yet I began to wonder if they were perhaps telling the truth. It did sound as if the guard was reading from a sheet, perhaps the Geneva Convention stated just that.

  “I’ll ask you one more time,” he said, “do you wish to receive your visitors or not?”

  Visitors... more than one. Brian and Peter

  “Yes, yes, of course I do. Please open the door, I’ll come and see them.”

  “No need, they’ll come to see you.”

  At that point one of them laughed and I knew I had been duped. The cell wasn’t big enough for me never mind more than one visitor. I took two steps back and almost fell against the far wall as I heard the key being turned in the lock.

  No... no... surely not. Not that, anything but that.

  They flung the door open and the two of them took a step inside. My eyes grew accustomed to the light and I focussed on a small cage one of the guards held up in front of me.

  “Your visitors.” He grinned

  I recoiled in horror as I focussed on a writhing mass of rodent bodies, at least half a dozen mice and poking his nose through the bars at the front of the cage was a huge black rat bearing his teeth.

  “No please, please, anything, I’ll do anything but don’t...”

  I didn’t get time to finish my sentence before he’d knelt down and opened the front of the cage. The small mice scurried out into the darkness and disappeared while the big rat took a single step forward and paused as his whiskers twitched and he analysed the situation. Before I could react the guards had slammed the cell door and locked it leaving me alone with my worst possible nightmare. I could hardly breath as my lungs lurched into panicking spasms. Instinctively I ran forward and leapt at the door, grabbing the iron bars with my hands and lifting my knees up to the cold metal so that my feet were several centimetres from the floor. And I screamed. I screamed for all I was worth as my fear turned to panic and the tears flowed like they’d never flowed before. How could they do this to me? More importantly how could they take such pleasure and amusement at the sheer terror they were putting me through?

  As weak as I was, as wasted as my muscles were, I held onto that door for dear life and if I’d had to hold on for twenty-four hours then I would have done so. I could hear the creatures scurrying around beneath me and there was nothing worse I could possibly imagine than to set my bare feet on that stone floor and give them access to me, a stepping stone to the rest of my body. I screamed and I pleaded through the bars in the grill but mostly I screamed. In the end I think they opened the door because they could bear the noise no more. When I was sure that every single mouse and the large rat had ran from the cell I collapsed onto the floor. My arms were on fire, my knees numb and my thigh muscles ached as though someone had pushed a thousand hot needles into each one.

  I was at rock bottom, I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t take this anymore. I wanted to die and that night I asked Allah to take me yet again, begging him to listen to me and spare my anguish. I had taken the abuse and the punishment, the beatings and the threats, but this was one thing I knew I couldn’t come back from.

  The cockroaches were no longer welcome in my cell because in the darkness I convinced myself that they were mice and rats and I broke out into a cold sweat every time I heard them. I’d sit up in the corner by the door and wrap my blanket around me until I worked it up to my chin so that only my head was visible. And I’d fight the sleep because I had to be alert in order to kick those mice or cockroaches away as soon as they got anywhere near the bottom of my blanket.

  The result was that I exhausted myself to the point of no return. I was a living zombie and for many days I didn’t even have the energy to crawl over towards the door and take my food. I think the guards realised how close I was to death and thankfully their little joke was never repeated and they urged me to eat. And yet I could never understand that. Surely it was better that I would die? They weren’t going to put me on trial and they weren’t going to let me go so what was the point in keeping me alive?

  Gradually, for some reason I couldn’t explain, I began to eat again. One day I tore tiny strips from my blanket, crawled over to where the unassuming cockroaches made their nightly march across the cell floor and blocked up all of the holes. I figured they took off and found another piece of the building to play in and they never bothered me for several days until eventually the ate their way through the wool blanket.

  I slept well apart from the occasional nightmare and steadily my energy returned. I tried to reserve most of that energy contemplating how I could commit suicide without suffering too much pain.

  Violated

  I noticed a different voice one day and as I lifted myself up to the grill to concentrate, it came to me that there were three people speaking to each other as opposed to the normal two. I tried to listen in to the conversation but they spoke in whispers. For once they wanted the details of their conversations to remain confidential.

  The cell door opened soon after and the stranger stood at the door with the normal two guards flanking him. They said nothing and as he took a step forward the other two guards took a step back and one of them locked the door. I somehow knew what was coming and I had no fight to fight it. He knelt down on my blanket and began to grope at my breasts in the darkness.

  I wanted to kick and punch him, I wanted to claw his eyes out but I knew it was all over for me. I prayed this was the end, I prayed that after he raped me he would send me to meet my maker. I was finished. I closed my eyes. He didn’t exactly tear my clothes from me, there was no need for that as I offered very little resistance. He pulled at my cardigan and then removed my t-shirt underneath. As he removed my bra and groped and fondled me some more I was aware that he was breathing quite hard and at one point he pushed himself on top of me while he gyrated up and down. He performed this action for some time and then started to undress me from the waist down
at the same time removing his shirt and then his trousers. His rough hands pawed at my vagina as his breathing gained pace and he moaned and groaned stopping occasionally to rub between his own legs.

  I could make out the white of his teeth and the sweat on his brow and as he moved and bucked ever faster, little drops of spittle and sweat fell onto my face. His breath smelled of cigarettes and I tensed up as he roughly spread my legs and then his horrible claw like fingers were inside me. I let out a squeal which seemed to excite him as he panted and grunted and groaned ever harder and then he tensed up, cried out in ecstasy and in an instant collapsed on top of me as gradually his breathing began to return to normal.

  I was puzzled. Although I was a virgin I believed I was fairly well educated as to what sexual intercourse involved and I knew immediately that I hadn’t had sexual intercourse with him and therefore I hadn’t been raped. He stood and started to dress. He knocked on the cell door and his colleagues opened it up. As the light flooded in I could make out the shape of their pathetic sneering, grinning faces. My would-be rapist made a show of buckling up his trousers in full view of his friends as they looked on.

  “Did you do the Muslim bitch?”

  “You bet.”

  I couldn’t quite believe it. What would his colleagues think if they knew the truth? The soldier had ejaculated prematurely, way too prematurely, before he’d even entered me and he stood with his chest puffed out as proud as a peacock as his fellow monsters congratulated him. One of them even slapped him on the back as they left the cell and locked the door behind them.

  Although I hadn’t been raped it felt as if I had. I took no pleasure or comfort from the fact my rapist hadn’t been able to carry out the assignment he’d planned to do. I lay there cold and naked for some hours and the disgusting smell of my attacker would not leave me. His breath was on me, his body odour too and something altogether different and as the smells mingled and lingered and enveloped me like a blanket that smothered me I felt my stomach going into spasms. I rushed over to the corner of the cell where I vomited and brought up the contents of my stomach. I stayed there for some time telling myself that the sour stench of my vomit was better than the stink from my attacker, which had now been absorbed into my blankets.

  I banged on the cell door pleading to be showered. I didn’t care what type of shower, hot, cold, it didn’t matter. My pleas went unheard. The soldiers had gone to celebrate with a beer at one of the local bars no doubt and the pretend rapist would entertain them with legendary tales of his sexual prowess. Eventually I dressed as the cold night air began to penetrate my bones. I still couldn’t bring myself to lie on my blankets that night. Wrapping myself in them would be like reliving the attack all over again. I sat on the opposite side of the cell to my sleeping section. I didn’t even have the energy to pull my shoes on.

  I sat there motionless staring into the blackness. I sat there all night. They brought me some bread and jam the following morning.

  I was finished. I would never leave the cell alive. My bread and jam remained untouched, the bean broth they brought that evening went cold until the cockroaches came that night and enjoyed the mother of all feasts. I heard them scuttling all over the plate and I wished them no harm and yet I was strangely jealous of them because although we all lived out our existence in a black stinking hole at least they had freedom of movement and could come and go as they pleased.

  Although the cockroaches ate most of my food the guards sensed that I wasn’t eating again and it strangely concerned them though I couldn’t understand why.

  “We know you’ve stopped eating.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You have to eat.”

  I ignored them, turned around and faced the wall, which didn’t go down too well. One of them grabbed me and pulled me out of the cell. I didn’t bother to stand. It was then that they noticed I’d messed myself.

  “You dirty bitch.”

  He turned to his colleague.

  “Get the shower hose ready.”

  I didn’t have the energy to stand, I didn’t have the energy to eat and I didn’t have the energy to request a toilet visit anymore. Running their pathetic gauntlet game was out of the question. So I went to the toilet in my bed. I’d given up all hope and I’d even stopped dreaming. I remembered reading somewhere that when we no longer dream we die. That’s where I was and there was a bizarre type of relief in the fact that I’d given up.

  They stripped me and dragged me along the corridor to the shower block where they hosed me with the cold hose. I felt nothing, no pain, no coldness... nothing. They dried and dressed me. I told them to leave me alone. They lifted me to my feet and ordered me to walk back to my cell but when they stopped supporting me I simply crumpled to the floor. They shouted and barked at me and I told them to let me die. They dragged me back to the main room and sat me at a table and soon after they brought me some hot bean soup. My head flopped onto the table that made them angry.

  “Eat you bitch,” one of them screamed.

  “Let me die.”

  But they wouldn’t let me die and instead they forced the plastic spoon into my mouth until the bowl was empty and I cursed them under my breath.

  I shouted at them.

  “Why won’t you let me die, what good am I to you?”

  They didn’t answer me.

  The following day I soiled myself again, the whole cell stank of excrement and urine and they took me through the whole shower process again, dressed me, and force fed me at the table. I begged them to let me die but they ignored me and threw me back into the cell again. I would beat them like I had beaten Kupi. I wanted to die and it didn’t matter what they did to me they were not going to stop me.

  Ready to Meet My Maker

  The guard with the high-pitched voice opened the grill the following morning. He told me I had been there six months and for once I believed him. It was particularly hot that morning and judging by the temperature I guessed we were in the middle of summer, July or even August. I had been kidnapped, brought in for questioning at the beginning of February.

  He brought my food in, announcing it was bean broth. I told him to take it away. I couldn’t move, I was paralysed, I was lying on my right side and it felt as if my whole body had somehow welded itself to the ground. I knew I only had days left to live. Surely if the human body wanted to give up then something somewhere, my heart, my brain or some other internal organ would throw in the towel and that would be it. Although I couldn’t see the guard I sensed that he was still there, lingering in the cell for some reason. I turned around and tried to lie on my left side to face him and ask him what he wanted. It was sheer agony as my whole body seemed to groan and creak like the hinges on a squeaky old door. I wanted to open my eyes and stare him out but it was impossible because they hadn’t opened for some days. I rubbed at them; they were dry and dusty, I couldn’t cry even if I’d wanted to.

  “What do you want?” I said blindly.

  “You must eat.”

  “I don’t want to eat, I want to die. What’s the point of eating it will only prolong my agony.”

  I listened as he took a step forward. My eyes were closed but I was aware that he’d pushed the bowl of broth towards me as I could smell and feel its warmth only centimetres from the end of my nose. I wanted so much to reach out and take it.

  “You must eat.”

  “Take it away.”

  I felt his hand on mine and then felt the shape of the bowl as he wrapped my bony fingers around it.

  “Take it and eat.”

  He enclosed my other hand around the other side of the bowl and I held it in two hands. It took all my strength as I tried to open my eyes. Tiny bits of matter and puss coated my eyelids and seemed to fight against me but eventually, gradually they eased apart and as I slowly focussed on the bowl and the guard and the
light from the exterior room and the guard with the blond hair and the pointy nose. I could see he was kneeling down beside me.

  “You have to eat.”

  I lifted the bowl towards my face and then as I gave him a little grin I upended the contents on to the stone floor in front of him as I laughed. It was a final act of defiance and I enjoyed it so much.

  He jumped up shouting and screaming.

  “You dumb bitch I’ve a good mind to let you die.”

  He ranted and raged and I knew he so wanted to take a hold of me and give me a good beating but then that would surely finish me off. Instead he locked the door and left me there as the broth soaked into the stone floor.

  Sometime later, I don’t know how long, it was the other guard who opened the cell door. His voice was so much deeper than his companion.

  “You have a visitor. Come out.”

  I immediately tensed up and a wave of panic shot through me. I knew exactly what had happened the last time he had said that.

  “Please no.” I whimpered. “I don’t want any visitors, leave me alone.”

  “Seriously you have a visitor.”

  Almost immediately I noticed there was something different about his tone of voice. But it was another trick surely.

  “I want to stay here.”

  “No you don’t, you want to see your visitor, believe me you want to see him.”

  A visitor? Him.

  But still I didn’t trust him. I remembered the sheer terror of the day, with clarity, the day where I hung from the grill bars until every muscle, every tendon and every sinew cried out in agony but I wouldn’t let go for the fear of what lay beneath me.

  I crawled away into the far corner of the cell and I heard him sigh with frustration... impatience... and yet his tone was far from aggressive. On another day he would have stormed into the cell and dragged me out by the hair but this time he stood silhouetted in the doorway.