Chapter 3 Written in the Pankraat Gestapo Prison in Spring 1943

Sitting upright, well-behaved, with hands on knees, staring dazedly at the yellowed walls of the waiting room of the Peček Palace—to tell the truth, this is not the most convenient way to think. pose.But who can force thought to sit still? Someone once—probably will never know when and by whom—called this waiting room in the Peček Palace a "cinema".What a metaphor of genius.In a spacious room, there are six rows of benches, on which sit the people being interrogated upright, with a bare wall in front of them, like a movie theater screen.All the studios in the world put together far less film than is reflected on this wall from the eyes of the interrogators who await new tortures, new tortures, and deaths.This is a film about life in its entirety and its minute details, about mothers, wives, children and destroyed homes, destroyed lives, about loyal comrades and acts of treachery, about passing leaflets to Someone, a film about bloody sacrifice, a handshake when a commission is delivered, is a film of terror and determination, hatred and love, pain and hope.Everyone here is cut off from life, and people die every day.Not everyone gets a second life.

I've watched the film about myself hundreds of times here, and the details of this film a thousand times, and now I'm trying to narrate it.If the noose had been tightened before I had finished, the millions of people who remained in the world would have continued its "happy end" by itself.