Chapter 9 Chapter Six Martial Law in 1942

May 27, 1943. This is exactly a year ago. After the interrogation, they took me to the "cinema" below.In "No. 400", the daily schedule is like this: go down to the first floor at noon to eat lunch delivered from Pancratz Prison, and return to the fourth floor in the afternoon.But we never went back upstairs that day. Sit down and eat.The benches were full of prisoners, and they were busily putting food into their mouths with spoons.On the surface, everything seems almost normal.If people who are going to die tomorrow are all skeletons at this moment, the clang of spoons on clay plates will be drowned out in the crunch of bones and the monotonous creak of jaws. up.However, no one expected this.Every prisoner ate extremely greedily, tried his best to maintain his health, and strived to live for a few more weeks, months, or years.

It could almost be said that the weather was fine.But suddenly there was a gust of wind, and then it calmed down again.Only by looking at the faces of the guards could one tell what had happened.And the later signs became more obvious: call us out and set off for Pancratz as a whole team. Going back in the middle of the day, which has never happened before.To think about taking half a day off your trial when you're exhausted by questions you can't answer - that's a huge blessing, that's how we feel.But in fact it is not. In the corridor we met General Alyash.He glanced at me with frightened eyes, and despite the presence of guards around him, he whispered, "Martial law is in place."

Prisoners have only a few seconds to deliver the most important messages.It was too late for Ahliash to answer my silent inquiry. The guards at Pancratz Prison expressed surprise at our early return.I thought the guard who took me back to my cell was more reliable than the others.I didn't know who he was, but I told him what I heard.He shook his head, indicating that he had no idea.Maybe I got it wrong, yes it is possible.This reassures me. But at night he came again, and he looked into the cell: "You are right. Assassination of Hendrich. Seriously wounded. Martial law in Prague."

Early the next morning, we set off in a team in the downstairs hallway to stand trial.We are with Comrade Victor Signac, the last surviving member of the Central Committee of the Party, arrested in February 1941.The tall key-keeper in the SS uniform waved a white piece of paper in front of Viktor, and on it was written in large letters: "Entlassungsbefehl." (German: "Release order. ") The man who held the key smiled and said: "See, Jew, you finally got it. The release order. Crack..." He put his finger across his neck, indicating that Victor's head would fly out from here.Victor's older brother, Otto Signac, was the first to be executed during martial law in 1941.Victor himself was the first victim of martial law in 1942.He was taken to Mauthausen.According to their beautiful words, they are going to be a target.

On the way from Pankratz Prison to Peček Palace and back, there are now hundreds of prisoners in prison, and the SS members who are constantly guarding in the prison van want to "venge Hendrich".Before the car had driven a kilometer, a dozen or so prisoners were beaten to death with gun butts.It was good for the other prisoners that I sat in the car, because my shaggy beard on my chin attracted the attention of the SS men, who kept trying to play with it.They grabbed me by the beard like a car rocking a ring, and it became one of their favorite pastimes, which was not bad trial training for me.Each interrogation seemed to be conducted according to the general situation, and always ended with the same stereotype: "If you don't play smart tomorrow, you will be shot."

That doesn't scare me at all.Every night, I could hear the inmate's name being called in the corridor downstairs.Fifty, one hundred, two hundred, and in a short while this batch of handcuffed and fettered people was loaded onto a truck like cattle being driven to slaughter, and transported to Corberis to be shot en masse.What crime did they commit?They are not guilty at all.They were arrested, but they were not involved in any significant incident and there was nothing to question them.But since he was arrested, he had no choice but to execute him.Two months before the assassination, one comrade read a short satirical poem to nine other people, and they were all arrested at once, transported and shot for praising the assassination.Six months ago, a woman was arrested on suspicion of distributing leaflets.She denies it.So her brothers and sisters, as well as the husbands of the sisters and the wives of the brothers were all arrested and shot, because killing the whole family was the slogan during this period of martial law.A post and telecommunications worker who was captured by mistake was standing by the wall downstairs waiting to be released. When his name was called, he responded immediately.But they put him in the line for the death penalty and took him out and shot him.It wasn't until the next day that it became clear that it was another prisoner with the same name that should be shot, and that person was dragged out to be shot, and the matter was considered over.Is it still worth the trouble to check people's files and materials so that people's lives can be guaranteed?Can anyone insist on this?What is the use when the right to life of an entire nation is taken away?

I came back late that night from where I was being tried.Downstairs by the wall stood Vladislav Vanchura with a small bundle at his feet.I knew it, and he knew what it meant.We shook hands.Upstairs, I looked down at him from the hallway again: he stood there with his head tilted serenely, his eyes gazing into the distance, across his entire life.Half an hour later, his name was summoned... A few days later, at the same wall, stood Milos Krasny, a heroic revolutionary fighter who had been arrested last October.Neither torture nor isolation could bring him to his knees.He turned his head and calmly explained something to the guard standing behind him.He saw me, smiled, nodded and said goodbye to me, and continued to say to the guard: "This is of no use to you. We will still have many sacrifices, but you will lose in the end..." Later , One day at noon, we were standing downstairs in the Peček Palace waiting for lunch, and Alyash was brought in.He held a newspaper under his arm, pointed to the newspaper with a smile and told people that he had just read in the newspaper that he was involved with the assassination planner.

"What nonsense." He said curtly and began to eat. In the evening when he and some other prisoners returned to Pankrates Prison, he was still talking about it with gusto.An hour later he was taken from his cell to Koberis. The pile of dead bodies grew higher and higher.It is no longer dozens or hundreds, but thousands.The smell of the blood that kept flowing out stimulated the nostrils of the murderous beasts.They were "office" late at night, and even "office" on Sundays.Now they are all in SS uniforms.Because it's their festival of carnage.They killed some workers, teachers, farmers, writers and clerks, massacred men, women and even children, killed whole families, massacred and burned whole villages.Death by bullets spread across the country like the Black Death.It is indiscriminate.

And what should people do in this horror? survive. It's unbelievable.But man lives, eats, sleeps, loves, works, and thinks about a thousand things that have nothing to do with death.There was a terrible burden upon his mind, but he bore it without yielding or becoming discouraged. During martial law, "the officer in charge of me" took me to Blahnik again.It was in beautiful June, and the air was filled with the fragrance of linden trees and late-blooming Sophora japonica.It was a Sunday evening.The road leading to the tram terminal was crowded with people returning from outings.They were boisterous, laughing, blissfully weary with the sun, the water, and the embrace of their lovers.Though death haunted them all the time, seeking new victims, it was invisible from their faces.They gather together in groups, lively and lovely like rabbits.Like some rabbits, you can grab one of them at will, and the rest will retreat into a corner, but after a while, they will go on with their worries and their joys, Get busy with all their wishes for life.

It was a bit painful at first to behold its sweet bliss when I came suddenly from the secluded prison world into this fascinating stream of people. My feeling is wrong, totally wrong. This is life.The life I see here is ultimately the same as our life in prison, the same life under terrible pressure but indestructible.It is suffocated and destroyed in one place, but it sprouts in hundreds of places, and it is more tenacious than death.What's so painful about it? And we, the people who live directly in this horrible cage, are we made of another material? Sometimes I went to interrogation in a prison van, and when the guards were more lax, I looked out the window into the street.Look at the windows of the department stores, look at the flower kiosks, look at the throngs of passers-by, look at the women.Once, I said to myself, if I can count nine pairs of beautiful legs, it means that I will not be executed today.So I counted, observed, compared, and studied their lines carefully.I judged their beauty with great interest, without thinking what the result of this judgment had to do with my life.

I usually get back to my cell late.Papa Peshek is always worried about whether I will come back.He hugged me, and I briefly told him some new news: who died in Koberis yesterday, - and then we wolfed down those disgusting dried vegetables and sang some happy songs after eating, Or have a good time playing a silly game of dice, which is the kind of game that makes us forget everything best.At any moment during the night, the door to our cell could be opened, death would come, and one of us would be summoned: "You, go downstairs. Take everything. Quick." But no one came to call us.We have finally survived this horrible period.Whenever I think back to that time now, I am amazed at myself: what a wonderful structure man is, that he can endure the most unbearable things. Of course, it is impossible not to leave a deep impression on our hearts these days, stored in our minds like a tightly rolled film copy.There will come a day—if we live to make it to that day—and it will unfold in real life at a frantic pace.But what we may see on the screen is a huge tomb, a verdant garden, where people sow precious seeds. These are very precious seeds that will germinate.