Chapter 10 Chapter Seven Statues and Puppets (2)

There are two lives in Pancratz Prison.One is locked in a prison cell and completely isolated from the outside world, but as long as there are political prisoners, it has the closest connection with the outside world.There was another life in the long corridors before the cells, in that melancholy, semi-dark place, completely cut off from the outside world, shrouded in uniform, more isolated than the life locked in a cell.This is a world of more puppets than statues.I want to talk about this world. The world has its own face, its own history.Otherwise, I wouldn't have understood it so deeply.Only the profile facing us can be seen, only its seemingly complete and solid surface, which weighs with an iron weight on the cell's occupants.It was like this a year ago, or even half a year ago.Now the surface is riddled with fissures through which faces can be seen: pitiful, kind, worried, ridiculous, faces of all kinds, but always human.The crisis of reactionary rule has also put pressure on everyone in this gray world, clearly exposing their inner humanity.Sometimes there is very little human nature, and sometimes when you are familiar with it, you can see it more clearly.How or less they are human makes them various types.Of course, you can also find a few perfect people here.They don't care about their own misfortune in order to help others who are in trouble.

Prison is not a happy institution, but the world outside the cell is a much more bleak place than inside.In the cells one lives in fraternity—what a fraternity it is! A fraternity born on a battlefield, where men are often in danger, and today I save your life and tomorrow I will may be saved by you.But such a fraternity did not exist, and could not exist, among the German guards.They were surrounded by an atmosphere of mutual informers, one spied on and denounced on the other, each wary of those who grandly called each other "friends."The best of them, if they could not and would not be friendless, had to seek friends in the cell.

We have not known their names for a long time.It doesn't matter.We used nicknames to distinguish them, some from us, some from people who came before us, and then carried on in the cells.Some people have as many nicknames as there are prison cells; these are mediocre people, neither donkeys nor horses, who feed a man here, and slap a man there again, perhaps they only associate with prisoners A few seconds, but it left an impression in the cell for a long time, resulting in a one-sided view, so it has a one-sided nickname.But there are people who have consistent nicknames in all the cells, and these people have more prominent personalities, either one way or the other, good or bad.

Let's take a look at some of these typical ones.Take a look at these puppets.They didn't come together casually.They were part of the political army of Nazism, handpicked.They are the pillars of the reactionary system, the pillars of its society... "The Good Man," a tall, fat man with a sub-tenor voice, was the "SS Reserve" Rauss, who was in Cologne on the Rhine. Worked as a school worker.Like all German school janitors, he had also been trained in emergency first aid training, so he sometimes substituted for the assistant doctor in the prison.He was the first person I came into contact with when I got here.He dragged me into a cell, put me on a straw mattress, checked my injuries, and bandaged me.Maybe he really saved my life.What does this show?Means he is alone?Or had the ambulance training course played a role in him?I have no idea.But when he knocked out the teeth of captured Jews and forced them to swallow spoonfuls of salt or sand as a panacea, he got his true Nazi self wet.

cowhide king Fabinjan, the coachman at the Budejovice Brewery, was a kind and talkative man.When he came to the cell, he always delivered meals to the prisoners with a smile on his face, and never insulted anyone.But what you don't expect is that he would spend hours and hours hiding behind the door listening to the conversations in the cell, and then reporting every ridiculous and trivial thing to his superiors. Coclar He was also a worker at the Budejovice beer brewery.There were many German workers from the Sudetenland. "The question is not what the individual worker thinks or does," Marx once wrote, "but what the working class as a whole must do in order to fulfill its historical mission." class mission.They are people who have broken away from the class and stood in opposition to it, and their minds hang in the air.Or rather, they themselves are probably about to hang in the air.

Koklar joined the Nazis to make life easier.But it turns out that it's all more complicated than he imagined.Since then he has lost his smile.He bet on the victory of Nazism.As it turned out, he was betting on a dead horse.From then on, he even lost his self-control.He paced up and down the prison corridors all night in a pair of soft slippers, inadvertently leaving traces of his melancholy thoughts on the dusty lampshade: "It's all over." He wrote poetic sentences and wanted to commit suicide. During the day, he drove the prisoners and even the guards, and howled at the top of his voice to make himself less afraid.

Lesliere Tall and lanky, with a deep bass voice, he's one of the few people here who can laugh out loud.He worked as a textile worker in the city of Yabloniec. He used to come to the cell to argue with us.A debate lasts for several hours. "You want to ask me how I got into it? I haven't had a regular job for ten years. I can only make twenty crowns a week to support the whole family—you know what kind of life it is? Then they came, and they said to me: We give you a job, come with us. I came,—they gave me this job. I have a job with others. There is food, there is shelter, I can live. Is socialism? Well, come on, that's not the case. Of course, I didn't imagine it like this at all. But it's better now than it used to be.

"Isn't it true? War? I don't want war. I don't want people to die. I just want me to live. "You say I'm doing them a favor whether I want to or not? So what am I supposed to do now? Have I hurt anyone here? I'm gone and someone else will come and it might be worse Some. Who will I benefit by leaving? As soon as the war is over, I'll go back to the factory..."Who do you think will win this war?not us?That's you?What will happen to us? "Fuck? That would be pathetic. I don't think so." So he left the cell with that careless stride.

Half an hour later, he came back and asked us how things were going in the USSR. "it" One morning we were in one of the main corridors downstairs of the Pankrates Prison, waiting to be escorted to the Peček Palace for trial.Every day we stand like this with our foreheads pressed against the wall, preventing us from seeing what is happening before and after.But this morning an unfamiliar voice came from behind us: "I don't want to see anything, I don't want to hear anything. You don't know me now, but you will know me in the future." I laughed.Under the strict military regulations here, the quote from that poor stupid Lieutenant Dub is really apt.But no one has ever had the courage to say that quip aloud here.A more experienced person next to me nudged me and reminded me not to laugh, saying that I might be mistaken and that it wasn't a wisecrack.It turned out not to be.

Behind my back was a little thing in an SS uniform, apparently "it" had no idea what Schweik was or wasn't.But "it" can say things like Lieutenant Dub, because "it" is in the same vein as him, exactly the same.His last name was Vitan, and he had served as an overserved corporal in the Czech army. "It" was right: later on we really got to know "it" thoroughly, and whenever we talked about him we always used the neutral "it".To be honest, we've racked our brains to come up with such a suitable nickname for this silly, stubborn, mean little thing.He was one of the main backbones of Pangcratz Prison.

"Only as tall as a pig's tail", this folk proverb describes those small and arrogant operators, and it hits the heart of such people.How small must a man's soul be when he is troubled by his small stature, and Witan is troubled by his small stature, and therefore takes revenge on all who are taller in body and mind than he is. "It" doesn't hit people, "it" doesn't have the guts.But "it" informs.How many prisoners have paid the price of their health and even their lives because of "it"'s informants? Why are you sent from Pankrates Prison to a concentration camp? This has nothing to do with how you are introduced in the materials. "It" is ridiculous.Often alone in the hallway swaying in a high-spirited way, as if feeling that he is a dignitary.But as soon as "it" meets a person, it feels the need to climb onto something to make itself taller.If "it" wants to ask you something, "it" will sit on the railing, because it will be a head higher than you, and "it" can sit in this uncomfortable place for an hour.When "it" is watching you shave, "it" will jump up the steps, or climb up and down on a bench, and always repeat those rather mysterious words: "I don't want to see anything." , don’t want to hear anything. You still don’t recognize me..." During half an hour of "breathing" in the morning, "it" always walks on the lawn, so it is ten centimeters higher than the surrounding. "It" strutted into the cell like a king, and immediately climbed onto the chair so that it could condescendingly call the names. "It" is ridiculous, but like every fool, "it" is also very dangerous when it is in a position of life and death.There is also a skill hidden in the limited body of "it": to describe mosquitoes as camels. "It" knows nothing but the duties of a police dog, so "it" regards every insignificant thing that violates the prison rules as something that should be interfered with within the scope of "it"'s important mission , A great event. "It" made up a whole bunch of offenses and crimes against the prison rules to show that it was a big guy so that it could feel at ease.Anyway, in this kind of place, who will verify the authenticity of "it"'s informant? Smackdowns With its stocky body, blunt face, and glassy eyes, the puppet resembled a Gross caricature of a Nazi.He had worked as a milkman in a village near the Lithuanian frontier, and yet, strangely enough, the nobility of this good animal had left no impression on him.In front of his superiors, he is the embodiment of "German morality": resolute, decisive, strict, and unbridled (he is one of the few people who does not extort food from the handyman), but... There is a German scholar, Can't remember which one, but he used to measure the intelligence of animals in terms of the number of "words" they could understand.I remember him as if proving that domestic cats have the worst intelligence. They can only understand a hundred and twenty-eight words.Ah, it's a genius compared to Smackdowns.Because the only words we heard from Smetendz in Pankratz Prison were: "Passblossauf, Mensch" (German: "Be careful") he was on duty two or three times a week, There were two or three times a week when he worked so hard, but he couldn't get it right.Once I saw the warden scolding him for not opening the window, so this little meaty guy immediately became flustered, his two short legs alternated back and forth, his head hung awkwardly on his chest, lower and lower, and the corners of his mouth Writhing convulsively, nervously and laboriously repeating what he heard just now...Suddenly, the pile of flesh screamed like a siren, causing panic in the entire corridor, and no one could figure out why However, all the windows were still closed, and only the two prisoners closest to Smackdowns could be seen bleeding from their noses.He found a place to vent his anger. He always vented his anger in this way.To beat, to beat whoever came across; to beat, to kill if need be--he knew that.That's all he knows.Once he broke into a group cell and beat a prisoner—a sick prisoner until he fell to the ground and convulsed.The rest of the prisoners were also ordered to sit together according to the rhythm of the man's convulsions until the patient was exhausted and could no longer move.And Smackdowns put his hands on his hips, admiring with a smirk, very satisfied that he had handled this complicated situation so successfully. Of all he has learned, this primitive animal remembers only one thing: hitting. But even in this animal, something was disintegrating, and that was about a month ago.He and K. were sitting together in the anteroom of the prison, and K. was explaining the situation to him.He talked for a long time until Smertangz understood a little bit.He got up, opened the door of the reception room, and looked around the corridor cautiously: the silence of the night was everywhere, and the prison was asleep.He closed the door, carefully locked it, and slowly curled up in the chair and said, "So you think so?" He rested his head on his hands.A terrible weight weighed down on the tiny soul of the fat man.He sat curled up like this for a long time, then raised his head and said desperately: "You are right, we will never win again..." Pang Kratz hadn't heard of Smeg Tang for more than a month Zi Yao howled mightily.And the new prisoner will not know how vicious his beating hands are. warden Smaller, smart in both civilian clothes and the uniform of a little S.A. chief, rich, self-satisfied, fond of dogs, hunting, and women—a side that has nothing to do with us. The other side was what Kukratz Prison knew: brutal, savage, uneducated, a typical Nazi fanatic who would sacrifice anyone to save himself.His name was Sopa, and—if names generally mean anything—was born in Poland.It is said that he was a blacksmith by training, yet such a respectable craft left no trace on him.He had worked for Hitler's thugs a long time ago, and got into his position thanks to his successful lobbying.He used all means to strengthen his position, and he was absolutely ruthless and cruel to everyone, prisoners and prison staff, children and old people.There was no camaraderie among fellow Nazis in Pankraatz prison, but no one was as devoid of camaraderie as Sopa.He seems to be able to see it here, and the only person he often talks to is Weissner, the prison medical officer.But it seems that Weissner is not very kind to him. He only knows himself.He has earned himself such a prestigious position. For his own sake, he pledged allegiance to the Nazi regime until his death.He was probably the only one who didn't plan to find a way out.He knows he cannot escape.The downfall of the Nazis was his downfall, the end of his lavish life, the end of his beautiful houses and fine clothes (he didn't even hate wearing the clothes of executed Czechs, by the way). Yes, this is all coming to an end. prison medical officer Medical Officer Weissner is a special puppet in the environment of Pankratz Prison.Sometimes you feel like he doesn't belong in Poncratz, and other times you feel that Poncratz is unthinkable without him.He was not in the infirmary, but in the corridor, staggering back and forth with his slow steps, talking to himself all the time, looking around constantly, always observing something there.He was like a guest who came here only for a moment, trying to get as many impressions as possible from it.But he would, like the most astute guard, slip the key in the lock, and throw the cell door open with a swift and silent blow.He had a dry humor, and he talked about private things, but so vaguely that you couldn't even grasp what he was saying.He approaches people but does not allow anyone to approach him.Although he saw many things, he kept quiet and did not report them to the higher authorities.When he entered a smoky cell, he would inhale deeply through his nose and say, "Well," he would click his lips together. "Smoking in a cell," he clicked his lips a second time, "is strictly forbidden." But he didn't report.He always frowns tightly and has a sad face, as if there is a great hidden pain tormenting him.He served the Nazi system and healed its victims on a daily basis, with which he clearly wanted nothing in common.He did not believe in the system, doubted its permanence, nor had he believed in it before.Therefore he did not move his family from Vraslov to Prague, although few of the imperial officials would have given up the opportunity to eat up the occupied country.But he will not have the slightest connection with those who oppose the system, nor will he have anything to do with them. He was positive and serious about my treatment.He did that to most people, and he also insisted that the arraignment of severely sentenced prisoners should not be allowed.This may be done to appease one's own conscience.But sometimes his help is especially needed, but he doesn't give any help.Maybe it's because of fear. This is typical of a little guy.He lived alone between two fears, the fear of the Nazi regime that now dominated him and the new fear of what was to come.He was looking for a way out, but couldn't find it.He was not a big mouse, but a little mouse caught in a trap. A little mouse with no hope of escape. "Smart Ghost" It's not quite a puppet anymore.But it is not a complete statue, he is a transition between the two.He also lacks the definite consciousness of being a statue. There are actually two of them here.They are ordinary, sentient beings who start out passive, utterly terrified by the situation they've fallen into, and then struggle to break free from the abyss.They are involuntary and therefore seek support and leadership that will lead them on the right path, but this is not so much out of knowledge as out of instinct; they help you because they want help from you.Of course, they should be helped, whether it is now or in the future. Of all the German staff at Pankratz Prison, they were the only two who had ever been to the front. Hanauer is a tailor from the city of Znojmo. He deliberately froze his feet and just returned from the Eastern Front not long ago. "War is not a human thing," he said philosophically, somewhat like Schweik, "I have nothing to do there." Hoffer was a merry shoemaker at the Baja shoe factory, who had gone to war in France.Although promised to promote him, he still deserted from the army. "Ech, scheisse." (German: "Ah, boring.") He said to himself, waving his hands as he does with many trivial things every day. The fates and moods of the two men are somewhat similar, though Hoefel is bolder, more prominent, and more comprehensive. "Smart Ghost", - almost all the cells unanimously gave him the nickname. When he was on duty, it was a quiet day in the cell.Do whatever you want.If he yells and swears loudly, he will wink at you to let you know that it has nothing to do with you, but that he is just swearing to the boss downstairs to show that he is strictly performing his task.But his efforts were in vain.His superiors didn't trust him, and there wasn't a week when he went unpunished. "Ech, scheisse." He waved his hand and went on with his business as usual.He was not so much a caretaker as a light-hearted young shoemaker.You could find him playing cards cheerfully and vigorously with the young prisoners in his cell.Sometimes he drove the prisoner from the cell to the corridor, and "searched" the cell alone.This "search" lasted for a long time.If you were curious enough to look into the cell, you would see him sitting at the table, asleep with his head on his arms.He slept soundly: sleeping here was a good way of evading the officer, for he had convicts standing sentinel in the corridors and notifying him of any danger.If he didn't get enough sleep for the girl he loved when he was resting, he must sleep when he was on duty. Will the Nazis lose or win? "Ech, scheis—se. How long can this circus last?" He didn't consider himself a part of the circus, although he was noticed for it.Not only that, he doesn't even want to belong to it.He wasn't really there either.Do you need to pass a secret note to another cell? "Smart Ghost" will pass it on for you.Do you want to send a message out there? "Smart Ghost" will forward it for you.Do you want to exchange opinions with someone, to strengthen someone's fighting spirit through individual conversations or to rescue some other people? "Smart Ghost" will lead you into this man's cell and stand guard for you.Once it's done, he's as happy as a naughty child who pulls off a prank.You often have to remind him to be careful. He rarely felt the danger of his situation.Nor does he understand the full significance of all the good things he has accomplished.This helps him do more, but it also hinders his progress. He's not a statue yet.But he is making the transition to the statue. "colin" It was a night during martial law.When the guard in the uniform of the SS man put me in the cell, he searched my pockets just to pretend. "How are things with you?" he asked quietly. "I don't know. But they told me they were going to shoot me tomorrow." "That frightens you." "I've expected this move a long time ago." He mechanically searched the folds of my coat for a while. "They might. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe some time later, maybe not at all. But at this point... it's better to be prepared..." Then he was silent for a while. "Perhaps...you want to send someone a letter? Or do you want to write something? Not for the present, you understand? But for the future, like how you got here, is there someone Betrayed you, what's the attitude of so-and-so... so that everything you know doesn't go away with you..."Did I try to write something?He really guessed my strongest desire. After a while he brought me paper and pencils.I hid them carefully so that they would not be discovered during a search. But I never dared to use it. This is so good I can't believe it.It's wonderful: here, in this dark prison, weeks after being arrested, amidst a crowd of uniformed men who yell and beat you all day long, to find a man, A friend who would like to extend his hand to you, so that you will not disappear without a trace, so that you can leave a message to people in the future, so that you can at least have a moment with those who will live through this era, Talk to people who live to be liberated.Especially at a time like this.The names of the people about to be executed were called in the corridor, the fascist beasts who drank human blood and got drunk were howling crazily, but the people whose throats were clenched by terror could not make a sound.Especially at a time like this.In moments like these, no, this is unbelievable, this cannot be true, this must be a trap.In such an environment, what kind of perseverance and courage does it take for a person to take the initiative to reach out to you? It took about a month.Martial law was lifted, the howling was silenced, and the brutal moment became a memory.Another night, another night of my trial, and another guard standing in front of my cell. "You seem to have passed this level." He looked at me inquiringly. "No problem?" I understood the meaning of this question, and it hurt me deeply.But that remark convinced me more of his sincerity than anything else.Only such inherently entitled people dare to pose the question in this way.From then on I believed him.He is our man. At first glance, he is an enigmatic figure.He often paced alone in the corridors, calm, steady, cautious and alert.No one ever heard him swear. No one saw him beat anyone. "Please give me a slap in the face when Smetendz makes his rounds," the comrade in the next cell begged him, "and let him see you on a mission at least once." He shook his head: "no need." You never heard him speak another language, he only spoke Czech.Everything about him shows you that he is different from other people.But it's hard to say why.They feel it themselves, but cannot figure out why. Wherever he is needed, he will appear there; wherever there is panic, he will bring his calmness; wherever someone is downcast, he will go to encourage people; , he went to connect the relationship.He does not indulge in unnecessary trifles, but always works methodically and resolutely. Not only now, but he has been doing this since the beginning.He came to serve the Nazis with a clear purpose. This Czech guard from Moravia is named Adolf Kolinski. He is a Czech from an old Czech family, but pretends to be a German. Then transferred to Pancratz prison to work as a guard.This probably aroused resentment and resentment against him among some of his acquaintances. But four years later, when he was reporting to work, the German prison director shook his fist in front of his eyes—but it was too late—threatening him: "I will destroy that Czech spirit in you." The warden was wrong, that kind of spirit cannot be broken unless this person is eliminated.He was a man who voluntarily took on difficult tasks for the sake of the struggle and in favor of the struggle.Constant danger can only temper him. our people If the breakfast brought to us on the morning of February 11, 1943, was not the usual black water with which no one knew what was mixed in, but a cup of cocoa, we did not know this miracle. feel strange.Because that morning, a man in a Czech police uniform flashed near our cell. Just a flash.The black uniform trousers tucked into the high leather boots took a step forward, raised the hand in the dark blue sleeve, and slammed the door hard, and the figure disappeared.It was a flash, and after a quarter of an hour we were not ready to believe it. There are Czech police in the Panklasian prison.What meaningful conclusions can we draw from this incident? Two hours later we came to a conclusion. The door of the cell was pushed open again, and the cap of the Czech policeman stuck in. Seeing our surprised expressions, he grinned happily. "Freistunde." (German: "Relax.") It is now impossible for us to get it wrong again.Among the grey-green SS uniforms of the guards in the corridor, several black spots stood out to us: the Czech police. What does this mean for us.How will they behave?Whatever they were, they were already here, and the fact that they were here speaks volumes.If the reactionary fascist regime has to let some people from the nation it oppresses enter the most sensitive and vital sectors, into the institutions that enslave and oppress people as its only support, it shows how short of manpower it is! A few people, it does not hesitate to weaken the bastion of its last hope, so how long can this rule last? Of course, these men were selected, perhaps worse than the German guards, corrupted by the forces of habit and unsure of victory, but the very fact that the Czechs were here was a sure sign that the enemy was doomed. That's what we think. But the actual significance of this event is far greater than we first thought. Because the Nazi ruling system can no longer choose its own people, and there is no one left to choose. On February 11 we saw the Czech police uniform for the first time. We got to know those people the next day. The first person came, he glanced into the cell, hesitated by the door for a moment, and then—like a kid jumping up with all four hooves— —He suddenly mustered up his courage and said: "Well, how are you doing, gentlemen?" We answered him with a smile.He smiled, too, and then looked embarrassed again: "Don't be angry with us. Please believe me when I say: we'd rather walk the streets than stay here and watch you. But what can be done? Maybe... Maybe that's not so bad..." He cheered up when we told him our opinion of the matter and of them.In this way, we became friends as soon as we met.His name was Whittaker, a simple and kind-hearted young man, and it was he who passed by the door of our cell that morning. The second one is called Tuma, an out-and-out old Czech jailer.A little gruff and yelling, but good in nature, like what we used to call "uncle" in the republic prisons.He didn't feel that he was in a special situation. On the contrary, he soon worked as if he were at home.He always speaks with a bit of bitter banter, and he maintains order as much as he disrupts it: quietly stuffing a piece of bread in one cell, passing a cigarette in another cell, and then gossiping in other cells (just avoiding it). talk about politics).He did all this with the utmost naturalness, that was how he understood his job as a watchman, and he made no secret of it.He received his first reprimand for these activities, so he was a little more cautious, but it didn't change much.Still can be regarded as a "uncle jailer".Don't ask him to do something important. But I can breathe comfortably in his presence. A third often paced the cell with a sad, silent, indifferent expression.We carefully tried to connect with him, but he didn't respond. "Don't get your hopes up on this guy," Dad said after watching him for a week. "It's the worst of them all." "Perhaps the cleverest one." I deliberately contradicted myself, because having two opposing opinions arguing over some trivial matter would lighten cell life. Once, two weeks later, it seemed to me that this silent man was winking at me.I also made this gesture to him, which has a thousand meanings in prison.But again nothing happened.Maybe I'm mistaken. After a month, everything figured out.Everything was so unexpected, like a chrysalis suddenly turned into a moth.This gloomy "cocoon" cracked open to reveal a living thing.It's not a moth, it's a person. "You're building a monument," Dad used to say when he saw me write these characters. Yes, I am willing to erect these monuments so that those comrades who have fought loyally and died bravely inside and outside the prison will not be forgotten.I would like to erect such a monument, so that those who are still alive who have helped us with great loyalty and courage under the most difficult conditions may not be forgotten.Let's hope that characters like Kolinski and this Czech policeman can move from the dark corridors of Pankrates Prison to a brighter life.Not to glorify them, but to set an example for others.For the duty of being human does not end with this war, and before men are fully human, it takes a heroic heart to be human. In fact, this is just a short biography, the biography of Jaroslav Hora, a Czech policeman.But you can find the entire history of a person from here. He was born in Radnicko.It was a remote corner of our country.A beautiful, bleak and barren frontier.My father was a glassworker.Life is hard.When there is work, it is fatigue; when there is no work, it is poverty; and unemployment is a constant here.If this kind of life doesn't make you bend your knees, it will make you lift your head up, pursue the ideal world you dream of, believe in it, and strive to realize it.Father chose the latter path.became a Communist. The young Yalda joined the bicycle team in the May Day demonstration and tied a red cloth strip to the spokes of his car.Wherever he went, he never forgot the red cloth strip.As an apprentice, as a turner, and as a worker at the Škoda factory, he unconsciously kept the red cloth in his heart. Then came the economic crisis, unemployment, war, looking for a job, so I became a policeman.我不知道在这期间，他心上的那根红布条怎么样了。也许被卷起来搁在了一边，或许忘掉了一半，但是没有被丢掉。 有一天，他被派到庞克拉茨监狱来服务。他不像科林斯基那样带着预定的任务自愿来到这里，但是当他头一次到牢房里看了一眼时，他就意识到了自己的任务。红布条展开了。 他侦察自己的战场，估计自己的力量。他的脸紧绷着，深沉地思索着从什么地方着手，最好怎样开始工作。他不是一个职业的政治家。他仅仅是人民的一个普通儿子。但是他吸取了父亲的经验。他本质好，意志坚定，这个意志在他心中日益增强他的坚决性。于是他下定决心，从一个阴郁的蛹蜕变成了人。 这是一个内心优美而纯洁的人。他敏锐、谨慎而又勇敢。 敢于去做这里所需要他做的一切。不论事情大小，需要他做什么他就去做什么。他工作起来不露锋芒，稳稳当当，深思熟虑，但是毫不胆怯。他觉得这一切都是自然而然的。他心里有一道绝对的命令：一切都应当这样，——那还用得着说吗。 说实在的，一切就是这样。这就是一个人的全部历史，现在几个人的生命得到了拯救都要归功于他。这些人在狱外活着，工作着，就因为在庞克拉茨监狱里有个人尽到了自己做人的义务。他不认识他所拯救的人，他们也不认识他。就像他们不认识科林斯基一样。我希望人们至少能认识他们俩。这两个人很快就在这里找到了一条新的道路，于是加倍地发挥了他们的才能。 把他们当做榜样记住吧。当做人的榜样记住吧。他们的头脑长得正。当然首先是他们的心长得正。 斯科舍帕大叔 当你偶然看到他们三个人——穿灰绿色党卫队制服的看守科林斯基，穿黑色制服的捷克警察霍拉和穿着颜色鲜明但并不悦目的制服的监狱杂役斯科舍帕大叔——聚在一起的时候，你就好像看到了一幅兄弟友爱的生动画面。但很少看到他们聚在一起。这样做是合适的。 按监狱的规定，走廊上的杂事：扫地、打饭等只能由"特别可靠、严守纪律并和其余的人绝无牵连的犯人"担当。 这仅仅是文字上的规定，仅仅是死的条文。要知道这样的杂役是没有的，从来就没有，尤其在盖世太保的监狱里更是没有。相反，这里的杂役却是从牢房的"监狱集体"伸出去的"触须"，是为了去接近自由的世界，使集体能生存，相互通气，彼此了解。有多少杂役由于执行任务或传递一张字条被抓住而送了性命啊但监狱集体的纪律无情地要求那些来接替牺牲者的人们，继续做这种危险的工作。你去干吧，不管你是勇于承担或是胆怯怕事，反正你是回避不了的。胆怯只能坏事，就像每一件地下工作一样，胆怯会使一切都毁灭。 而这里做地下工作是加倍的危险：你直接被捏在那些一心想消灭地下工作的人们手里，只能在看守们的眼皮底下，在他们所规定的范围内，在他们所指定的时间里，在他们所允许的条件下进行工作。你在外面学会的一套本领在这里不够用，而要求你的却不见得少。 狱外有一批地下工作的能手。在杂役中也有做这种工作的能手。斯科舍帕大叔就是其中的一个。他谦虚、朴实，看上去挺沉静，实际上却像鱼一样灵活。看守们都夸奖他："瞧，这个人多勤快，多可靠，只想着自己的职责，什么犯禁的事都不沾边。杂役们都应以他为学习榜样。" 是的，杂役们都应以他为学习榜样。他确是犯人心目中的那种杂役的典范。他是我们监狱集体里最坚定、最机敏的"触须"。 他了解所有牢房的居住者，每来一个新犯人，他都能立刻弄清楚需要知道的一切：他为什么被捕，谁是他的同案人，他的态度怎么样，他们的态度又怎么样。他研究许多"案件"，并极力弄清楚这些案件。这样做很重要，只有这样他才能去劝告别人，才能正确地执行任务。 他也了解敌人。他谨慎地考察每一个看守，研究他的习惯，研究他坚强的一面和软弱的一面，要特别提防他什么，怎样利用他，怎样麻痹他，怎样愚弄他。我在这里所描写的许多人的特性，都是斯科舍帕大叔告诉我的。他熟悉所有的看守，还能详尽地描述他们每一个人。假如他想在走廊上自由活动并确保工作顺利进行，这点是很重要的。 首先他明白自己的责任。他是这样的一个共产党员：他知道，他在任何地方都不能放弃党员的责任而袖手旁观或"停止活动"。我甚至可以这样说，正是在这里，在极端危险、极其残酷地受迫害的环境里，他才找到了自己真正的岗位。他在这里得到了锻炼和成长。 他灵活机智。每天每小时都会发生新的情况，都要求采取新的方法来解决。他能敏捷地找到新的方法。他所能支配的只有那么几秒钟的工夫。他轻轻地敲牢房的门，倾听预先准备好的委托，趁新来换班的人还没有踏上二楼楼梯之前，他已简明地将这个口信传递到走廊那头的牢房去了。他谨慎而机智。几百张字条经过他的手而没有一次被抓住，——甚至没引起任何怀疑。 他知道哪儿有痛苦，哪儿需要鼓舞，哪儿需要得到外面准确的情报，哪儿需要他那真正慈父般的目光，它能给滋长失望情绪的人以力量；他知道哪儿需要多添一个小面包或一勺汤，就能帮助新来的犯人挨过那不习惯"狱中饥饿"的难关。这一切他都知道，都是凭他那细致的感觉和实际的体验得来的，而他也就根据这一切去行动。 一个顽强无畏的战士。一个纯粹的人。这就是斯科舍帕大叔。 我希望，将来你们读到这个报告的时候，从他身上看到的不只是一个人，而是一个杂役的优秀典范，他善于把压迫者要他干的事，变成为被压迫者服务。斯科舍帕大叔只是这类人中间的一个，还有其他很多外貌各不相同而执行着同样重大任务的人们。在庞克拉茨监狱和佩切克宫都有这种人。我愿意一一描绘出他们的形象，然而遗憾得很，我剩下的时间不多了，甚至连"快快地歌唱出生活中形成得缓慢的事儿"，也来不及了。 但这里至少总算有了一些名字，一些榜样，虽然还不是所有不该被忘却的人的名字：米洛什·涅德维特医生。一个英竣高尚的青年，他每天都帮助被监禁的同志们，最后自己在奥斯维辛牺牲了。 阿诺什塔·洛伦泽因为拒绝出卖同志，他的妻子被处死。 一年后，他为了拯救自己的同志们，拯救"四○○号"的杂役们和整个监狱集体，也被处死了。 聪明的、永远闪耀着机智的瓦舍克；在戒严时期被处决的沉静而富于自我牺牲精神的安卡·维科娃；精力充沛的……永远快乐、敏捷而不断创新的"图书馆员"斯普林盖尔；腼腆的青年比列克……仅仅是一些榜样，一些榜样。一些大大小小的雕像。但他们永远是雕像，而绝不是木偶。