Bensalem Himmich - My Torturess

My assumptions were confirmed by an aged prisoner whom I spotted sitting cross-legged at the back of a cell. I looked down at him and offered my greetings, then asked him what had happened. He did not move, but merely gave me a tired look. He then muttered some phrases in a quaking voice, from which I gathered that a prisoner in one of the neighboring cells had set his cell and himself on fire. The fire had spread to all the neighboring cells, with the exception of the one on the end and another one opposite it. I asked him when precisely this had happened, and it emerged that it had been on the night I had spent in debauchery with the ghoul. When I asked about casualties, he told me all the prisoners had either died of asphyxiation or suffered terrible burns. I asked him about his own situation, and he responded that what the fire had not taken away from him was now being done by hunger and thirst.

“Ever since it happened, my son,” he told me, “they’ve forgotten all about me, or maybe they think I’m among the dead.”

I hurried back to my cell and brought back half of my provisions. Since he could not stand up, I threw them down for him. He took them and thanked me profusely. I asked him to wait till I returned, and then went to look for a doctor or nurse. I walked through corridors, halls and lobbies in the direction of the hospital, with people staring at me in amazement because I was clad in my blanket, as though I was from the land of the Eskimos or else afflicted with some kind of heat deficiency.

In one courtyard that I had to cross, some prisoners decided to provoke me. They made fun of my clothing and the fact that I was so flustered. Some of them stretched out their hands to remove the blanket and expose me naked. I took refuge with a guard.

“Sir,” I asked him, “would you escort me to the hospital, please?”

He asked me for my number.

When I told him, he rubbed his neck.

“112, you say! How did you escape from the fire?”

“A miracle, Sir, a genuine miracle!”

“So you’ve lost all your belongings? Why do you need the doctor?”

“There’s still a prisoner in the block. He’s still just alive but is close to death.”

“Go back to your cell at once. I’ll look into the problem. Now go!”

I could not disobey the command of a man whose black uniform and medals made clear that he was an officer of some kind. I retraced my tracks, avoiding the glances of the other prisoners. When I reached my cellblock, I looked in on the old man and found him stretched out fast asleep. Rather than disturbing him by waking him up, I went back to my own cell and hid my bag of new clothes under the bedcover. Then I too collapsed on the bed, waiting to see what would happen next.

One cool and cloudy morning, I woke up to the banging of hammers and pickaxes. The intensity of the activity and the orders being issued by the guard made it clear that the cells were being repaired and rebuilt using prisoners with professional skills. Putting on my new outfit, I walked over to the door of my cell and happened to spot the officer guard whom I had met the day before. After greeting him, I asked first about the sick old man whose sorry state I had brought to his attention. He issued two orders, but managed to tell me that the old man had been buried. While I was feeling personally sorry for the old man’s demise, he continued to chew his gum. He asked me which trade I myself knew best. I raised my eyebrows hesitantly, but, before he left, he instructed me to get ready to help the plasterers. The next day I spent close to an hour helping prepare buckets of gypsum, but the professional workers soon excused me, not only because I had no training but also because of my general weakness and crippled condition. Their boss advised me to go back to my cell and abide myself in patience till the work was finished and things in the block returned to normal.

For someone like me who was now inured to hardship, this kind of advice from the boss was not hard to follow. By now I was more than able to cope with whatever harsh blows were aimed at me! I got used to the noise the workers were making all day long, and at night I came to appreciate having my door blocked. I had the strong impression that I was now totally forgotten in this cellblock, perhaps the last one; there were no meals or water. If it was not for the food and drink that the kindly black guard brought me to keep me alive, I would have been starving and suffered severe stomach problems. I read verses from the Qur’an in the dim light and, when darkness fell, recited such proverbs and poetry as I could remember. Those things provided me with another kind of more spiritual sustenance which helped me overcome my loneliness and disillusion — all in an attempt to connect to loftier values and ideals.

The repairs went on for several days, during which the gigantic black guard came to visit me at night and bring a bag of food and some water. Once the work was finished, there was activity in the block that indicated that some new prisoners would be arriving and entering the cells. The process was accompanied by drums and clarinet. A megaphone announced that from now on the block would be known as the Penitents’ Wing. To mark the occasion, the new occupants received bags of food and bottles of milk and water. Although I had been in the block for a long time, I was included in this largesse which obviously was not in any way inspired by any kind of God-given principle.

Once the ceremony was over and the guards had left, a voice near my cell was raised in objection.

“No, people,” it said. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’ve not murdered anyone, nor am I a thief. I’ve never harmed anyone. I’ve spent six years with political prisoners, and they’ve imposed all the very worst kinds of punishment on me. At night they intentionally deprive us of sleep, using what they term ‘nonstop Qur’an recitation.’ Even so, they’re hoist with their own petard since the verses have given us welcome relief and transported us to realms of peace and paradise! I’m a salafi* counselor; I want to go back to my companions. I have no regrets over my choice and my commitment to the cause. I seek no forgiveness from anyone. God alone is the Merciful Forgiver.”

“Oh no, Shaykh!” yelled another voice from the other end of the block, although it was still audible. “Pedophilia, raping innocent boys, is a foul crime forbidden by the laws of heaven and earth. Punishment for such a crime occurs in this life even before the next. Isn’t that so, people?! Listen, you faker, your previous pedophilia has caught up with you here and now. It’s a blot on your character and a disgusting crime that completely nullifies your debauched and phony claims to be a popular Muslim figure.”

The fundamentalist paused for a while, maybe to catch his breath after such a deadly assault on his character.

“That man with the foul tongue,” he yelled at the top of his voice,” the one you’ve all just heard, is a secret policeman who’s tracked me wherever I’ve gone. He’s been picking up snippets of information about me and other people in order to pass it all on to his bosses and employers. I have material proof of what I’m saying, and I’m asking those of you who can hear me to pass it on. You in cell 112, did you hear what the other person said about me, even though he’s in a cell far down the block?”

I replied loudly that I had indeed heard, and my response was passed along to the prisoners, one after the other.

“If the spy’s voice can be heard from one end of the block to the other,” the accused man continued, “then it must be because he’s using a secret electronic microphone, one supplied from the arsenal of miniature devices that are used by informers among us to carry out their devious functions. If anyone can get close enough to him to carry out a search, he’ll be able to confirm what I’m saying and prove that the man is a slimy and corrupt character; one of those people who make a living by trashing the reputation of devout people and practicing all kinds of scandal-mongering — may God fight them and thwart their intentions till the Day of Judgment!”