A Day in the Life of the Former Prisoner of War and His Interrogator

Felix continuously had the same nightmare. He was back in the interrogation room, his hands tied behind his back in heavy fetters, his feet chained to an iron chair, and his thin cloth robe drenched. In the damp prison, he was barefoot on the stone floor, shivering with cold. The wounds on his knees were sutured to stop the bleeding, but the pain penetrated into the bone. The marks on his thighs and back were so red and swollen that he had to stretch his shoulders and stand on tiptoe to minimize contact with the chair. Someone was talking outside the door. He vaguely heard a string of numbers, which were the numbers he was given when he was thrown into the dungeon. Those people also said ‘...