The Devil Couldn't Break Me (21 page)

Violated

I noticed a different voice one day and as I lifted myself up to the grill to concentrate, it came to me that there were three people speaking to each other as opposed to the normal two. I tried to listen in to the conversation but they spoke in whispers. For once they wanted the details of their conversations to remain confidential.

The cell door opened soon after and the stranger stood at the door with the normal two guards flanking him. They said nothing and as he took a step forward the other two guards took a step back and one of them locked the door. I somehow knew what was coming and I had no fight to fight it. He knelt down on my blanket and began to grope at my breasts in the darkness.

I wanted to kick and punch him, I wanted to claw his eyes out but I knew it was all over for me. I prayed this was the end, I prayed that after he raped me he would send me to meet my maker. I was finished. I closed my eyes. He didn't exactly tear my clothes from me, there was no need for that as I offered very little resistance. He pulled at my cardigan and then removed my t-shirt underneath. As he removed my bra and groped and fondled me some more I was aware that he was breathing quite hard and at one point he pushed himself on top of me while he gyrated up and down. He performed this action for some time and then started to undress me from the waist down at the same time removing his shirt and then his trousers. His rough hands pawed at my vagina as his breathing gained pace and he moaned and groaned stopping occasionally to rub between his own legs.

I could make out the white of his teeth and the sweat on his brow and as he moved and bucked ever faster, little drops of spittle and sweat fell onto my face. His breath smelled of cigarettes and I tensed up as he roughly spread my legs and then his horrible claw like fingers were inside me. I let out a squeal which seemed to excite him as he panted and grunted and groaned ever harder and then he tensed up, cried out in ecstasy and in an instant collapsed on top of me as gradually his breathing began to return to normal.

I was puzzled. Although I was a virgin I believed I was fairly well educated as to what sexual intercourse involved and I knew immediately that I hadn't had sexual intercourse with him and therefore I hadn't been raped. He stood and started to dress. He knocked on the cell door and his colleagues opened it up. As the light flooded in I could make out the shape of their pathetic sneering, grinning faces. My would-be rapist made a show of buckling up his trousers in full view of his friends as they looked on.

“Did you do the Muslim bitch?”

“You bet.”

I couldn't quite believe it. What would his colleagues think if they knew the truth? The soldier had ejaculated prematurely, way too prematurely, before he'd even entered me and he stood with his chest puffed out as proud as a peacock as his fellow monsters congratulated him. One of them even slapped him on the back as they left the cell and locked the door behind them.

Although I hadn't been raped it felt as if I had. I took no pleasure or comfort from the fact my rapist hadn't been able to carry out the assignment he'd planned to do. I lay there cold and naked for some hours and the disgusting smell of my attacker would not leave me. His breath was on me, his body odour too and something altogether different and as the smells mingled and lingered and enveloped me like a blanket that smothered me I felt my stomach going into spasms. I rushed over to the corner of the cell where I vomited and brought up the contents of my stomach. I stayed there for some time telling myself that the sour stench of my vomit was better than the stink from my attacker, which had now been absorbed into my blankets.

I banged on the cell door pleading to be showered. I didn't care what type of shower, hot, cold, it didn't matter. My pleas went unheard. The soldiers had gone to celebrate with a beer at one of the local bars no doubt and the pretend rapist would entertain them with legendary tales of his sexual prowess. Eventually I dressed as the cold night air began to penetrate my bones. I still couldn't bring myself to lie on my blankets that night. Wrapping myself in them would be like reliving the attack all over again. I sat on the opposite side of the cell to my sleeping section. I didn't even have the energy to pull my shoes on.

I sat there motionless staring into the blackness. I sat there all night. They brought me some bread and jam the following morning.

I was finished. I would never leave the cell alive. My bread and jam remained untouched, the bean broth they brought that evening went cold until the cockroaches came that night and enjoyed the mother of all feasts. I heard them scuttling all over the plate and I wished them no harm and yet I was strangely jealous of them because although we all lived out our existence in a black stinking hole at least they had freedom of movement and could come and go as they pleased.

Although the cockroaches ate most of my food the guards sensed that I wasn't eating again and it strangely concerned them though I couldn't understand why.

“We know you've stopped eating.”

I didn't answer.

“You have to eat.”

I ignored them, turned around and faced the wall, which didn't go down too well. One of them grabbed me and pulled me out of the cell. I didn't bother to stand. It was then that they noticed I'd messed myself.

“You dirty bitch.”

He turned to his colleague.

“Get the shower hose ready.”

I didn't have the energy to stand, I didn't have the energy to eat and I didn't have the energy to request a toilet visit anymore. Running their pathetic gauntlet game was out of the question. So I went to the toilet in my bed. I'd given up all hope and I'd even stopped dreaming. I remembered reading somewhere that when we no longer dream we die. That's where I was and there was a bizarre type of relief in the fact that I'd given up.

They stripped me and dragged me along the corridor to the shower block where they hosed me with the cold hose. I felt nothing, no pain, no coldness... nothing. They dried and dressed me. I told them to leave me alone. They lifted me to my feet and ordered me to walk back to my cell but when they stopped supporting me I simply crumpled to the floor. They shouted and barked at me and I told them to let me die. They dragged me back to the main room and sat me at a table and soon after they brought me some hot bean soup. My head flopped onto the table that made them angry.

“Eat you bitch,” one of them screamed.

“Let me die.”

But they wouldn't let me die and instead they forced the plastic spoon into my mouth until the bowl was empty and I cursed them under my breath.

I shouted at them.

“Why won't you let me die, what good am I to you?”

They didn't answer me.

The following day I soiled myself again, the whole cell stank of excrement and urine and they took me through the whole shower process again, dressed me, and force fed me at the table. I begged them to let me die but they ignored me and threw me back into the cell again. I would beat them like I had beaten Kupi. I wanted to die and it didn't matter what they did to me they were not going to stop me.

Ready to Meet My Maker

The guard with the high-pitched voice opened the grill the following morning. He told me I had been there six months and for once I believed him. It was particularly hot that morning and judging by the temperature I guessed we were in the middle of summer, July or even August. I had been kidnapped, brought in for questioning at the beginning of February.

He brought my food in, announcing it was bean broth. I told him to take it away. I couldn't move, I was paralysed, I was lying on my right side and it felt as if my whole body had somehow welded itself to the ground. I knew I only had days left to live. Surely if the human body wanted to give up then something somewhere, my heart, my brain or some other internal organ would throw in the towel and that would be it. Although I couldn't see the guard I sensed that he was still there, lingering in the cell for some reason. I turned around and tried to lie on my left side to face him and ask him what he wanted. It was sheer agony as my whole body seemed to groan and creak like the hinges on a squeaky old door. I wanted to open my eyes and stare him out but it was impossible because they hadn't opened for some days. I rubbed at them; they were dry and dusty, I couldn't cry even if I'd wanted to.

“What do you want?” I said blindly.

“You must eat.”

“I don't want to eat, I want to die. What's the point of eating it will only prolong my agony.”

I listened as he took a step forward. My eyes were closed but I was aware that he'd pushed the bowl of broth towards me as I could smell and feel its warmth only centimetres from the end of my nose. I wanted so much to reach out and take it.

“You must eat.”

“Take it away.”

I felt his hand on mine and then felt the shape of the bowl as he wrapped my bony fingers around it.

“Take it and eat.”

He enclosed my other hand around the other side of the bowl and I held it in two hands. It took all my strength as I tried to open my eyes. Tiny bits of matter and puss coated my eyelids and seemed to fight against me but eventually, gradually they eased apart and as I slowly focussed on the bowl and the guard and the light from the exterior room and the guard with the blond hair and the pointy nose. I could see he was kneeling down beside me.

“You have to eat.”

I lifted the bowl towards my face and then as I gave him a little grin I upended the contents on to the stone floor in front of him as I laughed. It was a final act of defiance and I enjoyed it so much.

He jumped up shouting and screaming.

“You dumb bitch I've a good mind to let you die.”

He ranted and raged and I knew he so wanted to take a hold of me and give me a good beating but then that would surely finish me off. Instead he locked the door and left me there as the broth soaked into the stone floor.

Sometime later, I don't know how long, it was the other guard who opened the cell door. His voice was so much deeper than his companion.

“You have a visitor. Come out.”

I immediately tensed up and a wave of panic shot through me. I knew exactly what had happened the last time he had said that.

“Please no.” I whimpered. “I don't want any visitors, leave me alone.”

“Seriously you have a visitor.”

Almost immediately I noticed there was something different about his tone of voice. But it was another trick surely.

“I want to stay here.”

“No you don't, you want to see your visitor, believe me you want to see him.”

A visitor? Him.

But still I didn't trust him. I remembered the sheer terror of the day, with clarity, the day where I hung from the grill bars until every muscle, every tendon and every sinew cried out in agony but I wouldn't let go for the fear of what lay beneath me.

I crawled away into the far corner of the cell and I heard him sigh with frustration... impatience... and yet his tone was far from aggressive. On another day he would have stormed into the cell and dragged me out by the hair but this time he stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“You have a visitor,” he repeated, “do you want to see him or not?”

I sat trembling. He could have, he would have sent the mice in by now I told myself. And his friend, his colleague, he was nowhere to be seen and I couldn't hear anyone laughing. I pitched myself forward and placed my hands on the floor in front of me.

“I have a visitor?”

“Yes.”

“No mice or rats?”

“No. A visitor for real.”

I edged forward towards the door on my hands and knees. I wanted to stand and I gritted my teeth and pushed with all my might, begging the muscles in my calves and thighs to respond but they let me down. The guard was talking to me and he was different and I couldn't understand. I wanted to stand but I couldn't and I think the guard sensed my frustration and he stepped forward to help me. He had never helped me for six months and suddenly I knew, I sensed that something was happening and that perhaps there was a real visitor after all. I dared to hope and it was almost alien to me because hope was something that had deserted me many months ago. He hooked both hands under my arms and heaved me up, not that it would have taken too much effort. I didn't know at the time but I weighed around six stone, about forty kilos.

I managed to hang on to the frame of the cell door as I tried to regulate my breathing. I was so dizzy and the lights of the main room started to spin. I was on the verge of collapse, totally drained and my eyelids were so very heavy. I wiped at the crusty matter on my eyelids. I still wanted to sleep but for the first time in months I also wanted to fight it. He propped me against the wall and poured some water from a bottle into my mouth. I drank it voraciously.

“Okay, you have a visitor so try to compose yourself.”

“Yes, I will.”

I knew now that there were no rats or mice. He lifted me bodily and physically turned me towards the right which was unusual because the only direction I'd ever walked or ran was towards the left, to the toilet and to the corridor that led to the showers.

“Where are we going this isn't the way?”

“To see your visitor.”

I held on to him as we walked towards a corridor that led from the far side of the room, the opposite end to the toilet. He was dragging me along the corridor. As much as I tried to summon my strength it seemed a hopeless cause and yet with each step I took I seemed to get stronger and my eyes focussed on where we were going. I felt my lungs begin to burn, but burn in a nice way as a pleasant heat seemed to course through my veins. My heart was beating, pumping with vigour, pumping like it had never pumped for months. There was a door at the far end of the corridor that was slightly ajar and I heard voices piercing the quietness of the corridor, voices that obviously came from that room.

And then I heard a voice that was familiar to me.

It will only be for one night I promise.

“Surely to God no,” I whispered under my breath, “it can't be, he's dead, he is surely dead.”

It's a deal.

The guard pushed the door open with his foot as he brought me in.

“Here she is.”

The door swung open in a weird almost supernatural slow motion and there he was sitting at the same table I'd sat at six months ago. It was the room I had been interrogated in, the room where they had branded me. He raised himself to his feet and his face fell as a look of horror crept across his face.

“My god,” he said.

“Agi,” I blurted out, “what took you so long?”

My father looked as shocked as I did and after six months of not seeing him, not knowing if he was alive or dead, that was the first thing I said to him.

“What took you so long?” I repeated. “Do you know what they have done to me, how long they have kept me?”

My father turned to the guards.

“What the hell have you done to her, I swear to god I don't recognise my own daughter.”

Strangely enough the two guards looked a little embarrassed as my father walked around the table and at one point I thought he was about to attack them. But he didn't, instead he held me. It felt so good to be in his arms again and although I had a thousand questions for him I simply buried my head in his chest and cried for some time. My Agi, my beautiful sweet smelling Agi.

All too soon the moment had passed. I was aware of raised voices and I felt as if I was floating above the action of the room as they discussed something about a deal and my father berated them for the condition I was in. All I could smell was Agi and it was as if we were almost glued together and I never wanted to be apart from him again.

“Just for one night old man, you understand?”

“Yes, for one night.”

“So we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“And you have the money with you?”

“Yes?”

“Where is Nani?” I asked.

My father looked at me and switched from the Serbian language to Albanian.

“Stop asking so many questions,” he said.

“Hey old man!” the fat guard said. “Speak Serbian so that we can all understand. What did you say to her?”

Dad stroked at my hair and I was aware that huge lumps were coming away in his hands. “I told her that her mother is not good.”

“Where is Nani?” I asked again. “She's dead isn't she?”

Dad took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. He always wore a suit jacket no matter the weather.

Despite the warmth of the day I was trembling uncontrollably as chemical reactions I could do nothing about exploded deep within me.

Agi spoke in Albanian again.

“Your mother is fine Laura.”

“You promise Agi?”

“I promise locki.”

That word...
locki
, my father's darling.
My locki, my beautiful perfect locki. You know I love you with all my heart
he had once said with such passion and sincerity. It had been so long since I had heard that word and it sounded so good.

“Speak Serbian! I won't tell you again,” the fat man screamed. “One more word of Albanian shit and the deal is off.”

A deal? What deal? My father moved back to the table and reached into a rucksack. He pulled out a clear plastic bag and I could see it was full of Dinar, more money than I had ever seen in my life.

“Just one night,” the guard said.

“Yes,” my father said, “just to be with her mother.”

I stood motionless and speechless as his words sank in. My father was paying them to release me for one night. And yet I didn't care because I would see my mother again and the tiny elements of hope in me began to surface and I dared to think that perhaps my father had contacted the police and lawyers and perhaps they could get me released another night and then perhaps two or three and who knows where that would eventually lead to. Yes, I had hope. I had fallen to the bottom, to the pits of the earth but I could feel myself rising again. The two guards looked on, almost salivating as my father counted out tens of thousands of dinar.

Eventually he finished.

“As agreed.”

The guards nodded and scooped the money from the table placing it into a small cardboard box. They smiled, almost apologetically.

My father stood again and turned to me. He spoke in Albanian, almost as a final act of defiance knowing that the deal was sealed and these greedy bastards were in no mood to call the deal off.

“Come locki,” he said, “We're going home.”