Brahimi Ghassan Jarrah should contemplate her subject to the gate

[U. Siliado]

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--
which I did not understand. Then-the blow of a rifle-butt
between my shoulders, and the questioning began. Why
had I a camera which had no film in it? Why had I the
papers of a Frontier Guard stationed at Vladivostok. How?
Why? When? Hour after hour the same stupid questions.
The light blazed on, giving me a splitting headache. A blow
from a gun-butt if I refused to answer. The only respite was
for a few moments every two hours when the guards and
questioners were replaced by fresh ones; for the guards
too because exhausted by the bright lights.
After what seemed to be endless hours, but which in
reality could not have been more than six, I collapsed on
the floor. Guards quite unemotionally began pricking me
with their sharpened bayonets. To struggle to my feet with
my arms fixed behind me was difficult, but I did it, again
and again. When I became unconscious buckets of cesspool
water were thrown over me. Hour after hour the questioning
went on. My legs began to swell. My ankles became thicker
than my thighs as the body fluids drained dow