A social activist is captured by the repressive regime but will they be able to break her?
She burned with passion and life. Yasmin was from a race known for its passion but, with Yasmin there was an extra flame. Even when she was still, she somehow gave off a feeling of energy as if, at any moment, she could make one of those great jumps which a cat can make from a standing start. She put up posters and she held placards and, when the teargas and water cannon came out, her friends had to drag her from the square.
“Yas we have to go now!”
Of course, the regime was bound to have her on their radar – they had everyone. It happened so fast; a military van pulled up beside her and two uniformed men grabbed her arms and threw her into the back. They all knew that this could happen; they lived with that, and now the monster had come for her.
At the Central Police Station, they dragged her into a small room and one of them did the search while his comrade stood by with his sub machine gun. These guys were idiots; what is the point of an automatic weapon in such a confined space? He would never dare pulling the trigger or he would kill his friend so the gun was not a realistic weapon – it was just an extension of his tiny penis.
She had to put her arms on the wall and he patted her from head to toe before getting into the part which he most loved. There was no pretense of a real search of her breast area, it was just a very extended and painful grope. And then he slid his hands up her knee length skirt and rubbed hard between her legs and up over her pubis. One finger slid inside her underwear and jabbed at her softness. And she made no reaction at all, not a flinch.
Then, in seconds, she was alone in a tiny, windowless cell with just a bucket and a low metal bed. She sat on the bed and steeled herself for what was to come.
The Major had never failed to break a suspect and he was proud of that record. He had her brought to his small, smoke-filled office with the two armed guards standing either side of the door just a few feet behind her. He began by setting out her hopeless position. He made plain that no-one was coming to save her and now all she could do was to make it easy on herself. She responded with total, poker faced silence.
He opened the file on his desk and laid out the 8x10 photographs of her meeting various people. Also pictures of her travelling to and from work and then of her alone in her flat. The bastards had been in and planted hidden cameras. They had her changing for bed, even showering. She imagined them slathering as they hunched around the screen watching her dress come off and then her underwear. Had they creamed themselves at the sight of her hands going “down there” to soap herself clean?
Still not a flinch, not a word.
The Major had to get a reaction. He came round to her side of the desk and the blow came with no warning at all. It landed across her right cheek and she would have hit the ground but she stumbled backwards into the two guards. The ring which he wore had cut her cheek and blood was trickling down her face.
He gave her his little speech about this being only the start and then she was back in her cell.
She must have been alone on that hard, little bed for hours when the guards came back. Different ones this time. Reeking of sweat.
She was dragged along the corridor to a small room with The Major sitting on the one chair.
He said that he had no wish to harm her and, if she just gave him a few names, he could send her back to her cell and he would make sure she got a fair trial or she may even have no charges to answer. Inside she was laughing at the myth of a “fair trial” but not a muscle on her face moved.
“Get undressed.”
Not a flinch, not a movement, not a word.
This was getting to The Major but he dare not let it show.
“Help the lady to undress.”
The two uniformed thugs tore her clothing from her. Buttons came off, fabric was ripped. And then she was standing arms by her sides at a loose sort of attention, face expressionless. Most women instinctively feel very vulnerable and uncomfortable to be exposed naked before any man other than a lover. And Yasmin was a normal woman but she would not give this animal the satisfaction of seeing what she was feeling.
What people don’t understand about interrogation is that it is a spiritual process. All the physical abuse is only a means to an end. If you want someone to betray their most basic beliefs and their closest friends you must break their spirit.
He was almost pleading with her now. He told her that she was standing on the edge of a cliff and she didn’t have to jump. If she could just be reasonable now the whole process would stop but, once she jumped, he could not answer for what happened to her.
No reaction at all. Was she drugged or something?
He gestured to the guards and she was forced down onto a table with leather cuffs at waist, ankles and wrists. The Major attached the electrodes to her nipples, stomach and labia and he switched on the little black box.
Not a trace of fear in her eyes.
He asked her for the name of the man she met in the taverna. Nothing.
He pressed a button and her body jolted as she instinctively tried to escape her bindings.
The question again with no response.
Each time the current and its duration increased. At random between the electrodes. The shock spread throughout her whole body and she bucked and screamed but she channeled her pain into anger. Each time she was hurt she let forth a stream of obscenities.
He gave her a few moments to rest.
“This is pointless. We will get them anyway even without your help.”
“Go fuck yours…..aaaagh”
There are written guidelines on how long you can safely apply shock treatment and it went on far beyond that but all he could get out of her was abuse and advice on where he could put his wooden chair.
She spent many hours in her cell without food or water. She wondered what it would feel like to die of thirst but she knew that a body can only last for a few days so time was running out for The Major. Despite becoming thirsty, she still had to pee in the bucket; well, that fluid can be recycled.
The Major spent the time thinking about how to break a woman’s spirit. He decided that you have to get right to their centre and their basic humanity.
He came into her cell and left the guards to slam the door shut behind him. He looked down at her nude body curled up on the bed in the half-light as he slowly removed his boots, trousers and underwear.
“Yasmin, when you break, you will not be able to stop talking. This is your final chance.”
Not a movement. Not a sound.
He forced her onto her back and pulled her legs wide open so that he could come down with all his weight. It was rape with no pretence otherwise. As he rammed into her, his hands were beating her about the head. She felt blood trickling into her left eye caused by a cut on her forehead.
When he lifted off from her, he pulled her into a sitting position just by using her hair. His face was inches from hers and he yelled at full volume that she was being a stupid, obstinate cow and she was not achieving anything. He yelled questions at her. Yasmin was a remarkable woman but she was human and she could not keep her tears from flowing and the way she was leaning forward betrayed her body’s instinctive efforts to mitigate the pain in her belly.
He forced her down on her face and dragged her waist upwards so that he could rape her again from behind. The mattress was so thin that it gave her no cushioning so her head rang as it was forced repeatedly down and it struck the bed much as it would strike a solid object. He had torn her flesh and she was bleeding from where her pussy had been ripped at the edge. His cock was streaked with her blood. They were both gasping for air but only one of them was able to dress and leave the cell.
The electrical torture was repeated at least twice more but the next time she found her weak frame strapped down to the table, there were no electrodes. There was a man in a white coat standing beside The Major.
“I must warn you again Major, the subject is very weak. The drug which we are using could….”
“Just do it man.”
She felt the prick in her arm but she was so out of it already that she could not tell how much of the sleepiness which she felt was due to the drug and how much was due to simple exhaustion.
He was asking her questions but she seemed to be underwater and his voice was distorted and distant.
Sodium Pentothol based drugs break down the conscious barrier between speech and thought so the victim just pours out whatever she is thinking.
“Where did your group meet?”
“Caverns of hell. Major is a prick…tulips..seabirds..unicorns.
“Who leads the group?”
“I can dance you know. Horses on the sand…green ribbons and roast chicken.”
It went on with her pouring out unintelligible nonsense and the doctor refused point blank to administer another injection for at least a week. But they did not have a week; the group would already have gone to ground but, if they could break the woman, they could discover the safe houses. It was time for simple, unsophisticated brutality.
Yasmin had been taken back to her cell, still naked, but now two guards came in and grabbed an arm each; they dragged her along the corridor with her feet dragging on the ground and, once in the room with the hanging winch, they looped a rope several times around her throat. Yasmin’s heart sang at the thought that it was now all over and she had beaten them but her rejoicing was premature. Her hands were handcuffed behind her and the winch was raised but her feet were left just in contact with the floor.
More questions were shouted at her and the beatings began. They used heavy canes and leather straps with both men lashing her at the same time. The same questions came again and again.
“Who was in charge of the group?”
“Where would they have gone to ground?”
“Where did they meet?”
“How many were they?”
And each time she refused to answer the blows would come. They targeted every part of her flesh; back, buttocks, belly, legs, arms and groin. The leather strap would be lashed up between her legs to strike where she had the most sensitive nerve endings and with each blow her legs lost contact with the floor and she began to choke. But then the survival instinct would kick in and her feet would flail around seeking the floor to ease the pressure on her throat. After a very short time, her torturers became overwhelmed by their own animal instincts and they probably could not bear the thought of their games ending. They had forgotten their original aim and did not realize that they had made it impossible for their victim to reveal any information. Her throat was too raw to utter any intelligible sound and she had no space between her screams to tell them anything. Also, they were screaming their questions with no break in which she could have answered.
The Major had her taken back to her cell and he sat in his office with the door closed and his head in his hands. After a long time, he picked up the telephone.
“The prisoner, Yasmin. Give her back her clothes and turn her loose.”
“But, Major, she hasn’t given us anything yet and…”
“She doesn’t know anything. Just get her out right now. I never want to see her again.”
And there she was, on the steps of the police station holding her blouse about her because it no longer buttoned up. She had no underwear as it had been torn to shreds. She sank down on the cold steps because her legs would not support her then she made a huge effort and pulled herself up by the safety rail.
She walked all the way to the safe house by holding onto walls and cursing when the pain was too bad. Her motion was so slow that she had plenty of time to look for pursuit but there was no-one there.
The relief when she reached the door was overpowering and she banged hard on the door and yelled for them to let her in.
Over time, with the loving care of friends, pain does heal but The Major would never be the same again and he was just beginning to wonder if these rebels perhaps had something right.