Word: guardedly
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...main gate, along a drive lined by willow trees, then through another gate. I was undressed, searched, photographed, fingerprinted. ''While you are here, you will be known by a number,'' the man at the entry desk said. ''You'll no longer use your name, not even to the guards. Your number is 1806.'' I was taken out through another gate and into a two-story building where women prisoners were housed. The guard took me to a cell, then pushed the bolt back with a loud clang. I looked around the room, and my heart sank. Cobwebs dangled from...
...others just some boiled sweet potatoes. Hunger became a permanent state, an ever present hollowness. The flesh on my body slowly melted away, my eyesight deteriorated, and simple activities such as washing clothes exhausted me. From time to time, I was called for special indoctrination and questioning by militant guards. The guards used these occasions to abuse me verbally and to tell me I would be shot soon or kept at the detention house for the rest of my life. One morning, after coughing all night and being unable to sleep because of a headache, I could barely...
...devised a series of exercises that moved every part of my body from my head to my toes; I did this twice a day. At first, the exercise exhausted me, and I had to interrupt it with frequent rest. Also I had to avoid the prying eyes of the guards, as exercise other than a few minutes of walking in the cell after meals was forbidden. Nevertheless, I managed to exercise each day and after a few months I recovered my physical strength somewhat, as well as my feeling of well-being. For mental exercise, I first tried to memorize...
...afternoon in January 1971 I was summoned to the interrogation room once again. The call was so unexpected that my heart was pounding with excitement as I followed the guard. At the door of the interrogation room, the guard suddenly gave me a hard shove. Five more guards crowded around me, shouting abuse at me. ''You are the running dog of the imperialists,'' said one. ''You are a dirty exploiter of workers and peasants,'' shouted another. ''You are a counterrevolutionary,'' yelled a third. To show their impatience, they pushed me from one guard to another like a ball...
Late that night, a voice at the door said, ''Come over!'' It was one of the older guards, who had always been humane. ''Why aren't you eating your meals?'' she asked me. ''I don't know how to eat without using my hands,'' I said. ''Think hard. There is a way. You have a spoon.'' The next morning, when the guard called the prisoners to get up, I felt something sticky and wet on my hands. Turning to the quilt, I saw stains of blood mixed with pus. The handcuffs had already broken my skin and were cutting into...