Wurmbrandنموونە

A series of faint tapping sounds came from Richard’s cell wall in Calea Rahovei. At first he thought it was only his imagination, but the tapping persisted. Soon he discovered a new prisoner occupied the cell beside him and was trying to communicate through code. One tap meant A, two taps B, and so forth.

“Who are you?” the stranger slowly spelled.

“A pastor,” Richard tapped.

Cumbersome and frustratingly slow, a conversation unfolded over the next few hours.

“Are you a Christian?” Richard asked.

A minute passed, followed by, “I can’t claim to be one.”

Richard learned that his new friend was a fifty-two-year-old radio engineer awaiting trial for committing a capital offense. He had married an unbeliever, had backslidden in his Christian faith, and was deeply depressed. Every night Richard comforted him through a new system of communication. One tap indicated the first five letters of the alphabet, two taps for the second group of five, and so on. Thus the letter B was a single tap followed by a pause and then two more taps; the letter F was two taps followed after a space by one tap. Even this improved code didn’t satisfy Richard’s new neighbor. The radio engineer knew Morse code and passed on the letters one by one until Richard had learned them all.

One night the man tapped, “I would like to confess my sins.” Through a staccato of taps, the man unburdened his heart, beginning with his memory of kicking a Jewish boy when he was seven years old. Myriad other sins unfolded. In response, Richard comforted him with Bible verses, which gladdened the man’s heart. The two prisoners shared stories of freedom, made jokes, and even played chess together, tapping out the position and movement of the bread figures.

When the guards overheard the tapping between the two cells, they transferred Richard to a new cell. But Richard had acquired a new language and taught each new cellmate the code. The more the guards shuffled Richard around the prison, the more he spread the skills. Before long, most of the prisoners in solitary confinement learned to communicate with one another.

The confessions Richard heard through the concrete walls often began with the words “When I was a boy …” or “When I was at school …” Solitary confinement exposed the mind to long-forgotten sins of the past. Guilty memories of words said to fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters animated the prisoners and produced shame. The faces of slandered friends, betrayed spouses, and beaten children manifested themselves, accusing each prisoner of his reckless behavior. Nothing remained buried for any length of time.

One morning Richard awoke to discover it was Good Friday. With a nail he found in the lavatory, he carved the name JESUS into the wall of his cell. Perhaps it would comfort the next prisoner who saw it.

“You’re heading to the carcer,” the guard said, catching Richard in the act.