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Journey into Disaster
I proudly present chapter
The in the Philippines arrested German, Thomas Heger, has some experience in the night.
It is almost two o’clock, pitch black night and obviously cloudy as not even moonlight shines through the small window. The disco is over. I remember I fell asleep listening to the schmaltzy song from Foreigner I Want to Know What Love Is. What made me wake up? Voices can be heard. It seems some guys are in big trouble. There is the clapping of slaps and the dull noises of fist punches, followed by gasps and moans. A hissing conversation also. But I only understand the pleading words: “No, no, please, sir!”
The angry answers are muffled and in Visayan language.
Water splashes on the floor. Like a big stone is thrown into a barrel. At the same time a moaning, gasping and hectic breathing of at least two men. Water hits the ground again and the third man coughs and gasps in panic for air. He must have been submerged in a barrel or a tub.
One of the men whispers in a suppressed voice: “Historia, historia!” I translate that to: “Tell, tell!”
Somebody is forced to talk by waterboarding. The tortured man continues to cough and gasp for air. Another thud (probably in the stomach area) followed by a scream and moan.
“Historia!” hisses one of the torturers again. He does this in a subdued manner, certainly for fear of attracting attention and being discovered. Frozen with shock, I hardly dare to breathe.
“Enough!” says the second voice. The tortured man groans, pleads for something incomprehensible and continues gasping for air.
“Fuck!” the first voice screams madly.
Footsteps and grinding noises. Than the gate of the wire fence is open loudly. In the shadow of the matt spotlights from the wall of the police station I recognize three men, hear a cell door squeaking and a man is throwing it into the cell. Nasty laughter in front of the cells. Now the noises of lighters and the smell of cigarettes. Then the pawing and rattling of the gate and finally the jingling bunch of keys again. I jump up and carefully peer through the cell door. The red glowing points of light from the cigarettes disappear at the corner of the building.
Shit, what was that? I’m in a panic and do a few laps in four square meters with excitement. I have no choice and lie down back on the bed, which is creaking terribly. In the other cells are muffled and anxious conversation. The tortured man seems to calm down. Now and then he still coughs and sobs softly.
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