Page:The Jail, Experiences in 1916.pdf/219

 "What is he then?"

"What he is, nobody knows; we only know what he is not and was not. Now he's serving his time at Möllersdorf. Five years,—for theft,—common fraud. Fallot."

I was silent for a while.

"And the rest?"

"Dr. Jonas committed suicide,—a few days after you left. He tore up a sardine tin and swallowed the strips. He suffered ghastly agony. A nervous weakling,—and there was nobody to keep up his spirits after you had gone."

Papa Declich stopped speaking. He was tired with his effort,—as long as he had lived he had not spoken so much for whole weeks and months at a time as in those few minutes.

"And how are you getting on?"

"I'd be glad to go back to number 60" declared Papa Declich emphatically.

Then I received a few postcards from him. From Galicia. Un saluto dalla indimenticabile Galizia. From Odessa; a photograph,—Papa Declich is standing in a military kitchen amongst gigantic basins with a large ladle in his hand; evidently he was company cook.

I will conclude.

The persecution found us unprepared. As a shower of rain comes upon people who have gone for a walk without an umbrella beyond the town. During it, our movements were exceedingly unskilful, and we had to find our way about with an effort.

Today it would be different.