The Unexploded Boer by Erich Rautenbach

Author:Erich Rautenbach
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Unexploded Boer
ISBN: 9781770222076
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Africa
Published: 2011-07-12T04:00:00+00:00

17

ZIP NOLAN

For a few weeks it was quite crazy, with the boere coming late at night to have their sport with me. Sometimes they would come so late that me and Carl would be totally pissed on brandy and Carl would try to karate-kick the cops as they took me down the cold passageway.

‘Come on!’ he would scream. ‘Come! One at a time, I’ll take you on!’

They never took him on. They never questioned him. Always me.

The cops were usually wasted on Commando brandy by this time of night, so they didn’t even notice our level of inebriation. All the guards in charge of prisoners were pretty sizzled too. It was just one big drinking party with handcuffs and guns, like a gay sadomasochistic fantasy. It would have been more fun if they had Nazi bitches in leather skirts with blouses inevitably too small (wartime rationing, probably) and ripped mesh stockings like in those True War pulp books.

At this stage, Boetman and his cronies must have still believed that I was a kingpin connection of some sort, because they invested many hours taking me all the way down to the ground floor and across to the Talking Building for their late-night interrogation sessions. Quite possibly they simply found me entertaining, because I didn’t respond in the ‘normal’ way, begging for forgiveness or trying to make a bargain.

What they were doing was also totally illegal, even according to the pseudo laws of the country. There were protocols to be followed and there was paperwork to be filed, even for taking a prisoner for questioning, especially at night, because most of the routine work was a daylight affair. But Boetman himself would come swaggering in like he was on a jol, flanked always by a couple of henchmen, and he’d simply order the uniformed policeman on duty to hand me over.

Strangely, although there was a lot of verbal threatening about what they would do if I didn’t cooperate, I was never strapped to a wall and whipped or electrocuted or even burned with cigarettes. Mostly it was playground bully stuff, shoving my face into the wall as we walked or tripping me and watching me roll down the stairs with my hands cuffed behind my back, which is not as easy as it looks. One time they tried to give me a treatment they called The Windmill, a procedure in which the prisoner’s hands and feet were cuffed together and a broomstick inserted behind the knees. The broomstick/prisoner combo was then lifted up off the floor and placed between two desks, which supported each end of the contraption. Then the poor victim was spun round and round and round. At least that was what was supposed to happen, but on this occasion the damn stick broke before they could manoeuvre me into position and I hit my head hard on the floor.

I suspect there were legal constraints holding them back from beating me to a pulp (unlike their security brethren, who could

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