Prisoner without a Name, Cell without a Number
Jacobo Timerman
1980
1
The cell is narrow. When I stand at its center, facing the steel door, I can’t extend my arms. But it is long, and when I lie down, I can stretch out my entire body. A stroke of luck, for in the cell I previously occupied—for how long?—I was forced to huddle up when seated and keep my knees bent while lying down. […]
I miss my former cell—where was…
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