Hymn from Prison (dedikált példány) [antikvár]

One. "Your constant love is better than life itself. " Psalm. 63:3 The rear door of the army jeep flew open. Two Polish soldiers jumped out and leveled machine guns at me. One of them ordered tersely, "Out!" The plain-clothes detective took his time getting out of the jeep and then motioned me to follow him. Apprehensive, I kept pace as he led me toward a spacious eighteenth-century country house. I had the impression of luxury and gracious living. But this was only an illusion. The inscription over the entry jolted me back to the reality of my position. "MILICJA," it said. We were at the police station of the small Polish border town. My guide escorted me into the building. My attempt to get through the iron curtain to the West had failed and I was caught with someone else's passport. The long investigation had taken all day. It was now evening and I knew I would have to spend the night here. But then what would happen to me? Would there be further hours of grueling interrogations like those I had just undergone at the frontier? I must keep calm. Deliberately, willfully, I tried to suppress my mounting apprehension. In order to survive, I must preserve peace in my soul at all costs. If I succumbed, I would be lost. Inner peace was essential. The "Milicja" were anxious to hand me over to the local authorities. There were four of them, seated at their own desks. One was writing, another phoning, a third eating his supper from a newspaper package, and the fourth processing my admission to jail. In spite of my limited Polish, I understood that the local police wanted to know the reason for