"THERE CAME A MOMENT," said the prisoner, "when all my hopes seemed to depend on the interrogation officer, in whom something like a basis of trust had developed. The isolation from the outside world was so complete that except for the guards, the only significant contact I had was with a G-2 man.... Naturally, the trained officer understands that the prisoner hangs anxiously on his every word. In my case I was brought eventually to have a deep-felt confidence that his promises of a speedy release were not given lightly. This rationale, I realize now, is not only absurd but impossible to sustain. Yet then, whenever the tormenter— and that is what he was throughout the ordeal—resorted to bullying, I sensed an extremely dangerous threat to my existence.... At the same time, the lieutenant made clear that he was the only human being who could help me. In such circumstances, against my better judgment, the thought occurred to me that I should make a confession.... My decision was not impulsive. The preparation for that act had consumed several weeks. But my reward was immediate." The behavior of the lieutenant changed. He made possible previously unknown privileges. The man was given something to read, mostly the speeches of Fidel Castro and the writings of Ernesto Guevara, and a small light to read them by. For the first time he had mail from his parents. He received a pack of Cuban cigarettes a day and regular medical attention. His meals improved—meat at least once a day, with green salads and canned milk. Heretofore, he had had to get by on a small piece of bread for breakfast and some beans and rice for lunch and for supper.
"Naturally, however, the G-2 man was not satisfied with the first ver