Natascha Kampusch - 3,096 Days

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3,096 Days

Natascha Kampusch was born on 17 February 1988 in Vienna and became victim, at the age of ten, to what proved to be one of the longest abductions in recent history. She finally gained her freedom in 2006. On the day she escaped, her abductor, Wolfgang Priklopil, committed suicide by throwing himself under a train. 3,096 Days is her own account of her ordeal.

Natascha, now aged twenty-two, lives in Vienna, where she is continuing her studies.

NATASCHA KAMPUSCH

With Heike Gronemeier and Corinna Milborn

Translated by Jill Kreuer

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3,096 Tage first published in Germany by Ullstein Buchverlage 2010

First published in English by Penguin 2010

Copyright Natascha Kampusch, 2010

Translation Jill Kreuer, 2010

All rights reserved

Grateful acknowledgement is made for permission to reproduce the following copyright material: quotation on p. v is from Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman, copyright Judith Herman, 1992, reprinted with permission from Basic Books, a member of the Perseus Books Group; the poem on pp. 878 is from Winnetou , by Karl May, copyright Karl May, 2006, reprinted by permission of The Continuum International Publishing Group

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-670-92000-6

Psychological trauma is an affliction of the powerless. At the moment of trauma, the victim is rendered helpless by overwhelming force. When the force is that of nature, we speak of disasters. When the force is that of other human beings, we speak of atrocities. Traumatic events overwhelm the ordinary systems of care that give people a sense of control, connection and meaning. Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery

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My mother lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. Its already dark outside. Think of all the things that couldve happened to you! She shook her head.

My father and I had spent the last weekend of February 1998 in Hungary, where he had purchased a holiday house in a small village not far from the border. It was a complete dump, with damp walls where the plaster was crumbling off. Over the years he had renovated the house, furnishing it with beautiful old furniture, making it nearly inhabitable through his efforts. Still, I was not particularly fond of going there. My father had a number of friends in Hungary with whom he spent a great deal of time, always drinking a little bit too much thanks to the favourable currency exchange rate. In the bars and restaurants we visited in the evenings, I was the only child in the group. I would sit there saying nothing, bored.

I had reluctantly gone with him to Hungary on this occasion as well. Time seemed to move incredibly slowly, and I was angry that I was still too young and had no say in how I spent my time. Even when we visited the thermal spa in the area that Sunday, I was less than overjoyed. In a rotten mood, I was strolling through the spa premises when a woman I knew asked me, Would you like to have a soda with me? I nodded and followed her into the caf. She was an actress and lived in Vienna. I admired her because she always exuded great serenity and seemed so self-assured. Besides, I had always secretly dreamed of being an actress. After a while, I took a deep breath and said, You know, I would like to become an actress too. Do you think I could do that?

She beamed a smile at me. Of course you could, Natascha! Youd be a great actress if thats what you really want!

My heart leapt at that. I had truly expected not to be taken seriously or even to be laughed at as had happened many times before.

When youre ready, Ill help you, she promised me, putting her arm around my shoulders.

On the way back to the swimming area, I bounded about in high spirits, humming to myself, I can do anything if I want it enough and believe in myself enough. I felt more light-hearted and untroubled than I had in a long time.

However, my euphoria was cut short. The afternoon was already getting on, but my father wasnt making any move to leave the spa. When we finally returned to his holiday house, he again didnt seem to be in any great hurry. Just the opposite. He even wanted to lie down for a short while. I glanced nervously at the clock. We had promised my mother that we would be home by seven oclock, because the next day was a school day. I knew that there would be a heated discussion if we didnt get back to Vienna on time. While he lay snoring on the couch, the clock kept ticking away inexorably. It was already dark when my father finally woke up and we began the trip home. I sat in the back seat pouting and saying nothing. We wouldnt make it on time, my mother would be angry, and everything that had been so pleasant this afternoon would be ruined in one fell swoop. As always, I would be caught in the middle. Adults always ruined everything. When my father stopped at a petrol station and bought me a chocolate bar, I crammed the whole thing into my mouth at once.