Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [117]
Over the next few weeks, my father and Maryam stayed with me during the interrogations, and gave me the confidence to push aside my fears and try to steer our discussions away from me. Instead of talking about my alleged spying, we talked about aspects of life in the West that I knew Rosewater wanted to explore—sex, of course, but also the welfare system, mortgages, and even the price of a secondhand car. With each day, I felt him becoming more and more relaxed with me, which meant far less frequent beatings.
I began to think that he was willing to allow me to direct the discussions because he simply had no other questions left to ask me. By now, I was sure, he knew that I was not guilty of the crimes he’d so badly wanted to believe I’d committed when I’d first arrived at Evin. I hoped the reason his questions about my alleged illegal activities had subsided was that I was closer to being released. Now, it seemed, his time spent with me was a bit of a reprieve for him—he was even beginning to enjoy my company, and taking a break from beating and insulting other prisoners.
“Mazi, what would you write about me if you had the chance?” he asked one morning.
“I would love to do an interview with you, if that’s possible,” I answered. I really meant it.
“You’re so diplomatic, but this isn’t an interrogation,” he said. “I want to know what questions you would ask me.”
I, of course, couldn’t tell him the truth: What makes a man choose a job that includes beating other men, making threats to end their lives, and playing mind games with them? Especially a man whose father endured all of this. “I think it’s important for young people to know your opinion about different issues so they don’t end up like me, being interrogated by you.”
“Who do you think this interview will help?” Rosewater asked. “It can only help the enemy, the Americans and Zionists, to know our secrets.”
“Well, it may help the enemy, but it can also help people to gain a better understanding of what the government thinks.” I hesitated, then continued: “I had all the necessary accreditations and took all the recommended precautions, but you still arrested me and put me through interrogations. I don’t want that to happen to other people.”
“Mazi, don’t think that just because I’m not asking you about the crimes you’ve committed means we’re ready to let you off the hook,” he said unconvincingly. “We have our think tanks, and they are conducting research about you.”
He then walked away from me and remained silent for a few minutes, deeply inhaling the fresh morning air. There was a light breeze that reminded me of London.
“Look at this,” Rosewater said. I had been sitting facing the wall, without my blindfold, and I turned toward him. He suddenly, and perhaps out of habit, slapped me hard across one cheek. “Don’t turn your face, I said.”
“But you said, ‘Look at this.’ ”
“Haven’t you learned that you shouldn’t turn your head even if I make a mistake?” he demanded, before calming down. “I’m just saying, look at these people who come to work at this time. It’s eight-twenty and they’re supposed to be here by seven-thirty. I can’t understand how some people can be so unprincipled. No one has forced them to take this job. They’ve chosen it.”
My face was stinging with pain. Rosewater seemed to be genuinely upset about other torturers slacking off at work. “We have a tough job, Mazi. We have to work long hours, as you know. We have to travel around the country, and sometimes we sleep in the office for only a couple of hours before going back to work. So many wives of my colleagues have asked for a divorce because they couldn’t take it anymore.”
Rosewater pulled