Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [127]
I looked down. I could feel that he was staring at me, but I didn’t want to look into his eyes. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Even on the brink of my freedom, he was silently trying to tell me that I was still his prisoner. And quietly, I refused to accept his suggestion. At that point, I hated him so much that I was afraid I might do or say something that could enrage him and make him reverse my release.
At his feet were six big plastic bags that contained my confiscated laptops, mobile phones, documents, CDs, and DVDs. “What time is it, sir?” I finally said. “I think my brother-in-law is waiting outside. It must be getting cold.”
“Yes. And I’m sure you want to go home so you can eat your mother’s cooking, don’t you?” Rosewater asked.
I finally looked into his eyes. They were as hateful as I’d remembered. But he was much uglier than I’d thought. The expression on his face revealed an obscene mind. The way he squeezed his lips after each sentence betrayed an insecure bully. But there was also a childlike quality about him. He grinned after his own unfunny comments and blew into his cheeks when he talked about the strength of the regime. As he went through, for the umpteenth time, the list of people I’d promised to inform him about, he looked more relaxed than he had the day he’d arrested me. He didn’t have to keep a stern face anymore.
When he finished giving me instructions, he leaned forward and handed me a bag of my clothes, but when I took it, he refused to let it go. “Remember our talk about the power of the Revolutionary Guards, Mazi,” he said. He looked into my eyes, maybe searching for the fear he wanted to see. “You’re never going to be safe.”
· · ·
After I got dressed, they put my blindfold back on and drove me out of Evin. As soon as I was permitted, I took off the blindfold. I looked at my watch. It was nine fifty-four P.M. on October 17, 2009. I’d been arrested exactly 118 days, 12 hours, and 54 minutes earlier. I knew that I was about to embark on yet another extraordinary journey, but I wasn’t sure about anything. Was I really free? Or was it a joke, a cruel trick like Maryam’s mock execution? Were they going to arrest me again? I was full of the doubts that Rosewater had worked so hard to instill in me.
Mohammad was waiting outside the prison gates, along with many other people waiting for their loved ones. I kissed both his cheeks. I wanted to hug him for a long time, but I also wanted to get away from Evin as soon as possible. Evin’s main gate is off a busy street in north Tehran. We hailed a cab as soon as we saw one.
At home, my mother and Iran, Maryam and Mohammad’s daughter, were waiting for me. I immediately took my mother in my arms and cried for several minutes—not only because I had missed her so much, but also because I knew that our greeting was just the beginning of what could be a very long good-bye.
Then I called Paola. She couldn’t believe that I was finally out. She wanted to picture me in my home to help her believe that I really was not in Evin anymore. “Are you there with your mother?” she asked me. “What time did you get home?” She became more excited with every answer, as each one confirmed that I had been freed and I would be with her soon. Very soon. But our excitement was overshadowed by the fact that I was still in Iran. I kept my conversation with Paola to a minimum. I wasn’t sure if the Guards had put me under surveillance and were tapping my phone calls. I had told them that I would be returning to Iran within a couple of months, so I avoided any conversation about how long I was going to be in London or any other important subject. Fortunately, Paola instinctively knew not to ask many questions.
Paola had