Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [62]
Explain your relationship with Nazila Fathi of The New York Times.
Mrs. Fathi is a journalist for The New York Times. The New York Times is a national newspaper, with headquarters in New York City. Its building is located around Times Square, at 42nd Street in Manhattan. It is privately owned, by the Sulzberger family. It publishes a daily edition, as well as a popular Sunday edition.…
After writing down everything I knew about the paper, I would then add pages and pages of general ideas about the history of the media in the West, things I had learned in my journalism courses at Concordia University. On the second day, Rosewater began to take the pages away and provide me with new ones before even reading my answers. At first I still hoped that he was communicating with someone above him—someone who was, I prayed, supervising this charade; but I soon realized he was just busy interrogating another person in the room next to me.
“Mardak!” I heard him yell through the wall, calling the prisoner “little man.” “I’ll finish your life here. Do you think you can fool me?! Stop writing this bullshit and answer me.” These words were followed by the sound of a man being slapped repeatedly.
Hearing this, I felt the sweat collect in the small of my back. I tried to keep my writing hand steady. Then Rosewater was back in the room, offering me a snack.
“Please, have some nuts, Mr. Bahari,” he said, placing a plate of cashews and pistachios on the writing arm of my chair.
“Thank you very much, sir,” I said.
“You are most welcome.” He was breathing heavily. “Would you Americans treat your prisoners like this in Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo?”
I didn’t reply.
“You know something, Mr. Bahari? It would be in your interest to just end this all and confess to masterminding the Western media in Iran. That’s all you have to do. Tell us about it. Tell us your methods for directing the media.” He picked a cashew from the plate. “To be honest, we’re really quite amazed by you. We know that you operate in a certain way. Quite mysterious. Almost invisible.” His tone was uncharacteristically controlled. I was not sure whether he really believed what he was saying or was trying to frame me. “We’ve been living with you for months. You didn’t know that, did you? Well, it’s true, so you better not deny anything. We know the answer to most of the questions we’re asking. We just want to know how willing you are to tell us the truth.”
I tried to keep my voice calm. “I think you have the wrong person here, sir,” I said. “None of the attributes you mentioned fit my character. You make me sound like James Bond!”
Rosewater laughed heartily. “James Bond should take lessons from you, Mr. Bahari. The devil himself should learn playing mischief from you.” He seemed to be enjoying this. “Surprise me, Mr. Bahari. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I have nothing to hide,” I said. “And I’m glad to hear that you know everything about me, because then you must know that I’m innocent.”
“Oh, really?” growled Rosewater. “So why did you use a motorcycle to travel around Tehran?”
So Davood was right, I thought. We were being followed. “You know about the traffic in Tehran, sir. I always use motorcycle cabs.”
“And you always use the same person?” Rosewater said sarcastically. “Mr. Bahari, we’ve arrested your personal biker. Or shall I call him a courier? He’s told us everything about you.”
I wasn’t concerned about what Davood could tell his interrogators, because there was nothing to tell, of course. But I was worried about Davood. What had I gotten him into? He had moved to Tehran to support his family with his motorcycle, and now … a chance encounter with me may have ruined his life. I tried not to imagine what Davood might be suffering at that moment.
“Sir, that poor man is just a motorcycle cabbie,” I said. “All he did was take