Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [64]
I remained silent. The potent mixture of the Garden State and ideological zeal had numbed my senses.
“Now go back to your cell,” Rosewater ordered, putting his hand on my shoulder, “and think about what I just said.”
My father and Maryam had told me how they had cried in prison for what had happened to our country. I’d never thought they’d meant it literally. Yet when the guard shut the door of my cell behind me that night, I could not stop my tears. I was not missing my mother or Paola at that moment. I was shedding tears for my country. I felt as if Iran, my country, had been invaded by monsters—men like Khamenei and his odious gang. I thought of the first lines of the poem “Winter,” by the Iranian poet Mehdi Akhavan Sales.
They are not going to answer your greeting
Their heads are in their jackets
Nobody is going to raise his head
To answer a question or to see a friend
The eyes cannot see beyond the feet
The road is dark and slick.…
Akhavan Sales wrote this poem after the 1953 coup, when the shah was silencing any voice of dissent. The poem was one of Khamenei’s favorites, and before the revolution, he often recited it to members of his cabal. I wondered if he still read it.
The breaths are clouds, the people are tired and sad
The trees are crystallized skeletons, the earth is low-spirited
The roof of the sky is low
The sun and moon are hazy
It’s winter
· · ·
On my fourth full day in Evin, I was allowed to call my mother. “You have exactly one minute,” Rosewater said in the interrogation room that morning as he handed me my cell phone. “Just tell her you’re fine. That’s all.”
When my mother picked up, I had a hard time controlling my voice. I could tell that she had been sitting near the phone, waiting for this call, every day. Her voice was steeped in relief.
“Mazi jaan, how are you?”
Rosewater’s head touched mine as he leaned down to listen to what she was saying. I tried my best to not reveal the desolation in my voice. “I’m fine, Moloojoon.”
She had been through this before, of course, and knew exactly what to say. “We’ve hired a lawyer for you: Mr. Saleh Nikbakht. He’s trying to arrange a meeting with you.” Nikbakht was one of the most courageous lawyers in Iran. He was famous for his persistence and for pestering judges to make quick decisions in favor of his clients.
“Khaled spoke to Paola,” my mother said as Rosewater made a motion for me to end the call. I felt an immediate sense of relief. I had been sick with worry about Paola’s well-being, and it was at least a little comforting to know that she wasn’t under the impression that I’d simply vanished. It also meant that Khaled had done as I’d asked, as I’d known he would. In the updated list I had sent him a few days before my arrest, I had included Paola’s name. The fact that Khaled had contacted her meant that he must have also contacted the other people on the list—and perhaps, I hoped, that meant that Paola, Khaled, and others were making as much noise about my situation as possible.
“Paola’s fine,” my mother assured me. “She’s worried about you.” Those were my mother’s last words before Rosewater reached for the phone and ended the call.
“Do you know this attorney? This Nikbakht?” Rosewater sounded concerned.
I was lost in thoughts about Paola. Was her sister Barbara with her? Had she been in touch with anyone at Newsweek?
“Not really,” I answered absentmindedly. I was sick of talking to Rosewater. I’d had more than enough of his questions.
“He’s a really timid lawyer,” Rosewater said, going on to explain that my mother’s hopes for me to meet Nikbakht were empty. Rosewater told me that because I was still going through interrogation, I would be denied access to an attorney. That would change only after the interrogation process was complete.
“Mr. Bahari, let me advise you on this matter,” he said before exiting the room. “In our judicial system, it is the interrogator who makes the final decision. It is better if you cooperate with us, rather than rely on anyone outside of this room. You