Then They Came for Me_ A Family's Story of Love, Captivity, and Survival - Maziar Bahari [91]
Back in my cell, I punched the walls until my hands were bruised and cried Maryam’s name out, asking for her help. My pleas were lost in the noise of the air-conditioning, so the prison guards couldn’t hear me. “Maryam joon, why don’t you help me?” I screamed. “Is this the way they treated you? These bastards, these sisterfuckers, these animals!”
· · ·
One morning, Rosewater was in a particularly foul mood. He had brought the Persian translations of many of my articles. Though I rarely use exclamation points in my writing, the translations included dozens of them, one after almost every sentence. For a reason I couldn’t fathom, Rosewater hated exclamation marks, and seeing them in the articles enraged him. “Why do you use so many exclamation marks?” he screamed at me.
“Sir, the translator added them. They are not in my original, English version.”
“You’re lying,” he said. “Why would someone put in exclamation marks if you didn’t use them originally?” He grabbed the belt and swung it across my thighs and back; then his voice took on a different tone. “Agha joon, you know that I’m doing this for you,” he whispered, addressing Khamenei. “Agha joon, I’m your servant, I sacrifice my life for you. You know that I’m only thinking about your happiness and your satisfaction.” He grabbed my hair and started slapping the back of my head.
I heard a ringing that I thought was only in my ears, but it continued even after Rosewater stopped hitting me.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I heard him say. “I can’t talk right now. Is it urgent?”
I couldn’t make sense of the change in his tone of voice. Was what urgent? Who was he calling sweetheart?
“No, I’m not sure when I’ll be home, love. Is everything okay?” Only then did I realize that he had answered his cell phone. He must have been speaking to his wife.
“Oh,” he asked gently, “is she all right?” With that, he left the room and closed the door.
I buried my throbbing head in my hands. Who was this man? How could anyone beat another person the way he was beating me, then speak so lovingly to his wife? I remained as still as I could, trying to overhear his conversation. And then it struck me: Rosewater was just a man. Despite the power he had over me, he was just a man with a job. Like most people, his main priority was to keep his job and provide for his family.
As the air-conditioning clicked off and I heard Rosewater’s laughter from the hallway, I knew what I had to do. I had to allow him to be successful in that job: I had to give him enough information so that he could prove to his bosses that he was making progress, but not so much information that I would harm my contacts or the people close to me.
It all seemed so simple, suddenly. While I could not admit to what they were asking from me, I did have something they wanted: a connection with the international media. I would vow to work with them and help spread their propaganda.
Despite the pain everywhere he had punched me, I felt a smile creeping across my face. Finally, I had a job to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Over the next few days, Rosewater’s telephone conversations with his wife became more frequent. From what I could understand, his wife’s mother was ill. Different doctors had made different recommendations, and Rosewater’s wife had become desperate. He always tried his best to calm her, but he often didn’t succeed.
“You know I would be there if I could, azizam, my dear,” Rosewater told her once. “But I have so much to do here. They’ve given me all the difficult cases.”
His wife was not happy with his excuse and wanted to know when he was coming home. “I said, I don’t know!” he exclaimed abruptly before hanging up on her.
“Are all women as demanding or is it just Iranian