Then They Came For Me by Maziar Bahari & Aimee Molloy


Then They Came For Me by Maziar Bahari & Aimee Molloy

Author:Maziar Bahari & Aimee Molloy [Bahari, Maziar & Molloy, Aimee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biographies & Memoirs, Historical, Middle East, Leaders & Notable People, Political, Memoirs, History, Iran, Turkey, Law, Constitutional Law, Human Rights, Politics & Social Sciences, Politics & Government, International & World Politics, Canadian, Middle Eastern, Specific Topics
Amazon: B004J4X2XK
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2011-06-06T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Brown Sandals came to my cell early, and with my breakfast, he gave me a pen and six pieces of paper with the names of the reformist leaders on them. “These are for tak nevisi, writing information about individuals,” the guard said.

“Tak nevisi can save you, Mr. Bahari,” Rosewater had told me repeatedly.

I looked at the pen and the papers. I had no inner conflict about what to write. Despite the ache in my body and the bruises that now covered my skin, I was not going to follow Rosewater’s orders and lie about my connection with the reformists, or say that I had put them in touch with foreigners. I threw the papers into a corner and stroked the pen in my hand. It was the first time I’d been alone with a pen in the twenty days I’d been in Evin. What a tremendous gift.

Then I moved to a corner of the cell and pulled back the green carpeting, exposing the gray tile floor underneath.

The living room of my parents’ house was in the shape of a square, which I now drew clumsily. The dining table was at the upper left, with eight chairs around it. The table was wooden and round, the kind you find in elegant Chinese restaurants. A buffet was next to the table, and a large silk carpet was hung on the right side of the buffet. It depicted the eleventh-century Persian poet Omar Khayyám being handed a glass of wine by a beautiful woman. The silk carpet had a golden frame. Maryam and I had always hated that tacky silk carpet, but my father had loved it. I loved it too right now, and I wrote out the words of one of Khayyám’s poems:

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears—



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