Between Two Worlds by Roxana Saberi

Author:Roxana Saberi
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Non-Fiction, History, Biography, Politics
ISBN: 9780061965296
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Nargess flung herself on the floor, crying, “Thank God! Thank God!”

She had just come back that Saturday, March 7, from court, where she had wept before her magistrate, swearing that she was not a spy and had never done anything even remotely political. In between sobs, she had explained with heartfelt sincerity how she had gone on pilgrimages to Mecca x number of times and made donations to y mosque, and how could such a devout Muslim ever be a spy?

The magistrate had decided, as he had once before, to release Nargess on bail, and she had been permitted to call her family for the first time since her arrest several weeks earlier. The court would keep the deed to her home until her trial, whenever that might take place—if ever. But for now, this wasn’t important to Nargess.

The magistrate was an understanding and fair man, she maintained, much more decent than her chief interrogator, who hadn’t wanted to release her. When I asked her to describe the magistrate’s appearance, she said his right hand was embellished with two large rings.

Saturday was a good day for Sara, too. Her interrogator had allowed her to call her parents, but only after she broke her strike with a meal and only if she told them she was fine. She did as directed, then tried to comfort her grieving mother by making up the prediction that she would be released in a couple of weeks. Despite these fibs, Sara was happy to have spoken to her parents, and she returned to our cell with an exultant grin.

I tried to share in my cellmates’ joy but couldn’t. For them, freedom seemed within reach. But for me, there was only uncertainty.

I was starting to fall apart. My nerves had become raw from lack of food and nothing but silence from my interrogator. My lower lip quivered, and a lump grew in my throat. The last thing I wanted to do was spoil my cellmates’ high spirits, so I pressed the black button by our door and waited as Glasses, the guard who had been on duty the night of my arrest, appeared.

Once in the bathroom, I shut the door. I leaned my back against the wall, buried my face in my hands, and released my tears—tears of helplessness, of guilt, of a profound longing for my family. I tried to muffle my weeping by pulling my shirt over my mouth, but after a few seconds, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I cried and cried and cried. My reservoir of tears, which had released only a few trickles during my five weeks in prison, now came pouring out. With each sob, my pent-up anxiety, fear, and fury came gushing down my cheeks, finally giving expression to my anguish.

“The sound of your crying is pealing throughout the corridor,” I heard a woman snap at me. I lifted my head. Glasses had opened the bathroom door and was leaning in, glaring down at me from behind her thick lenses.

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