Read Online Prisoner of Tehran: A Memoir (No Series) by Marina Nemat - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marina Nemat
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first met, Albert gave me a package wrapped in red paper. I opened it to find The Narnia Collection and a beautiful blue pencil box filled with colored pencils and erasers that smelled like bubblegum.
The last time I saw Albert was a few days after my twelfth birthday, a beautiful spring day filled with bird songs and warm sunshine. Smiling, I opened the heavy glass door to Albert’s bookstore, holding Little Women close to my heart.
“Hi, Al—”
Dust particles floated in the stream of sunlight that poured onto the linoleum floor. The empty store stretched in front of me. It was as if I were standing at the edge of a desert. Feeling like a strong, fierce wind had just rushed against me, I gasped and tried to breathe. Albert sat on a large cardboard box in the middle of the terrible emptiness, looking at me with a sad smile.
“Where are the books?” I asked him.
He told me he had sold most of them to another bookstore but had saved all my favorites. They were in the box he was sitting on. He promised to bring them to my house later. He had wanted to tell me earlier, but he wasn’t able to. He and his wife would soon leave Iran to join their son in America. Albert didn’t want to go, but his wife was not well and wanted to spend the time she had left with their son and grandchildren. He couldn’t refuse her. They had been married for fifty-one years, and this was her last wish.
He took a white handkerchief out of the pocket of his shirt and blew his nose. My arms and legs felt weak. He stood up, came to me, and put his hands on my shoulders.
“I watched you grow. You brought joy and happiness to my life. I’ll miss you. You’re like a daughter to me.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. Moving to America felt as splitting and eternal as death.
Six
I WOKE WITH THE TASTE of chicken soup in my mouth. I was sitting up. The world seemed to be covered with a thick fog and was spinning around me. There weren’t any solid lines or shapes, only vague colors. Someone was calling my name. Chicken soup again. I coughed.
“Swallow it. It’s good for you.”
The warm liquid washed down my throat. It was good. I swallowed again. There was a bright, white square in front of me. I tried to focus. It was a small, barred window. I was achy and feverish.
“That’s better,” said the voice. It was coming from behind me. I tried to move.
“Don’t move, swallow.”
It hurt to move. I swallowed. Some of the soup was dripping down my chin.
The cell slowly came into focus.
“I’m going to let you lie down now,” the voice said. It was Ali’s.
He sat on the floor about two or three feet away from me and said he was going to send me to a women’s dorm in Evin, named 246, where I would see a few of my friends and would feel better. He said he knew one of the guards in charge of 246 and would ask her to look after me. Her name was Sister Maryam.
“I’m going away for a while…” he said and then kept his eyes on me in silence, as if waiting for me to say something. I had no idea what kind of a place 246 was. Had he really told me that I had a life sentence or had I dreamt it?
“Do I really have a life sentence?” I asked.
He nodded, the shadow of a sad smile crossing his face.
I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to ask him why he had saved me from execution. I wanted to tell him that death was better than a life sentence. I wanted him to know that he had no right to do what he had done—but I couldn’t.
He stood and said, “May God protect you,” and left.
I slept.
After a few hours, he came back and took me to the door of a small room where about twenty girls were sleeping side by side on the floor.
“You’ll have to wait in this room until they come and take you to 246. Take care of yourself. Things will get better. Put on your blindfold after you sit down.”
I spotted a small empty space in a far corner of the room. I was still dizzy, and my feet hurt, so it
The last time I saw Albert was a few days after my twelfth birthday, a beautiful spring day filled with bird songs and warm sunshine. Smiling, I opened the heavy glass door to Albert’s bookstore, holding Little Women close to my heart.
“Hi, Al—”
Dust particles floated in the stream of sunlight that poured onto the linoleum floor. The empty store stretched in front of me. It was as if I were standing at the edge of a desert. Feeling like a strong, fierce wind had just rushed against me, I gasped and tried to breathe. Albert sat on a large cardboard box in the middle of the terrible emptiness, looking at me with a sad smile.
“Where are the books?” I asked him.
He told me he had sold most of them to another bookstore but had saved all my favorites. They were in the box he was sitting on. He promised to bring them to my house later. He had wanted to tell me earlier, but he wasn’t able to. He and his wife would soon leave Iran to join their son in America. Albert didn’t want to go, but his wife was not well and wanted to spend the time she had left with their son and grandchildren. He couldn’t refuse her. They had been married for fifty-one years, and this was her last wish.
He took a white handkerchief out of the pocket of his shirt and blew his nose. My arms and legs felt weak. He stood up, came to me, and put his hands on my shoulders.
“I watched you grow. You brought joy and happiness to my life. I’ll miss you. You’re like a daughter to me.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. Moving to America felt as splitting and eternal as death.
Six
I WOKE WITH THE TASTE of chicken soup in my mouth. I was sitting up. The world seemed to be covered with a thick fog and was spinning around me. There weren’t any solid lines or shapes, only vague colors. Someone was calling my name. Chicken soup again. I coughed.
“Swallow it. It’s good for you.”
The warm liquid washed down my throat. It was good. I swallowed again. There was a bright, white square in front of me. I tried to focus. It was a small, barred window. I was achy and feverish.
“That’s better,” said the voice. It was coming from behind me. I tried to move.
“Don’t move, swallow.”
It hurt to move. I swallowed. Some of the soup was dripping down my chin.
The cell slowly came into focus.
“I’m going to let you lie down now,” the voice said. It was Ali’s.
He sat on the floor about two or three feet away from me and said he was going to send me to a women’s dorm in Evin, named 246, where I would see a few of my friends and would feel better. He said he knew one of the guards in charge of 246 and would ask her to look after me. Her name was Sister Maryam.
“I’m going away for a while…” he said and then kept his eyes on me in silence, as if waiting for me to say something. I had no idea what kind of a place 246 was. Had he really told me that I had a life sentence or had I dreamt it?
“Do I really have a life sentence?” I asked.
He nodded, the shadow of a sad smile crossing his face.
I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to ask him why he had saved me from execution. I wanted to tell him that death was better than a life sentence. I wanted him to know that he had no right to do what he had done—but I couldn’t.
He stood and said, “May God protect you,” and left.
I slept.
After a few hours, he came back and took me to the door of a small room where about twenty girls were sleeping side by side on the floor.
“You’ll have to wait in this room until they come and take you to 246. Take care of yourself. Things will get better. Put on your blindfold after you sit down.”
I spotted a small empty space in a far corner of the room. I was still dizzy, and my feet hurt, so it
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