Part 10 • Freedom
(Page 2 of 5)
Abu Nour had come on Monday. Tuesday was OK: I got to play with Hajar. Then Wednesday came around. I can't remember why, but I lost it.
I sobbed the whole day. Quietly, so they wouldn't hear me. I was so tired, so worn out. I'd been fooling myself, thinking some days were happy. It had been three months and I was drifting further and further away from my family, from my life. Enough was enough. "Let me out!" I screamed to myself. "Let me out!"
That night, I was sitting in my room in the dark, all upset. And I heard Abu Nour's voice.
They brought me into the sitting room after dinner. As always, I smelled his distinctive cologne before I saw him. Abu Nour sat cross-legged on the floor, his head bent toward the ground.
He had told me he was going to come back 24 hours before I was released.
"Tomorrow morning, we're going to let you go," he said. "We're going to drive you to the Iraqi Islamic Party and you will call your newspaper and you will be free."
I had no reaction. He might as well have said, "Here, have some tea."
Then came the catch: I needed to make one more video. And I needed to forget much of what he had told me about himself and his group, as well as much of what I had seen.
I had to forget about the Majlis, or council, of mujahideen that he had claimed to lead. I had to say his group was medium-sized, not big, not small.
"You can't talk about the women and children," said Ink Eyes. "You have to say you were in one room the whole time and ... you were treated very well."
I was supposed to "interview" him one last time, and he would tell me what I was supposed to say to the world. He handed me a notebook in which I was to write down his words.
"Anything outside the notebook is forbidden," he said.
Abu Nour wanted to make the video that night, but the power went out. So we made it in the morning. I didn't know then that within a day it would be on the Internet.
After the filming, they put me back in my little room. The night before, they'd told me that they would pay me for my computer, which they would keep, and that they would bring me a gift.
Abu Rasha, the large man who served as the head of the mujahideen cell I spent most of my time with, once had told me that when they let me go, they would give me a gold necklace, just as they had done for Giuliana Sgrena, an Italian journalist who'd been kidnapped in Baghdad in early 2005 and held for a month.
I still wasn't excited. Money and gold, that was my ticket to freedom. I figured that if they did give me those things, then the end might truly be at hand.
PART 10 • FREEDOM 1 | Page 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Next page
|
