The Police Hospital

After arriving in hospital, they put me on a stretcher. The agents would not lose any chance and persistently would ask: “What’s your name?” When the pressure of their questions would increase I would faint.  They would wake me up again and again with their own methods such as pulling my hair or slapping on my face. After few minutes they pushed the stretcher to operating room. I do not remember who did the surgery on me and how. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in room and on a bed numbered 62 with a white sheet on. Then after the hospital personnel would call me “No. 62”.[1]

Two SAVAK agents would were there. They would change every 8 hours for guarding me. Two agents named Faramarzi and Shadi were persistent on interrogating me before I losing the credibility of my information; however, I still hoped to die and while tolerating their pressures I would not say anything.

I do not remember if I had said my prayers on those days. Once I heard the morning call. I opened my eyes. I saw that I was still alive! So, I lost any hope to die. I looked at my hand. It was bloody. My voice was rough. I could not call anyone. I got ready for prayers anyway. I said my prayers. I do not know how right or wrong was my prayers; but it was the most that I could do. I wish those prayers would be accepted for me on the Judgment Day.

The agent there went out and called someone inside and said: “It seems he is awake and talking to himself!”

The second day after some hours my awareness degree grew higher and then I felt more pain either. It was a hard pain. I felt the bullets had crashed my bones because with each little move I would faint. They would inject pain relief drugs. By these injections I would sleep long time and after waking up the pain would begin again.

On the third day, they showed me picture and said: “It’s you.” I noticed it was my brother, Mehdi. I neither affirm nor deny. They insisted to get an answer from me. I finally said: “This man is older than me. How can it be my picture?!” I could see the surprise in their faces. Then I suddenly noticed there were some of the books that I would have kept in the house in Moezzossultan Street stacked on each other. I got sure about Mohsen Tarighat’s betray.

The agent did not really know my name. They had found an ID card of mine with name of Ahmad Akbari on. However, they knew it was not my real name. When I understood that the house in Moezzossultan (Mehdi Moosh) Street had been revealed, I told them the address.

After few days the pressure of interrogators increased. I finally admitted that I was Ahmad Ahmad. The agents happy of their success wired Manouchehri and told him: “His name is Ahmad Ahmad.” Manouchehri said: “oh…I see…he was familiar to me. I wish I had killed him right there…”

After identifying me they brought my file and told me that they knew everything about me. They asked: “Who was your other friend?” Without mentioning his real name, I said: “Meysam.” They asked about his surname. They pretended that he had been killed. I was also sure that he had been killed because at the time of shooting I heard a woman shouted: “…you killed the young man of people…!” Since I was alive I would think that Meysam had been killed. I was really sad of this accident and I felt that I was responsible for his death. I thought that if I had surrendered, he might have been alive then.