CHAPTER 47
It’s amazing how quickly a little bit of protein revives me. Eric urges me to eat slowly, but I suspect he’s never existed for months on nothing but corn gruel.
The Swedish ambassador holds out a small voice recorder, and he’s asking me questions about my detainment. “Have you been mistreated?” he asks, and I shake my head. I know he can’t record that on the gadget of his, but my mouth is too full to answer properly.
“Are you warm enough at night?”
That one’s even easier. “No.”
“Are you forced to work?”
“Yes.”
“What do they make you do?”
“Move things.” I answer as succinctly as I can to give my mouth the time it needs to chew. I want to find whoever cooked this steak and hire him to become my personal chef for the rest of my entire life.
“What kinds of things?” Eric ask
