The Sympathizer

The doctor untied the burlap sack of wadding from around the patient’s foot, and although the patient craned his neck to see the doctor’s contraption he could not elevate himself enough to observe the details. All he could see was the black wire running from toe to satchel, inside of which the doctor had replaced the wristwatch. Sixty seconds, gentlemen, said the doctor. Ticktock . . . the patient trembled, waiting for the call. The patient had seen how a subject receiving such a call answered it by screaming and flinging about. By the tenth or twentieth such call, the subject’s eyes took on the glassy sheen of a taxidermically prepared specimen in a diorama, living and yet dead, or vice versa, as the subject anticipated the crank’s next turn. Claude, who had taken the class to see such an interrogation, said, Any of you jokers laugh or get a hard-on, I yank you. This is serious business. The patient remembered being relieved when he was not asked to turn the crank. Watching the subject spasm, he had winced and wondered what the call felt like. Now here he was, sweating and shivering as the seconds ticked away until a burst of static electricity made him jump, not pained but startled. See? Perfectly harmless, said the doctor. Just keep switching the wire to different toes so he doesn’t get a burn from the wire’s clip.

Thank you, Doctor, said the commissar. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like some privacy with our patient. Take all the time you want, said the commandant, heading for the door. This patient’s mind is contaminated. It needs a thorough washing. After the exit of the commandant, the doctor, and the baby-faced guard—but not Sonny and the crapulent major, who observed the patient with great patience as they stood in one corner—the commissar sat down on a wooden chair, the only furnishing in the room besides the patient’s mattress. Please, the patient said, just let me rest. The commissar said nothing until the next burst of static electricity jarred the patient. Then he leaned forward and showed the patient a thin book heretofore hidden from him. We found this in your quarters at the General’s villa.

Q. What is the title?

A. KUBARK Counterintelligence Interrogation, 1963.

Q. What is KUBARK?

A. A cryptonym for the CIA.

Q. What is the CIA?

A. The Central Intelligence Agency of the USA.

Q. What is the USA?

A. The United States of America.

You see that I hide nothing from you, the commissar said, leaning back. I have read your marginal notes, taken account of your underlined passages. Everything being done to you comes from this book. In other words, yours is an open-book exam. There are no surprises.

Sleep . . .