There I was with my hands tied to my back and a smelly black blindfold over my eyes being conducted through what obviously was a cement patio. I heard a dog barking in the distance and then a door opened and I was pushed into a room. A man, smelling like alcohol, untied my arms and forced me to sit in a tall, wide chair. Two men started working on me immediately. First, my wrists were tied with metal straps to the chair’s arms. Then, my legs were strapped to the chair legs. I heard a lot of movement around me. Another chair was pulled near the chair I was in. My right shoe came off because the chair was tall and my feet were dangling. They had taken the shoelaces out of my shoes as soon as they brought me in and took me to a cell. Then a hand forced my head back, took the bandage off, and I felt a metal strap being pulled over my forehead.

With difficulty, I started seeing where I was.

It was a dark, relatively small room, and a man with a grey uniform was seating in front of me. His knees almost touching my knees. He was an army lieutenant. Next to him, standing, were two policemen and behind him a naval officer. Another lieutenant.

The man in front of me was smoking a cigarette and he started talking to me putting it very near my eyes.
“Name and profession,” he said with a deep voice. I answered with my name and position at the university. At that moment I was a temporary dean of students at five schools at a university in the north of Chile.

Then he asked me if I was related to the navy attaché to the country’s president. My cousin had been killed before the military coup that took place on September 11, 1973. My cousin was murdered on July 27, 1973, around 1:30 in the morning, possibly by a sniper. He had come out on the balcony of his house in Santiago to investigate some noises made for the purpose of attracting his attention.

I answered, “Yes”. Since I had been a journalist for many years, I knew not to answer with more words than needed.

Since little ‘zzzz’ and ‘brrr’ noises came out near my ears from the metal band around my head I knew I was sitting on an electric chair, often used for intimidating during interrogations.

The interrogation lasted a long time. Did I know who killed my cousin and why? “No”. Was I a member of the Communist party? “Yes”. Which one of my students that were arrested had participated in planning the death of my cousin? “I’m not aware of any of my current students being arrested”. Etc., etc.

The sun was going down when they took me out of the room. I was able to get my shoe back and I was not tied anymore, but the blindfold was put back on.

I was taken to the entrance. My purse and coat were returned to me but not my identity card. That was part of God’s plan for me. A God that I really didn’t know yet.

Since I couldn’t find any money in my purse either, I started walking. I discovered that I was quite far from the university, where I had been arrested that early morning, and even farther from my house.

It was late and few cars were running. The curfew was about to start. I turned a corner and I saw a small Morris Mini coming slowly. I stepped in front of the car and I approached the driver. I had seen him before but I couldn’t remember who he was. I told him that I had been arrested and that I needed a ride back. He opened the door of the car and, without asking any questions, he left me at the entrance of the university. He knew who I was.

My Citroen was parked there so I drove home. It was a weekend.

The next Monday, at the university, the army officer, who was playing the role of university president, sent me a memo saying I could start my Public Relations class that afternoon. I went to the classroom. Some of my students were there and two “new” students, obviously detectives, were in the classroom, too.
That night my housemate and I decided to resign from the university and go back South to the capital.
The problem was to get permission to do it.