36.
Epilogue. On the red carpet for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize Presentations, Low Library, Columbia University, New York, April 16, 2018
“Ms. Moore! Ms.Moore! Peter Townsen here, with the Post! A few questions, please?”
“Sorry, no questions. The Pulitzer Luncheon begins in about a quarter of an hour. There’s really no time.”
“Just a few? I’ll make it quick.”
“For a rival paper? You have your nerve?”
“Well so do you, I hear. So why not?”
“Ok, you win. Shoot!”
"Not here. I want to step outside where the light is better and not so many people."
"Ok, it's getting stuffy in here, anyway. Lead the way."
“There that's better, and we can video-record this too. So how does it feel to have won the 2018 Pulitzer for international reporting?”
“That’s your question? You dragged me all the way out here to ask me that? No wonder you work for the Post! How imaginative!”
“Ok, ok. I’ll get serious. How in the world were you able to write a prize winning piece of journalism within a day or two of nearly dying, swinging by your neck from a gallows, in that frightful Zilawean penal camp? It must have taken a superhuman effort on your part!”
“Truth be told, I don’t know how I did it. The bruising on my neck and throat were so severe I could barely swallow and I was unable to eat. The doctors insisted on total bed rest. But I had a story to tell. I am a professional, and I had to get it out, so when they weren’t looking ...”
“Marvelous!"
"Wait I hadn't finished ..."
"Nevermind that. Tell me about Parambe. You say they tried to hang you alongside him ... and the Shanahan girl too. And I understand you went to the gallows naked, while all of Zilawe watched on TV. That must have been pretty humiliating, But, you wrote that before the hanging you were one of the last to spend time with Parambe, and you have recounted in your reporting some of the astonishing things he told you about himself. What was he really like, Ms. Moore?”
“A complicated man. He was corrupt and certainly had innocent blood ... including some of my own ... on his hands. It was he who signed off, after all, when I was sentenced to be brutally whipped and sent to that Zilawean penal labor camp. But, yes, I did spend time alone with him on Christmas Eve and, at least by his account ... and I have to believe what he related to me to be at least partially true ... the man may have done some good in his life too.”
“Were you intimate with him?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“And Tuma? He comes off as the real villain in your reporting. Zilawe is fortunate to be rid of him, right?”
“Truly evil.”
“ Were you intimate with him?”
“Why does it always come down to the same question with you? Is that what your trashy paper feeds on?”
“Well were you?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“They say good investigative reporting can certainly come at a steep price. With that I am sure you would agree, Ms. Moore. Tell me about Jerry Goldman, your editor and boss. You say he died trying to save you?”
“He did. I didn’t see it, because I was blindfolded and strangling on the end of a rope when Jerry died. But I’m told he was dogged in his determination to get me out of that labor camp, and that he led the rebel attack at the crucial moment when they were about to execute Parambe, Ms Shanahan and me. He gave his life for me, Mr. Townsen, and I will never forget seeing Jerry’s barefooted body dumped in a shallow grave, as they loaded me into a chopper to whisk me away for urgent medical care.
“Were you intimate with him?”
“He was my boss, Mr. Townsen! What do you think? Those kinds of things don't go on at the paper where he and I worked together.”
“But in your account, Ms. Moore, you said that Goldman was in fact present at some kind of late night orgy that was forced on you and Ms. Shanahan the night before they transported you to the labor camp?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“Meaning you or him?”
“Look, I really must be going. The awards luncheon is about to get underway... kindly get out of my way!"
“No, wait ... I have more questions ... Wasn’t Jerry Goldman related to Stan Goldman, the New York detective who saved your life in the Bronx crux murders case?”
“They were brothers.”
“So they each saved your life. What an interesting coincidence. Were you intimate with Stan Goldman too, and was that voluntary or not exactly?”
“I think we should end this interview. I think I have answered enough questions about my piece on Zilawe. I need to go back in now to accept my Pulitzer!”
“No wait! I want to ask what you think of the new regime in Zilawe? Do you think a western woman, like yourself, could travel there today without fear of being falsely arrested, tortured, raped, flogged and sentenced to years of hard labor as you and Ms Shanahan were?”
"I know little of the rebels who have succeeded Parambe. I hear that John Tonza, the rebel leader, who now has Toma's old job as head of security is a decent sort, although I never really met him other than a few words when they stuck me on board the chopper. I did make the acquaintance, though ... while I was in the camp ... of Roderick Komba who was then a political prisoner and is now ... as you know ... the President of the new Zilawean government. If the others are anything like him, I believe Zilawe to be in good hands."
"And how did you get to know Komba?"
"He and I were whipped side-by-side one morning in front of the entire camp and shared a day together confined in a hotbox. That was just one of the many punishments I endured during my time at the camp."
"Were you naked?"
"What do you think?"
"Were you intimate with him?"
"That does it! Out of my way worm! This interview is definitely over. I suggest you crawl back into the hole from which you came. Now outta my way before I bust you in the nose!"
“I doubt very much that you would do that, Ms. Moore. It would be a shame to be hauled off by New York’s finest for assault and battery minutes before receiving your Pulitzer. And besides, I bleed easily. Sure to get all over your lovely gown.”
“Bastard!”
"Don't be so hostile, Moore! You're a journalist too. Our readers have the right to know ... that's what it's all about ... don't you agree? Don't answer that! I have a more important question. Tell us about Meghan Shanahan. The reason you went to Zilawe in the first place was to get her story, right? But you ended up getting framed and given pretty much the same sentence as she had received. The two of you went through much of what you have reported together. Isn't that right? So tell me, what was that like, and what is she doing now?"
"Meghan was a naive and innocent girl when she went to Zilawe. Terribly idealistic. Unfortunately, she fell into the clutches of Tuma and his crowd ... as did I. Together she and I suffered confinement, the sting of the lash, the constant threat of dying in a rebel attack, hard labor under a merciless sun, the daily brutality and sexual depravity of the guards, and ultimately the terror of being noosed and hung. We bonded, as you can well imagine. We watched out for one another, and I am happy to report that she is doing well now. Last I heard she was earning a degree, and hoping to do some good overseas, working for an NGO when she graduates."
"Were you intimate with her?"
[SUDDEN CRUNCHING NOISE]
"Owwww. FUCK! That hurt. Shit! I think it's broken. Look at me! I'm bleeding all over! Johnson! Did you catch that on video!"
"Stop whining or I'll kick you where it really smarts! Now outta my way!"
[SIRENS WAILING]
"Officer! Officer! Over here! This woman assaulted me! Arrest her!"
"Sorry officer, he deserved it."
"That's no excuse ma'am. This is New York. You can't go around assaulting people here. I am going to have to take you in. Hands behind your back please!"
"You can't arrest me, officer! I am Barbara Moore. I am about to receive the Pulitzer Prize for international reporting!"
"And I am the King of Siam! Cuff her Morgan!"
"Let go of me!"
"Watch your head, Miss. Get in the squad car!"
"I have friends at the NYPD, you know! Ever heard of Stan Goldman?"
"Shuddup, and get in!"
[CAR DOOR SLAMS]
Epilogue. On the red carpet for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize Presentations, Low Library, Columbia University, New York, April 16, 2018
“Ms. Moore! Ms.Moore! Peter Townsen here, with the Post! A few questions, please?”
“Sorry, no questions. The Pulitzer Luncheon begins in about a quarter of an hour. There’s really no time.”
“Just a few? I’ll make it quick.”
“For a rival paper? You have your nerve?”
“Well so do you, I hear. So why not?”
“Ok, you win. Shoot!”
"Not here. I want to step outside where the light is better and not so many people."
"Ok, it's getting stuffy in here, anyway. Lead the way."
“There that's better, and we can video-record this too. So how does it feel to have won the 2018 Pulitzer for international reporting?”
“That’s your question? You dragged me all the way out here to ask me that? No wonder you work for the Post! How imaginative!”
“Ok, ok. I’ll get serious. How in the world were you able to write a prize winning piece of journalism within a day or two of nearly dying, swinging by your neck from a gallows, in that frightful Zilawean penal camp? It must have taken a superhuman effort on your part!”
“Truth be told, I don’t know how I did it. The bruising on my neck and throat were so severe I could barely swallow and I was unable to eat. The doctors insisted on total bed rest. But I had a story to tell. I am a professional, and I had to get it out, so when they weren’t looking ...”
“Marvelous!"
"Wait I hadn't finished ..."
"Nevermind that. Tell me about Parambe. You say they tried to hang you alongside him ... and the Shanahan girl too. And I understand you went to the gallows naked, while all of Zilawe watched on TV. That must have been pretty humiliating, But, you wrote that before the hanging you were one of the last to spend time with Parambe, and you have recounted in your reporting some of the astonishing things he told you about himself. What was he really like, Ms. Moore?”
“A complicated man. He was corrupt and certainly had innocent blood ... including some of my own ... on his hands. It was he who signed off, after all, when I was sentenced to be brutally whipped and sent to that Zilawean penal labor camp. But, yes, I did spend time alone with him on Christmas Eve and, at least by his account ... and I have to believe what he related to me to be at least partially true ... the man may have done some good in his life too.”
“Were you intimate with him?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“And Tuma? He comes off as the real villain in your reporting. Zilawe is fortunate to be rid of him, right?”
“Truly evil.”
“ Were you intimate with him?”
“Why does it always come down to the same question with you? Is that what your trashy paper feeds on?”
“Well were you?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“They say good investigative reporting can certainly come at a steep price. With that I am sure you would agree, Ms. Moore. Tell me about Jerry Goldman, your editor and boss. You say he died trying to save you?”
“He did. I didn’t see it, because I was blindfolded and strangling on the end of a rope when Jerry died. But I’m told he was dogged in his determination to get me out of that labor camp, and that he led the rebel attack at the crucial moment when they were about to execute Parambe, Ms Shanahan and me. He gave his life for me, Mr. Townsen, and I will never forget seeing Jerry’s barefooted body dumped in a shallow grave, as they loaded me into a chopper to whisk me away for urgent medical care.
“Were you intimate with him?”
“He was my boss, Mr. Townsen! What do you think? Those kinds of things don't go on at the paper where he and I worked together.”
“But in your account, Ms. Moore, you said that Goldman was in fact present at some kind of late night orgy that was forced on you and Ms. Shanahan the night before they transported you to the labor camp?”
“Let’s just say not exactly voluntarily.”
“Meaning you or him?”
“Look, I really must be going. The awards luncheon is about to get underway... kindly get out of my way!"
“No, wait ... I have more questions ... Wasn’t Jerry Goldman related to Stan Goldman, the New York detective who saved your life in the Bronx crux murders case?”
“They were brothers.”
“So they each saved your life. What an interesting coincidence. Were you intimate with Stan Goldman too, and was that voluntary or not exactly?”
“I think we should end this interview. I think I have answered enough questions about my piece on Zilawe. I need to go back in now to accept my Pulitzer!”
“No wait! I want to ask what you think of the new regime in Zilawe? Do you think a western woman, like yourself, could travel there today without fear of being falsely arrested, tortured, raped, flogged and sentenced to years of hard labor as you and Ms Shanahan were?”
"I know little of the rebels who have succeeded Parambe. I hear that John Tonza, the rebel leader, who now has Toma's old job as head of security is a decent sort, although I never really met him other than a few words when they stuck me on board the chopper. I did make the acquaintance, though ... while I was in the camp ... of Roderick Komba who was then a political prisoner and is now ... as you know ... the President of the new Zilawean government. If the others are anything like him, I believe Zilawe to be in good hands."
"And how did you get to know Komba?"
"He and I were whipped side-by-side one morning in front of the entire camp and shared a day together confined in a hotbox. That was just one of the many punishments I endured during my time at the camp."
"Were you naked?"
"What do you think?"
"Were you intimate with him?"
"That does it! Out of my way worm! This interview is definitely over. I suggest you crawl back into the hole from which you came. Now outta my way before I bust you in the nose!"
“I doubt very much that you would do that, Ms. Moore. It would be a shame to be hauled off by New York’s finest for assault and battery minutes before receiving your Pulitzer. And besides, I bleed easily. Sure to get all over your lovely gown.”
“Bastard!”
"Don't be so hostile, Moore! You're a journalist too. Our readers have the right to know ... that's what it's all about ... don't you agree? Don't answer that! I have a more important question. Tell us about Meghan Shanahan. The reason you went to Zilawe in the first place was to get her story, right? But you ended up getting framed and given pretty much the same sentence as she had received. The two of you went through much of what you have reported together. Isn't that right? So tell me, what was that like, and what is she doing now?"
"Meghan was a naive and innocent girl when she went to Zilawe. Terribly idealistic. Unfortunately, she fell into the clutches of Tuma and his crowd ... as did I. Together she and I suffered confinement, the sting of the lash, the constant threat of dying in a rebel attack, hard labor under a merciless sun, the daily brutality and sexual depravity of the guards, and ultimately the terror of being noosed and hung. We bonded, as you can well imagine. We watched out for one another, and I am happy to report that she is doing well now. Last I heard she was earning a degree, and hoping to do some good overseas, working for an NGO when she graduates."
"Were you intimate with her?"
[SUDDEN CRUNCHING NOISE]
"Owwww. FUCK! That hurt. Shit! I think it's broken. Look at me! I'm bleeding all over! Johnson! Did you catch that on video!"
"Stop whining or I'll kick you where it really smarts! Now outta my way!"
[SIRENS WAILING]
"Officer! Officer! Over here! This woman assaulted me! Arrest her!"
"Sorry officer, he deserved it."
"That's no excuse ma'am. This is New York. You can't go around assaulting people here. I am going to have to take you in. Hands behind your back please!"
"You can't arrest me, officer! I am Barbara Moore. I am about to receive the Pulitzer Prize for international reporting!"
"And I am the King of Siam! Cuff her Morgan!"
"Let go of me!"
"Watch your head, Miss. Get in the squad car!"
"I have friends at the NYPD, you know! Ever heard of Stan Goldman?"
"Shuddup, and get in!"
[CAR DOOR SLAMS]
Still, that incident at the interview was provoked, and no doubt you'll get it all sorted out before the awards ceremony. 
