They put the blinders on her again as soon as she got into the car. She didn’t bother protesting. It was restful, not being able to see, sandwiched in the back seat of the car between Cheng Mun and Devin. The air-conditioning was strong, and with the radio on and the familiar traffic sounds beneath it, it was easy to forget that she was anything other than a normal person going somewhere in a car.

Their destination was an old bungalow, one of the black and white colonial ones. They gave her back her glasses so she could see it properly. There was only one cameraman inside, with all his equipment already set up, pointing at a pair of rattan chairs. One of them was occupied by a handsome man she recognised from TV—a newsreader? Something like that. He was wearing a light coat of foundation, she noticed. No one offered her any make-up.

Cheng Mun offered her a quick look at her handwritten confession. “Will you remember what to say?” he asked, anxious as a father before the school play. Yes, the story was etched in her. She felt utterly serene, almost blank, as she took her place.

She hardly needing any prompting. It was like teaching, the click of approval when a class is going well—she seemed to soar, fluid and convincing. She remembered when to look penitent, and to smile radiantly when she talked of how the state had shown her the right way. She found that she really was sorry for her actions—for where her actions had brought her. Now and again the interviewer nudged her—“don’t just say ideology, say Marxist ideology. We need the audience to remember what it was that brought you here. Don’t say friend, say comrade. Say co-conspirator. Don’t say fair society, say classless society.” When she hesitated, stumbled, he smiled forgivingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll edit this. You’re doing fine. Keep talking.”

She was still calm at the end, but her dress was soaked with sweat. It wasn’t that hot a day—the host even had a jacket on. He was talking to the cameraman now, going over a list of points in his hand. She looked around, wondering if she could go. So this is what it felt like. The men talked amongst themselves, then took her back to the car.

A few days later, she was summoned to Cheng Mun’s office. “Your detention is extended,” he told her, as if this were good news.

“I thought I would be released, after the confession.”

“You will be. Why are you in such a hurry? What’s another few weeks? Of course we can’t let you go right away. How will it look if we just throw you out after you said you’ve done all these things? There has to be a deterrent.”