The militiaman kicked down the door, pointing a flashlight and his machine gun inside. “What’s this?” he shouted, stunned, when he discovered children sleeping in their beds. “It’s the end of the world out there, and they’re sleeping? Luqman!” he called at the top of his voice. “Come quick!” When the light hit my father’s face, he leapt to his feet, screaming, “Doctor! I’m a doctor! Don’t shoot!”

The so-called Luqman entered and began prodding the children with the butt of his gun, but they did not wake up. He went around to them, one after another. Then he struck Nurse Widad, who did not respond. He looked at my father with eyes full of rebuke before shouting, “What have you done to them!?” My father was upset, and he began stammering. He was trembling and stuttering and his mouth was so dry it felt like his tongue had been pasted to his throat. Luqman approached and bashed him across the face with his gun. A small volcano of blood erupted from the corner of his right eyebrow. Luqman hit him again, and my father fell to the ground.

“If you don’t confess now, I’ll send you to join them!”

“I didn’t do anything! I told the nurse to give them a sedative to make them sleep. I could no longer bear the sight of their terror.”

“To make them sleep? Really? Make them sleep, indeed, an eternal one at that.”

“No!” screamed my frantic father. He ran for the beds to take the pulse of his young patients. He refused to believe they had all departed this life. When he confirmed their passing, one child after the other, he turned to Widad, from whose half-open mouth trailed a thin line of froth. He recalled her face as she told him, “Forgive me, doctor. I cannot bear another slaughter.” In her fear for them, she had killed them! She had raced on ahead and finished them off. “God! Now it’s my turn! Why don’t you finish me off?” said my father in a whisper before collapsing to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes.

Luqman turned to his fellow militiaman and said something. The other nodded in agreement and left the room. Before following him out, Luqman bowed his head, like a knight honoring the courage of his adversary, and said, “We thank you, doctor, for you’ve done us a great service. Killing children is always tough work, no matter what the situation. It demands great strength and fortitude—like yours!”

———

The sky seemed very dark, and not even the gleam of a few scattered stars could lessen the inky blackness. Indeed, I suddenly realized that what I saw, standing there behind my barred window and looking out at the night in that slumbering moment, was nothing more than an illusion. Those final gleams of extinguished stars, absorbed by darkness, enfolded by frost over the ages, were like the illusion of the memories that momentarily flicker in my mind before the windings of my dark brain absorb them, like some vast abyss shrouded in mist.