I am in this state of bliss and comfort thanks to the wholesomeness of chlorpromazine and its friends. I only regret that a hatred of writing has returned to me. I feel an aversion, a disgust for everything that has to do with letters, ink, and ideas. I’ve begun to sit sometimes for hours in front of my white page, luxuriating in the void within my mind, and feeling my brain fill with a clear, sticky liquid that is as sluggish as a swamp.

It’s true that Miss Zahra has renewed all her attempts to persuade me to pick up writing again. She has resumed her visits to my room, her concern for my affairs, and her encouragement to take my medicine, which they began giving me again when they transferred me to this hotel after my months in the hospital, where I had stayed while my shattered limbs recovered … Take it easy, Mr. N. You’re mixing up conflicting time frames. They’re blending together in your head, like liquids of different colors that flow together to make a palette of chaos and confusion.

After the hospital, where you remained for months, the ginger psychologist decided, together with Sa’id, to transfer you to this institution. Yes, it’s an institution. You have remained here a long time. And because you were not able to understand its function, you saw the place as a hotel, and you decided you wanted to stay here in order to escape that damned tower that had smothered your beloved apartment. But things didn’t happen in such regular order, and here you are now, finally realizing that.

A fog often settles upon me, and under it, I’m no longer able to distinguish my position within events, or the position of events within me, or their positions relative to each other. It’s as if the fog sticks to my mind and doesn’t leave, while inside it, I’m groping my way toward nothingness. When I was a child, my father took me to the nearby mountains to spend a few days in the summer. Thurayya would constantly grumble about such outings—she was a city girl, one who loved only the city—and she gave in only when she thought about the health of one of the boys, not both. I was enchanted by the view of the fog when it descended to touch the earth, hiding all the rises and falls around us. As I imagined it, the sky had descended in order to raise us up, and we were swimming through space, close to the birds and the clouds, spreading our wings, light and free of every burden. Sa’id would grumble, because the fog prevented him from going out, and Thurayya would mutter, feeling that a paving stone had been lowered onto her chest, but my father and I were secretly delighted that everything was wiped away, leaving us suddenly so light. And then, when the fog lifted and drifted off, the colors jumbled together, and the view took on a flash, a freshness, a radiance it did not have before.