Of course he will come. I’m his only brother. I’m his little brother. I no longer have anyone in this whole damn world besides him. He’s my brother, and I’m his. He will come, and when he sees me, he will mourn for me. The tears will flow from his eyes. He will refuse to leave me ever again and will remain by my side until I’m well. He will reach his hand inside his breast pocket and take out two plane tickets. Because he is not going to leave me after this. He will keep me company so he can watch over my safety and my health. Sa’id will be the mother I never had, not even for one day. He will be the father who resigned from his post and left me an orphan. He will admit that he persecuted me, that he broke me, that he walked all over me and thought of no one but himself. He will acknowledge that Thurayya was partially responsible, because she instilled in him a love for self and for appearances, but that he is fully responsible, because he accepted her behavior and took advantage of it to develop the egotism and self-love that was inside him. I will pardon and forgive him because he confessed his mistakes, because he grieved them, and because he is my brother, whom I loved, whom I was proud of, whom I was scared for.

And if we open up to one another and reconcile, I’ll share with him everything that happened to me, all the things he doesn’t know about, and I’ll conclude my long discourse by saying: A beating hurts the body, brother, nothing more. It lands on the surface, on the skin, but it doesn’t pass underneath or take a firm hold. A beating is a visit to the body, conducted by someone just passing by. He crashes into it, produces a few tremors, and then departs. But torture is something else. It penetrates the skin and nests within the cells of the spirit. It remains there with you for as long as you live. A beating can break your limbs, your nose, your jaw. But torture breaks your soul, it skins your pride, it wipes the ground with your honor. Torture strips away your defining features as a person and throws you in a pit with animals and cadavers. You never get free from torture, brother. And I never got free of you.

“Sa’id? Yes, he called more than once and was on his way to visit you, but something came up and he had to change his plans. He requested my personal number so he could call anytime to check on you … Why are you crying? Are you in pain?”