After I don’t know how long, they called my name. I got to my feet—somewhere between terror and faint hope. At the door they made me take off my shirt, then blindfolded me with it and tied my hands behind my back.

I walked blind through sudden sounds and blows, mocking warnings to watch out for the wall, for open drains beneath me. After a while—after walking and climbing and going downstairs without passing through another doorway the whole time—I was ordered to get down, to squat. One of them pushed down on my shoulder. I tried leaning my back against the wall which I imagined must be there, only to meet a kick which stood me back upright. And it was there that I started to hear the voices. Female voices, high-pitched, crying out in exhaustion and fear. And among them, I heard Soha.

I threw my head around like a madman until one side of my blindfold slipped down and I saw them: three, maybe four young women, clinging to each other in terror, and Soha’s face among them, bobbing in and out of sight. I watched as the scum searched them, or pretended to: hands that appeared to go into pockets and bags pushed instead between thighs and over breasts. For an instant the fear froze me, then I screamed.

“You sons of bitches!”

At least, that’s what I meant to say, only what came out wasn’t words but a lowing, and immediately the kicks rained in on my sides, the blindfold was yanked back up, and I was taken in to be interrogated.

But what do you care about the interrogation, Seif? It was an interrogation: meaningless questions in the darkest darkness; blows from behind, from everywhere. That held no surprises for me—it was what came after…

When, at last, they brought me home—once I’d learned the first truth that confronts all political prisoners when they are released (that after the warm embraces, the family’s joy evaporates to leave a residue of silent reproach for all the fear you’ve put them through)—and when, after a momentary hesitation, I had gone back to the cultural institute, and had run into Soha, my spirit at last took flight. Brimming with the bravery of a man embarked on an adventure, I walked up to her and held out my hand.

She said, “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” I replied.

Then I smiled, “We’ve paid our dues.”

She stared at me. “What are you talking about?” she said.

Then her boyfriend came over. I gave him a “Good to see you,” and they were gone.