What made life even more confusing for the boy was that his mum and dad were always scrupulously kind and fair to him, because he was always honest and obedient. That’s how he knew they were good parents. He wondered why they never acknowledged that it must be difficult for him, growing up in a war zone. Why didn’t it cross his father’s mind, or his mother’s, that all the shouting was as frightening and unpleasant for him, the blameless child, as it was for his sister?

One weekend morning, his mother shook him awake while it was still dark outside. She was fully dressed and crying. “Get up,” she whispered. “We have to go out. You can’t stay here on your own.” The boy asked where they were going, but his mother didn’t answer. “Just get dressed,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what you wear: no one’s going to see you. Go and sit in the car, as quickly as you can.” The little boy understood that he was to have no breakfast, and that to ask would be a mistake. His mother didn’t care about feeding him this morning, or about making sure he brushed his teeth. Something awful was about to happen, if it wasn’t happening already—something worse than what the boy was used to.

He dressed and went downstairs. His mother was waiting for him by the front door. She opened it when she saw him coming, and gestured for him to go outside. He stepped out onto the drive and saw that his father and sister were already in the car: his father at the wheel and his sister behind him, in the back. He climbed in and sat beside his sister. His mother got in too, and his father started the engine. They set off. No one spoke, and the little boy’s sister didn’t look at him, not even when he started to cry. She kept staring straight ahead, at the back of the driver’s seat. This frightened the boy more than anything else. His sister had always been kind to him—always. Most people in her situation would detest a brother like him—the favored good child who never put a foot wrong as far as his parents were concerned—but not his sister; she had never allowed herself to fall into that trap. So why wasn’t she comforting him now, as they drove along in silence, in the only-just-dawning daylight, with him crying? Why was she staring straight ahead as if she were in a coma?

The boy eventually asked where they were going, because the dread that was welling up inside him had grown too large and needed to escape. His father replied, “We’re going to a lunatic asylum, where your sister will be staying for a while.”