FOURTEEN
When you reached the hotel, you decided not to meet with anyone that evening so you would not have to be part of any conversation where the topic might arise. Your desire to conceal the incident aggravated your emotional turmoil, to the point that your sleep was ridden with nightmares.
The slain man was the protagonist of your dreams. He had put on a clean cloak for the festival and had come with a heart full of hope in the Italian governor’s chivalry. Marshal Balbo would help him achieve his dream of becoming a full-time worker at the Janzour primary school. Then the guard’s bullets murdered his simple dream, and that poor old man fell onto the carpets, a stiff corpse, his gaunt face peering out with frightened bulging eyes, his baffled mouth open in a scream that was frozen in
