Revolutionary DeathThe very evening his favourite grandson was buried – the grandson he had been sharing a room with since his wife’s death – Hag Adel had taken to bed, vowing that, for the remaining time he had left in this senseless world, his bed was where he would be spending his days as well as his nights. Only for his ablutions would he get up. Not even to pray. God was benevolent, God would understand, God would forgive him.
Never a big eater, he was now living on small rations of yoghurt and bread. Tea he drank all day long, so much of it that his concerned daughter Safeya had decided to make it weaker and weaker, for which he chided her, though to no effect. ‘The day you start eating properly and moving around, I’ll let it steep as long as you want,’ she would tell him when he gr
