Some profound part of what my brother once was had settled inside of Elimane like silt on the bottom of a lake, the lake of blood. Elimane, even if he contested it, even if he took different paths, would continue his father’s history. He could even hate him later, consider him to be the most despicable man there was: that still wouldn’t take away the part of Assane inside of him, a part that’s not only physical but also mythological—a part of the void from which every man emerges.
