I don’t really know how to explain it, but I felt as if it wasn’t only the blood that was flowing out of me, it was everything I’d been through, the sand of the desert, the dust of the streets and the snow of the mountains, the salt of the sea and the lime of Isfahan, the stones of Qom and the sewage from the gutters of Quetta. By the time the blood stopped flowing, I felt great. Better than I’d ever felt in my life. I wiped my face.
