I have wondered ever since about the timing, about why my father chose that particular moment to tell me of his secret visits to Ajdabiya. I had then assumed it was because Grandfather Hamed had just passed away, but now I am not sure. On that same tape, which over the past twenty-five years I have managed to listen to only five times, he says, “Don’t come looking for me,” and every time that line brings to mind that afternoon when he and I stretched, side by side, facing one another, on my narrow bed in London. His words, “Now that he’s gone, there’s no need to worry,” which I had then taken
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