With every lid closed Rifqa went to her house saw nothing in the gray of her eyes said, Let’s say it was devoured by the sea. Don’t worryit will wash ashore. “No matter how deep it drowns, the truth always washes ashore.” She prays to her refuged God. Nowadays she walks fragile, so unlike the past that she battled, so unlike the past nameless faces remembered on her wrinkled face. They tell the storyof the particular events: organized, plural, ongoing.
