Remember me naked
He alone will be able to understand, in his tormented way, what his mother has done.
But before warning him, I need proof.
I am no longer afraid of time—I have learned to use it like a blade.
The next day, a journalist passes in the corridor.
I hear his name, his tone, that way of sniffing out still-warm dramas. I signal to him. He thinks it's a confession, a scoop; he doesn't know he is becoming a carrier of war.
"Feeling better?" he asks.
I answer calmly:
"Tell them I will speak. That I will tell everything. For now, take this notebook; it contains all the information."
Bab Populer