When she teaches, she pounds the table, like a drum. Like the sound of the drums they beat at executions. I can hear them in my sleep.
My mother has kept me home from my usual routine, saying she thinks I am Ill and feverish. I don’t feel ill, but I am beginning to feel very strange, as though I am in two places at once – caught between what Anchoress Samarra says is important, and what my mother and Anchoress Ensharra say is important. I feel like two different people trapped in the same body. My mother says it is because Samarra is drugging me. I cannot believe that of her. My friend, Jasreth, says I should listen to that part which feels most deeply like the truth, but that makes no real sense for me. I have to focus on what is most politically correct, and sometimes I’m afraid that is not truth, but expedience.