ABSTRACT
From behind the cement rail of the terrace balustrade I watched other families join mine in the street as they went on the last shopping spree of that very special day. It was Adha’s Eve, the holiest celebration of the year. “Nadia will stay here,” my father had said, “as punishment for her behavior.” Long ago I had learned not to show the boiling frustration I felt when he turned on me with his twisted anger. The man was sick, and seemed unaware that I was no longer the six-year-old kid he had once abused with his loathsome caresses. I had shut my mind, like a thick wall built stone upon stone, against the accusations and punishments of my parents.
