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with profuse bleeding, deviation of the wrist. Procedures conducted include [long sentence, redacted]
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    Required follow-up: Complete blood workup; kidney and liver function analysis; ultrasounds of the abdomen, pelvis, and chest; X-ray of the right forearm
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Tarek read the document again and again. Each time, he flipped the page over to check the other side, and each time he found it blank. He was searching for the detailed description he’d written and signed off himself after seeing the X-ray, but it wasn’t there. There were pages missing; he didn’t know how they had disappeared, but some other hand had clearly been meddling with the file. All the useful information had been crossed out and replaced with a superficial report; not even a fresh graduate would write something this worthless, and he hadn’t any idea who had altered it.
    He vividly remembered stopping the bleeding and performing a bit of first aid, and then being forced to close the wound, leaving the bullet where it was, next to Yehya’s bladder. An act like that would never have occurred to him; he was a surgeon with a solid understanding of his work and an awareness of its repercussions. But a younger colleague had informed him that he would need a special permit if he intended to extract the bullet. After a heated debate, the other doctor went to the filing cabinet, took out a stack of papers that had been placed carefully on the top shelf, and pulled out a light-yellow document. He threw it down in front of Tarek, fed up with his naïveté, and told him to read it before making a decision. Tarek picked up the document and was struggling to understand it when a high-pitched whistle shot through their confrontation.
    An ambulance had arrived and the injured patients were meticulously divided into groups, Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeedamong them. Their injuries were assessed, and then they were taken to the government-run Zephyr Hospital, which, according to announcements on the radio and TV, had gone above and beyond in its preparations for admitting the injured.
    In his office now, Tarek left the file and folder on his desk and went to sit in the chair on the other side of the room, taking just the third document with him. This was the page that really bothered him, because every time he took it out of the file, began to read, and reached the end of the first paragraph, he remembered everything that had happened afterward. The morning after the Events, a doctor in military uniform appeared at the hospital and requested to meet him: him, Dr. Tarek Fahmy. The man refused to take a seat and turned down the cordial offers of tea or water while he was waiting. Tarek was summoned minutes later and tentatively approached to find a grave-looking doctor in his fifties pacing the lobby and pondering the imitation oil paintings hanging on the walls. Tarek invited him into his office and extended his hand, which the man shook coldly.
    As soon as they shut the door behind them, the doctor produced the type of official ID that one didn’t dare question, inquired about Yehya’s X-ray, and then opened his briefcase and produced an order to confiscate it. Tarek asked if he would like some juice or something hot to drink, but the man firmly declined these, too. He stood up impatiently and asked Tarek for all existing copies of the X-ray. However, looking back, Tarek realized that the man hadn’t actually asked questions. He hadn’t phrased things in a way that left room for his request to be refused. The words that left his lips were direct orders, deftly coated with a sheen of courtesy but implying greater authority than any outpatient doctor possessed.
    Tarek called the head nurse and told her to bring Yehya Gad el-Rab Saeed’s file at once. The moment she knocked, the doctor grasped the handle, wrenched the door open, and snatched the file from her. Tarek stood there, his empty hand outstretched in her direction, where it remained suspended in the air for several