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ongoing. She has told them of your attempt to rip her from your friend’s heart. Just as she told them of your father’s omnipotence, and her fear for her own and her mother’s safety. I guarantee you, things really are now going against you.

    “You sound as though you’ve given up on seeing your friend again,” the detective taunted, laughing.
    “I’m sure he’s coming back,” sputtered Anous. “That’s what my heart tells me.”
    “A believer’s heart is his guide,” said the officer. “I, too, want him to come back.”

    You’re leaving the police station, even more disturbed than you were the last time. I think you sensed that this clever little gumshoe suspects you completely, and you don’t believe your father is able to control everything. Did not Hitler himself suffer final defeat—and even kill himself in the end?
7
    The detective has called you back for a third session, Anous. Nerves are starting to fray. Your father stares at Shakir al-Durzi with fury, but what can the shaykh really do? Stop in front of your tormentor, the officer, and listen:
    “Anous, we’ve received an anonymous letter that accuses you of killing your friend, Raouf.”
    “A contemptible charge,” Anous shouted with spurious rage. “Let whoever made it show his face!”
    “Be patient,” the officer warned him. “We weigh everything accurately here. Didn’t you and your friend often spend evenings together outside the gate?”
    “Sure,” Anous acknowledged.
    “Where, then, did you two spend your time in that vast desert?”
    “In the Nobles’ Coffeehouse on the plateau.”
    “I’ve decided to conduct a face-to-face meeting between you, Anous, and the men in the café.”

    Hold on, don’t be distressed. You are stubborn—that’s the truth. You don’t want to respond to my secret whisperings. Be sure that I’m working in your interest, Anous.

    The meeting took place. The owner of the coffeehouse and his young helper testified that they hadn’t seen Anous for more than a month. That he was not entirely convinced showed clearly on the detective’s face. He glared at Anous harshly.
    “Please get out,” the officer told him.

    You’re leaving the station again, a grin of victory on your lips. You have the right to feel that way—for your father has thrown up a defensive line all around you. But will the affair really end there? Your heart is palpitating while you pass your days loitering in front of your victim’shouse. Anxiety assails you yet again. Who was the unknown person who sent the letter accusing you? And will there be any more like it? You are a killer, Anous, and your conscience doesn’t want to awake. Just let me visit you tonight in a dream—for so long as you won’t respond to my clandestine appeals, you will find my corpse stretched out next to you on your bed. Ah—here your scream arises, propelled by your nightmare. You awake in terror, your heart heavy with horror. You slither from your bed to moisten your throat with a gulp of water. Yet you find the cadaver with you again as soon as you slip back to sleep. And the dream recurs to you night after night. Your mother urges Shaykh Ashur to examine you. He gives you an amulet to wear over your heart—but my grisly remains will not leave your dreams. Your condition worsens, so you go secretly to see a psychiatrist, with regular visits week after week. He tells you something truly astounding: that you imagine your friend has been murdered—his body represents your own body, due to the emotional bond between you—you are so closely linked that you think that his body is in the place of yours. But why do you picture yourself as the one slain? Your body plays the role of the replacement for another body and another person that, deep down, you’d like to kill. That person is your father. Your father thus is the cause of your dream—all of which reflects an Oedipus complex!
    Yet, in reality, you are not courting your mother, nor do you