Sublime

The short silence that followed these pleas allowed Bolbol to hope that the officer wasn’t serious about handing the family over to the Mukhabarat … but he didn’t know how he could plead for mercy for his father’s body. The officer explained that according to their records, Bolbol’s father was still alive and still wanted.

One of his father’s neighbors’ sons—an engineering student turned combatant in the Free Syrian Army—called Bolbol and informed him that his father’s health made it very difficult for him to remain in the besieged village. Bolbol couldn’t bring himself to say anything in reply—not out of shock from hearing about his father’s deterioration, but from

Bolbol had worked hard to gain the trust of his neighborhood. The details on his identity card marked him out for suspicion; for four years now, similar details had spelled catastrophe for many others. Thousands of people disappeared without a trace, simply for being born in areas controlled by the opposition, just as many regime supporters had dis

Once the war ended, the meetings in Faruq’s apartment became less frequent, and when the friends did assemble the tone of conversation was sober and apprehensive. Yusef Mansour was fixated on news of the famine in Beirut. Omar became inarticulate in his anger against the Triple Entente. Midhat drew closest to the other Nabulsi in the group, Hani Mu

Bolbol saw Hussein coming back, escorted by an agent waving his gun and gesturing to the rest of the family to get out of the van. Hussein stood next to Bolbol and whispered, “They’re going to arrest the body.” Bolbol assumed there must have been some mistake, but no, when the agent led them to a tiled, windowless room, opened the door, and pushed