After an effort, he opened the door for us, so the three of us entered, me, the sheikh, and the doctor supervising the operation. We entered quietly and found her wrapped in a pure white veil, with nothing visible of her but her face. I saw something in her face moving. I felt that she was suffering, wanting to open her eyes. I moved closer to her; I brought my breath closer to her to remind her. The closer I brought my breath to her, the more she opened her eyes. Perhaps the warmth of my breath reminded her of the warmth of something dear to her. She began to open her eyes little by little so as not to collide with the coldness of reality. As I approached her, I almost kissed her patient, steadfast, hopeful face. She slowly turned her eyes towards that old sheikh, and the tremors of old age shook his foundations and wounded him, and drew on his features the furrows of time. She was looking at him, as if inviting him to come closer to her, and she moved away from her, leaving him the place. I began to watch. She was asking him with her eyes; Because his lips were closed, pale, and he answered her with tears and some murmurs that I did not understand anything of, except for her sad tones and her bloody, mournful voice. Sobbing overcame him, so he moved away from her so that she would not see his desperate crying and his empty visit to her...