Ninety-five

The prisoner in the next cell had been beaten to within an inch of his life. His back had been lacerated, and he lay on the concrete floor, groaning.

Hicham Omary called out to him.

‘Brother, what’s your name?’

After a long silence, there came a frail voice.

‘Saad. My name is Saad. And you?’

‘I am Hicham.’

‘Peace be upon you, brother.’

‘What are you in here for?’

‘For speaking my mind. And you?’

Hicham Omary clenched a fist and touched the first knuckle to his lips.

‘For standing up against a rotten system,’ he said.

‘They will try to break you.’

‘I know.’ Omary swallowed hard. ‘But it takes a lot more than a dark cell and a beating to break me,’ he said.