Book Description | In one of those similar houses, close together, there is a house that, since the government built it in the late seventies, has remained as it was, even its yellow paint has peeled off, its iron door has many holes in it, and boxes of newspapers, most of which are no longer published, are pinned to its wall. Even passers-by, on hot summer nights, would notice a streak of fire emanating from the area of his yard, and they would smell a smell that only slightly resembled fire, but none of them feared danger, as everyone knew that it was the house of Khalif Ajil, my father, who was taking care of his elderly mother. Cloud acid; The one that has been searching for the arrival of spring for more than seventy years |