There are no knives in the kitchens of this city.

He thought that silence might lead to his downfall, but he remained silent. He thought of the people who study power to overcome oppression; indeed, he was loved, and what he chose—the power of vulnerability—abruptly vanished. He let her go. She kissed him on the cheek, and he was overwhelmed by her words praising his kindness. The worst thing that happened to him was her new image and her question about what it meant to be kind. He hated the image of himself as a child, trying to cultivate the image of the well-mannered, fat man with glasses, pressed clothes, laughing softly and hanging out with the children. He hated his mother and father and their candidate, Gabriel al-Shami, and his teachers at al-Ma'mun School, and the church pastor who used to make him stand in the front row when he and the choir emphasized the loss of his clothes and family lineage. He knew that silence might lead to his demise, but he remained silent. He thought of the people who seek power to overcome injustice; yet, he felt weak, and what he had believed all his life about—the power of vulnerability—abruptly vanished. He let her go. She kissed him on the cheek, but he paid no attention to her words praising his kindness. The worst thing that happened to him was his yearning for her new image and his questioning of the meaning of kindness. He hated his childhood self, where everyone had tried to encourage him to embody the image of the polite, portly man with his glasses and neatly pressed clothes, laughing softly and flirting with children and pets. He hated his mother and father, their political candidate Gabriel Shamia, his teachers at Al-Ma'moun School, and the church servant who stood in the front row when he sang with the choir, proud of his elegant clothes and family lineage.