Thickening hair, growing arms, a thin line of green hairs on the upper lip, a raspy voice, and other things. I didn’t mean these signs when I told my father that I was feeling changes I had never known before. I knew the signs of puberty well. I had heard about them from peers who had preceded me, but none of them told me that during puberty, he would wake up to find a pillow full of straw under his head. The days were similar to each other: the green color extending to the horizon, the sounds of tractors and the calls of farmers, the gurgling of water flowing between the crops in parallel, sometimes intertwined, longitudinal paths, the scattered, moving white forms of egrets and their companions from the avian kingdom, dark crows, pigeons, and doves. Their paths crossed without disagreements, as if they had pledged a permanent peace. Each of them was busy with what concerned him except for one place, the one place where they should not have been in the first place.