Bedouin

'(Haridi) shrunk in his seat, in the corner of that small café, in his village, nestled in the lap of the mountain, in the depths of Upper Egypt, as he listened to the stories of the café's patrons, about the heroism of its youth, those who avenged their murderers, throughout the village's long history, and those who took up arms. They shot the killers without hesitation. He knew, like everyone else, that this false heroism had cost those who committed it a lot, and that it had thrown some of them behind bars for periods exceeding the number of fingers on one hand, and had thrown others for periods exceeding the number of fingers on the entire body, while some were dangled in the gallows for it.