Summary

Matar ends his book with a casual, brief reflection on the afternoon spent at his uncle’s house in Ajdabiya. He and Uncle Hmad discussed literature and poetry, and how despite strict regulations, the prisoners were able to bribe the guards into selling them paper and pens. He recalls a line from a letter written by Matar’s father: “Don’t worry; I am well. I am like the mountain that is neither altered nor diminished by the passing storms” (236). Uncle Mahmoud, as well, chimed in on the conversation about poetry. He showed Matar a folded piece of linen which used to be a pillowcase, that Mahmoud managed to turn into a single sheet strong enough for him to scribble poems and letters to his children. He proudly told Matar as he showed him the linen: “They are possibly the only surviving literature...