“When [...} everything had been arranged for my departure to Cairo, I went to my mother. Once again she gave me that strange look. Her lips parted momerntarily as though she wanted to smile, then she shut them and her face reverted to its usual state: a thick mask, or rather a series of masks. Then she disappeared for a while and brought back her purse, which she placed in my hand.
"Had your fasther lived," she said to me, "he would not have chosen for you differently from what you have chosen yourself. Do as you wish, depart or stay it's up to you. It's your life and you're free to do with it as you will. In this purse is some money which will come in useful." That was our farewell: no tears, no kisses, no fuss. Two human beings had walked along a part of the road together, then each had gone his way. This was in fact the last thing she said to me, for I did not see her again. After long years and numerous experiences, I remembered that moment and I wept. At the time, though, I felt nothing whatsoever.”