"Firdaus, however, remained a woman apart. She stood out amongst the others, vibrated within me, or sometimes lay quiet, until the day when I put her down in ink on paper and gave her life after she had died. For, at the end of 1974, Firdaus was executed, and I never saw her again. And yet somehow she was always before my eyes. I could see her in front of me, trace the lines of her forehead, her lips, her eyes, watch her as she moved with pride. When, in autumn 1981, it was my turn to be confined behind bars, I would watch the other women prisoners as they moved through the inner courtyard, as though looking for her, trying to glimpse her head which she always held so high, the calm movements of her hands, or the stern look of her brown eyes. I could not bring myself...