It never dawned on me that Father's actions were illegal. Sure, I knew not all parents beat and starved their children, but accepted it was bad luck to be stuck with mine. Even as the illusion shattered, I was not ready for this awakening.
I trudged through the wadi and up a hill to the local police station. The “station” was a tiny caravan staffed by a single officer who was tall, broad, and very red. Ema prepared me with instructions to lie. I was to tell them it was all false—as if anyone could possibly dream up the details of abuse and neglect Yedidya had disclosed. Officer Red was particularly interested in my account of when Father chopped off my hair years earlier. I brushed it aside. He asked, again and again, clearly knowing I was lying but without any tools to support me in telling anything resembling the truth, he finally let me go. I felt I had been victorious.
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