I reached home when she was busy in the kitchen, talking to herself. "Don't you realize they can just hit you in the head and there's nothing I could do? Where would I look for you if they arrested you? At least pity your father's sick heart."
I realized the atmosphere was contaminated with her anger. I said "hi," sliding through the door and letting myself in. I went straight to my room and had taken off my shirt when she entered, catching me half naked.
"I swear to God, if you participate in these gatherings and protests one more time..." She paused for a minute, looking for an appropriate threat.
I help her, "You'll disinherit me?"
She brandished the wooden spoon that smelled of meat fried in onions in front of my nose, "I'm not kidding with you." She left and went to plead with Father, who was hidden, as usual, behind a newspaper on the sofa.
"Mohammad, say something, will you?" As calm as he was, he folded the newspaper, put it into the wooden basket next to him and said, "Don't worry, I'll speak to him myself."
Mother had returned to the kitchen when father peaked to make sure her attention was not on us and then whispered, "Are you crazy to come and brag about having gone to a protest and getting beaten up, kid? If you want to go, go in a way that your mother doesn't find out."