Madame circled the table to stir garlic into each of our yogurts. She handed me a napkin and I wiped the blood off my phone. It no longer had a dial tone. She handed Abudi a piece of bread.

Baba said, "There were two hundred of us in one room in prison. There were holes in the walls, and they were not covered with gla.s.s, and there was no heat, so when it was cold, we were cold until G.o.d warmed the weather. Do you hear that? Until G.o.d warmed the weather! And here you think you have a gas problem. In the ceiling, there were two holes where light came in. The light was always on. When I first came, they told me, Take off your clothes,' and they beat me. I was number seventeen. Of course, they learned the techniques from America and Germany-are you listening, Bea? Your country that's so high and mighty, it's b.u.t.ting in, it's imposing sanctions. Sanctions don't hurt the government, they hurt the people.

"A nurse came in and wiped off the blood. There was blood in my underwear. He had to lift my underwear. Then they put me back in the room with the two holes for light, and I was quite happy, I thought, Here I am, there's no beating and there's light. You see how low were my expectations! I thought those two holes were sunlight and I was happy about the light, but they weren't. It was artificial light and the guards looked down on us from the holes and that fake light, so we couldn't move without them knowing, if we moved they would pick us out. The general would watch with the guards from up above. He'd say, You see that man?' The next day, they would call that man out and beat him, and then two of them would throw him back in to us. Of course, we had no way to clean him. We would rub his blood off for him with our hands. Eat your yogurt, Abudi."

Madame said, "You're excused, Abudi. Go play in the living room."

Baba said, "There aren't death certificates for the ones they killed. Of course, I know who they killed. But there aren't certificates. Of course, that's a problem now, because the deeds of their houses and their shops and cars are in their names, and you can't change those over to their children or wives until the government sees a death certificate, and of course there's no death certificate. Their wives can't remarry."

Madame said, "Lucky wives!"

Baba nodded at Madame. "She came after my trip," he told me. Meaning, he married her after jail.

"Lucky me," Madame said, "lucky for your first wife you came back, so she could remarry."

"G.o.d provides for us," Baba said.

Abudi came running in. He said, "Bea, Nisrine is taller than you are!"

Nisrine was on a ladder in the hall, cleaning the ceiling. I could tell by her face she had been listening.

Baba looked at her. He said, "She's my problem."

We all looked where Nisrine was. Until now, I had thought I was Baba's problem, I and my country. He had been talking to me.

Baba looked at Madame. "Don't get mad at her, Amal, it's not her fault. A policeman fought me and asked for her."

Silence. So, this was the problem. This was why Baba had come in, angry, mad at Americans who b.u.t.ted in, talking about the consequences of friendships.

Adel had fought Baba. I felt myself floating.

He had fought, and asked for Nisrine, but I had been the one who liked him first, everyone knew this, and I had been in the kitchen sitting before Baba, my country imposed sanctions without thinking, so Baba had talked to me.

We were all standing. Madame raised a hand, and for a moment, I thought she might run and hit Baba, or me, or Nisrine. I wasn't sure who. Then, she dropped her hand and sat down. She seemed very old in the chair. I saw all her wrinkles, like a balloon the air had gone out of.

Nisrine came down from the ladder.

"I'm sorry, Baba," she said. "I'll fix it."

Everyone should have been mad. No one was mad at the table. Baba wasn't mad anymore, he'd lost all his anger. He had been angry for all of us.

We four sat looking at one another, not knowing what to do. Finally, Madame said, "Nisrine, go do the ironing."

"I'll fix it." But, there was a brightness to her eyes. And all of a sudden, I realized: she had been wanting and asking and waiting. She was unhappy, in an impossible situation. She had asked Baba, she had asked me, we had done nothing- Adel had fought Baba. He had done something.

Baba stood up. He said to Madame, "I'm going. You need anything?" His hand was still bleeding.

Madame roused herself. "Right now? Stay awhile, Ha.s.san."

But Baba was already putting on his shoes. He said again to Madame, "Don't do anything to her, Amal. She's a good girl." He looked at me. "They both are. A policeman asked for her, we need her." Then he said, "Lema, get me my socks."

Baba had not said anything about it, but the air had changed, and we all had a suspicion about where he was going. Suddenly, the divide between us lessened; we all tried to keep him.

Lema rolled her eyes. She finished her yogurt, stalling. "It's as if he's my husband, not yours," she said to Madame.

"He's your father."

Lema brought him socks from the hall closet.

"Bea, what color are these? They look black. I don't want black socks."

I was still floating. I thought of Baba, being hit by a policeman. I thought of the policeman, asking and asking. I thought, like Nisrine thought, that he had not wanted to hurt Baba. Still.

Baba had been deciding whether to sign a doc.u.ment.

"My G.o.d, Baba," Lema said for me about the socks, "you really have a problem with your eyes. They're coal."

"They're coal. Put them on, Ha.s.san," Madame said. "The winter socks are all packed away, you can't have them."

Baba put the socks on.

Madame smiled. "You see how he listens to me?"

But, only about socks. Not about staying.

"Because I'm stupid like a donkey. That's why I listen to you. Bea, give me your cell phone."

"It's OK, Baba." Don't go. Don't go, don't do anything rash, don't decide because of a fight to sign.

"Don't be silly, I broke it. I'll fix it."

He held out his hand, and I gave him my cell phone.

"I'm sorry, Baba."

Madame said, "Remember us, Ha.s.san. Before you do anything, walk awhile and remember us."

He asked Madame, "You need anything?"

And I could have thought of several things: Baba safe, Nisrine safe, Adel safe, a new cell phone, none of this to have happened, we must talk to Adel, before Baba signs, Nisrine must talk to him- Madame shook her head. "No, Ha.s.san. Your health."

AFTERWARDS, we watched one another in silence. For a long time, Madame had suspected. Now, she knew out in the open, but Baba had made her promise not to do anything. So, she just watched.

For Baba, it had been easier to blame me, because I was American; in blaming me, he could educate me about America. For Madame, it was easier to blame Nisrine; she was the maid, Madame had already blamed her for so much, and now it turned out that blame was just.

Before, Madame had not wanted to be in the same room as Nisrine. Now, she didn't want to let us out of her sight, she didn't know who we would run and talk to. So, we all sat together in the kitchen, watching the light fade out the window, until eventually Nisrine couldn't sit anymore, and she went to do the ironing in the hall where Madame could still see her. Through the dusk, her eyes shone like stars.

My head was busy with things we should be doing, policemen we should be calling, fixing. Madame watched us.

After a while, she said, "We had trouble before, this isn't our first trouble. I remember when foreigners entered our neighboring country. There were foreign tanks and everything in the street, and checkpoints. Like now, except there were so many more checkpoints. We lived like that for ten years, next to the foreign army."

I said, "That must have been very hard."

She shrugged. "Militias rose up and pushed the foreign army to the south, and there were rumors that the foreigners would leave. Lema was one and a half years old. I had a friend living in the south, so I went there, just to look at the foreign soldiers, to see what they looked like before they left. It was cold out, so cold, I remember, and everyone here was scared for me. They said to Baba, How can you let your wife go and do that? And take your child?'

"Coming back, in the taxi we were scared. The situation had gotten worse, you see. It was cold, so cold. We waited five hours in the garage for the car to fill up. The driver wouldn't leave without a full car, the donkey. After five hours, we had three pa.s.sengers and I told him, You'd better hurry up and go. Three's enough,' I said. So we went, it was so cold, and we kept getting stopped by the foreign soldiers at checkpoints along the way north. I remember one looked at Lema and made a joke about her. They knew some words in Arabic-open the window,' for example. They did bad things to our neighbors, they helped ma.s.sacre people. But I was looking at them, and looking at them. I thought they were so beautiful!"

Beauty. Men in foreign uniforms, whom you know it is wrong to like, and yet you do.

"I understand Ha.s.san," Madame said. "Me, I like to look, I like to be involved. But I'm not like Ha.s.san, I don't stay. I don't sign my name. A day or two, and I want out."

I came to stand beside Madame at the window. It was dark now. We looked over the city, to the road like a black river; to the white glow of TV screens, strung together from apartment to apartment, like Christmas lights.

"Mama, what will happen to Baba?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think he'll really sign the doc.u.ment?"

"I don't know, Bea, I don't know."

"Maybe we can fix it."

She gave me a long look. "Don't try to fix anything."

But, so much in me wanted to. Adel, I thought. Adel, who had done something. Could he really have fought Baba? I felt the secret care I'd harbored for him for so long slowly melt away; all at once, Imad was there instead. Imad, who had traveled all over England; who'd never hit anyone, that I knew of. Imad, who knew all about how to work with foreigners, which drew me to him, but made him suspect for the police. His kisses had come like thank-you notes, strung out after a long time behind our studying. He was not Qais. Still. Tomorrow I would see him, and we'd go together before his interview to the National Library, and this time maybe Imad would help me, maybe with him I'd finally read the astonishing text. I had dreamed about crying over that text for so long, and now all of a sudden I didn't know whether I wanted to cry for the text's beauty, or so that Imad could comfort me.

"Mama, did you have boyfriends before Baba?"

"Yes," Madame said, "I had lots of boyfriends."

"Who was your first?"

"The neighbor, when I was thirteen."

"Who was your longest?"

"They were all very short."

"How did it last with Baba, then?"

"We made a choice, we had to stick by it." Madame was married when she was twenty-three.

Lema had come in while we were talking. She stood behind us, listening. "Is marriage hard?" she asked.

"Very hard. Even though I loved Ha.s.san, there were a lot of times I thought of leaving. But, I made a choice."

I thought of Baba, nights when he came home and we were so happy to see him. I thought of him in jail in a room without sunlight.

"Did your marriage with Baba succeed?"

Madame didn't answer for a while. Then she said, "Yes, it succeeded."

"Do you still think about leaving?"

"No, now it's much easier because it's become normal. Everything is normal."

"Have you ever loved anyone after you loved Baba?"

"No, of course not. That is all done."

In my head, I made exchanges: All the words I knew, for Baba's safety. All the books in my drawer, for this to be all right.

Lema asked, "Mama, why did you choose Baba? He didn't have anything when he came to you. He'd just got out of jail."

"His family lied to me. They said they would give him both factories, and money. But they didn't give him anything. He had to earn those for himself."

Lema asked, "What's your favorite thing about Baba?"

We were always so anxious for him. We waited for him in the evenings, and never wanted him to leave. And now, the doc.u.ment. I looked at Madame.

"What did you say, Mama?" She'd said a word I didn't understand. She said it again. Then she said, ". . . and his patience."

I was here to read an astonishing text.

I'd studied so many words for love in Arabic.

Her favorite thing about him was a word I didn't understand.

THE WOMEN STAY, and the men go, and we don't know how to help, we don't know what to do.

Madame and Lema and I sat in the kitchen a long time, while Nisrine ironed. When it grew late, Madame went to put Dounia and Abudi to bed, and that is how she found my big bag beside Nisrine's mat on the floor in the bedroom, where we had once wheeled it, for when Nisrine could leave. She dragged it into the hallway.

"Bea, are you going somewhere?"

"No."

Madame said, "I thought this bag was yours."

Nisrine stood watching. "It's mine."

I said, "I gave it to Nisrine, to put her clothes in."

Nisrine and I had both loved and talked to a policeman, and so we were both to blame, though only one of us was loved back.