Part 25 (1/2)

”Who will you be, Adel?” His father wanted to hear, A general.

But through his pain, all Adel could remember was a dark hip, a suprising feeling. He dug into this memory. He let it cover him.

”Nisrine,” he said.

His father hit him again.

So, this was love. In the end, it was what you went to in your most painful moments, your darkest feelings. It lifted you, helped you to become another person, to know another side of yourself.

”Who are you, Adel?”

”Nisrine.” He claimed her.

His father hit him over and over again, but Adel could only say her name.

I HEARD LATER that when it was done, Adel lay on his desk, unconscious. From the small window in the door, the other policemen stood watching.

Years before, when he was still a boy, Adel's father had taken his son up to their apartment roof and the two of them had looked out at thousands of stars like bright eyes. From his father, Adel had learned all the constellations.

Now, this same man looked down at his son on the desk. There was blood, and already Adel's face was turning a light blue-green riverish color. Adel's father stripped off his son's jacket; underneath was a policeman's vest; he stripped that off, too, until the young man lay small and boyish in his white T-s.h.i.+rt, like he had just gone to sleep.

Adel was a good height, but with a small chest, not as strong as a father might hope for. Still. On the desk lay Imad's interview, with the troubling information, and beside it, a poem. His father looked at the interview. He read it, then he read the poem, and pocketed them both.

He took his son in his arms and carried him home.

I might as well tell you now that Adel lay in bed for the next several days, while outside, worrisome events unfolded.

The first day pa.s.sed. He was partway unconscious.

He could not call my cell phone, he thought it was still broken. Nisrine and I didn't know where he was. His phone had been taken by his mother.

A second day pa.s.sed.

He should already have come for Nisrine, and in our apartment, the worst had happened. He did not know this, his mother wouldn't let him out of bed. She bathed his face and arms and, when he was awake, she sang to him.

A third, and a fourth day pa.s.sed. On the fifth day, he got up and found that while he slept, his policeman's vest and coat had been taken.

He went to his mother.

”Mama, where are my clothes?”

His parents were having breakfast. They rolled their bread in small ovals like scrolls and dipped the round pieces in what they wanted.

His mother looked at his father.

His father looked at Adel. Adel's face was still bruised, when he walked he held it carefully. On his cheeks and ribs were red marks like precious stones. His father said, ”What are you, Adel?”

He was a lover. However, he had learned his lesson. ”My father's son.”

”What else?”

”A policeman-”

His father shook his head. ”Not anymore.”

FIRE.

WHEN MADAME CAME HOME, she was apologetic and no longer angry. ”Why didn't you tell me you had cla.s.s, Bea? I could have stayed here. It wasn't important.”

She let me wash my own juice gla.s.s, and then Nisrine's, because she was no longer treating me like a guest. She didn't remark on the fact that Nisrine was in the hallway, instead of the bedroom where she had left her. She fished in her purse and drew out my cell phone, which was fixed and clean. She made Lema show me the swimsuit they'd gone shopping for.

That night, there was a commotion at the police station, but we couldn't tell what it was about. Afterwards, Moni called to tell us there had been a raid on the Journalists' Club, where Baba's doc.u.ment was, but the doc.u.ment had not been found.

Nisrine and I looked at each other.

If Baba was in danger, Adel was supposed to send us a warning.

We looked for Adel, but he had disappeared from our balcony, and he hadn't reappeared on the roof that night.

Secretly, I used my cell phone to call Nisrine's emba.s.sy, just to see what the options were for a maid without a pa.s.sport.

A woman answered. She asked which family. I felt like a traitor. I wouldn't tell her.

She said, ”Are they important?”

”Maybe.”

She sighed very loudly. ”Yesterday we got a call for three maids from an important family. You know, these people have so much money, and they just abuse them. Tell her to come to us, and we can help. But she has to come Sunday through Thursday, nine a.m. to two p.m. If she comes on Sat.u.r.day, no one will be here.” When I hung up with the emba.s.sy I called Imad, but there was no answer.

I went back inside and found Nisrine in the kitchen. ”You can go to your emba.s.sy Sunday through Thursday, and they will help you-” I told her.

But just then, Abudi ran in to tell us a building was burning down the street. We stood at the kitchen window, watching the fire grow, and shook our heads at how long the fire trucks were taking. It grew and grew; Madame had been airing the house, and we rushed around closing all the windows so the smoke from the fire couldn't get in.

Madame called, ”Look, look! It's spreading, it's not dying!”

We ran back to stand beside Madame at the window and watch the dogs and stray cats running out into the street from the buildings and the garden.

”Oh, how sad,” Madame said. ”How sad, how sad. It's spreading. Oh, it's spreading!”