Part 25 (2/2)

I thought, If there were a fire here, we would all die because the door was always locked against Nisrine getting out and strangers getting in, and Madame could never remember where the key was hidden. I tried to decide if we could jump from the balcony, like Adel had. I thought about jumping from the balcony to save ourselves, now, often.

Nisrine and I moved about the house like careful ghosts, and we kept finding small evidence of the afternoon-a bookshelf, neat but not in order; a loose rung on the balcony rail. When we noticed these things, we quietly tried to fix them.

Madame came upon me.

”What are you doing in Lema's drawer, Bea, did you lose something?”

She went to hang the laundry, and found the balcony rail was loose.

”Come here, Bea. Did you see this?”

Adel had kicked the rail on his way back to the station.

I said, ”I think it's been that way for a while.”

Madame wiggled it. It swayed with her wiggling.

”It has? It's dangerous. It needs to be fixed.”

We waited for Baba to come home, and Madame to find out, and Adel to come back. And the whole time, Nisrine was quietly glowing. She danced around the house, righting the mess I had made earlier, smiling to herself in the hallway.

For a joke, Abudi locked her in the parlor; she yelled and knocked determinedly, until he let her out.

I asked, ”What was it like?”

”What? Love? Oh Bea, you'll feel it. It gives you hope.”

Hopeful, we waited for Adel to show himself.

In the meantime, I was again part of the family. I counted for Dounia's jump rope. Abudi played games on my phone. Smoke hung like lace over our windows, obscuring our view so that our apartment floated high above, no longer part of the city, and this made me lonely.

I called Imad again and again, until finally he answered very politely, as if we were strangers and he hadn't been ignoring me.

”Do you need something, Bea?”

I asked, ”How was Security?”

”They kept me an hour. I was late for my students.”

”Did they take your license?”

”I kept my license.”

Pause.

”Look, Bea, I have to go now. I'll talk to you later, OK?”

I asked, ”Do you want to meet tomorrow? I can get out tomorrow.”

”I'm busy tomorrow.”

”When do you want to meet?”

Imad said, ”I'm sorry, I'm feeling very strange from that interview. I'll call you sometime, OK? And we can start again.”

We hung up. I concentrated on feeling angry, not sad. We'd only kissed twice. Lema had been standing in the doorway, listening. She said, ”Forget him, Bea. Don't worry. Matt mat. Haha. Allah yerhamo.”

Madame came in. ”What's the matter? Bea looks sad.”

”I'm not sad.”

Lema said, ”Matt mat.”

”Matt mat? Good riddance. Men, who needs them? You're better off without him, Bea.”

WHEN WE WERE GETTING READY for bed, Baba came home in a rush, grabbed the TV remote from Abudi in the living room, clicked off the cartoons, and turned to the national channel.

”Open the window,” he said, ”open the window! Is there rain? See if there's rain.”

On the TV, there was a mosque filled with men. They were praying for rain. Winter had gone and spring had come and there had been no rain since December, only fire and heat. They lifted their palms skyward, and the mosque looked thick with hard men's hands.

Madame and Nisrine and the children and I sat with Baba before the TV screen, watching the air out the window, feeling the warmth of Baba and the fire around us as we leaned out to see, beneath the burnt cooking oil and carpet smoke and car oil, if we could smell rain. When a few drops fell, we smiled.

THE POEM ADEL'S FATHER FOUND

To My Flower, the Jasmine. Written 25 April, by this poet-policeman, after the most beautiful of meetings. Amended after reading an interview with a tutor of Americans, to serve as a warning.

*Note: Nisrine, the poem is in blue. The explanation is in red pen beneath.

To My Flower, the Jasmine: My heart is an occupied place.

You've occupied my heart.

And Lover, is the true t.i.tle of those who love.

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