Chapter 14 · Chapter 14

Seven came as a car, though not the one my uncle had described. The driver opened the rear door and studied the wall while I folded myself in, which is a courtesy of a kind, and the car went the way cars go in this city, out past the last lit shop and up the long wall of a house that had been opened before we reached the gate.

The majlis was full. That was the first thing, and the second was that no one turned to look at me, which took practice. The carpet had been swept for guests. The mabkhara had been through twice already, and the Oud sat in the air the way a debt sits in a family, patient, not asking to be noticed.

I sat where the chair had been put for me, near the far wall, out of the line of the coffee. My Abaya stayed on. My Shaila stayed on.