Chapter 4 · Chapter 4

I came into the majlis the next morning with the Abaya fastened to the collar and the Tarha pinned flat, and I took the third place along the long side. Not the Sadr. Not the far end. The seat a woman is given in a room that has not yet decided what she is.

The shutters were half drawn and the light lay in bars across the carpet, which was worn pale where feet turn and turn again in the same spot. The Oud in the mabkhara had burned down to grey. Nobody had thought to refresh it, which told me the meeting had been called quickly and by someone who wanted it to feel like an ordinary morning.

The steward came to me first. He tilted the Dallah and the Gahwa came out in a thin gold thread, less than half the Finjan, and I took it with my right hand and turned the cup once and set it down. A date lay at the rim. I did not eat it.

Ammi waited until the cups were all down. Then he said my name, plainly, so that the whole room understood it was not a greeting.