“When they lift the curfew, one of us should go water the almonds and olives,” I said to Bilal.

He looked searchingly into my eyes. I could feel words gathering on his tongue.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“We’ll water the trees, but then I am going to reverse the pump,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Sit down.” He touched my shoulder gently. He began rambling about chemical compounds with names I couldn’t pronounce and scientific terms like anti-androgenic that were meaningless to my ears.

“Stop. The only thing I understood is that you’ve been making compounds in the upstairs bathroom,” I said.

He took a breath and started again.

“Wait.” I stopped him again. “I have to go make my own compounds in the bathroom.”

He laughed as I hurried off.

This is what I finally understood: The compounds he was cooking up were called phthalates. They are anti-androgenic, which means they will feminize men and weaken their sperm. Androgens are male hormones. Phthalic anhydride is a phthalate. Phthalates are found in nearly everything we use, from glues and home cleaning supplies to personal care products, building materials, children’s toys, paint, and medical supplies. Years ago Bilal had synthesized a variation that turned out to be too toxic for consumer use.

“The right phthalates in high enough concentrations disrupt endocrine functions, and—”

“What are endocrine functions?”

“It’s the system of hormones in your body,” he said, adding, “Like androgens.”

“Okay, go on.”

He looked blankly at me. I stared back, until I saw behind his eyes and understood. “Are you going to pump your special phthalates into their water?”

“Shhh.” He put a finger to his lips and came close. “Don’t say that out loud. But, yes, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Will it kill them?”

“No. But it might fuck them up.” He didn’t wait for my reaction before launching into a defense. “These people are trying to wipe away all traces of us. I’m going to do whatever it takes. Even though they pump poison and sewage into our wells and springs, all I’m trying to do is spook them enough to make them leave. So, yes, that’s what I’m doing, and I thank you for having the brilliant idea in the first place.”

I remembered the day we had picnicked, when I had suggested pumping our sewage into their water.