“No, you didn’t.” I poured us some sweet mint tea. “But I’m saying that strict heterosexuality is probably a small minority of humanity. If you take society and religion out of the equation, we’re probably all a little homo.” I went all-in with my theory, making it up as I went along, amazing myself.

Mohsin smiled at that. We went back on the balcony, where he lit up another cigarette and watched life on the street ten stories below. We spent two hours like that. I lectured him on the dangers of smoking, imparting the Western conspiracy to poison us all, though I wasn’t sure I believed that any longer. He told me how his father had caught him in the act with an older man. It was my job as an expert in matters of love to assure his father that his son was not a faggot but an insatiable lover and admirer of the female form. Mohsin found in me a place to unburden his soul.

“Can you just assure him that I’ll make my future wife a very happy woman or something like that? And, I don’t know, maybe hint that I just have a lot of hormones and always need it … but say it … maybe in a crude way so he believes?” His brown face got redder as he spoke.

I put my hand on his. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect your secret and convince him you’re a ladies’ man.” He smiled, relieved, and thanked me. No therapist or clergy can substitute for the confidence of a whore, because whores have no voice in the world, no avenue to daylight, and that makes us the most reliable custodians of secrets and truth.

“You know my biggest secret. Tell me one of yours,” he said.

I gave him a side glance and a smile. “Son, we are not friends, and this is not a secret-sharing session.”

“Please.”

“Why do you want to know my secrets?”

“Not all of them. Just one. I’ll never tell anyone.”

I thought for a moment and told him a nonsecret secret. “I have three names. Almas, of course. But I’m also known as Nahr and as Yaqoot.”

“Which one is your real name?”

“One secret. That’s it.”

He smiled. “I’ll never forget you,” he said.

As I found out years later, he was true to his word, and would do a remarkable favor for me in turn.

Jehad graduated from high school in June of 1990 and chose Moscow State University from the list that accepted him. He told me that Moscow used to bring hundreds of Palestinians to study in Russia free of charge, but all that changed when the Soviet Union dissolved. He felt it was only right that he go there instead of a Western country. His first year would be spent learning Russian and taking basic classes in culture, or he could do an intensive language course in Amman for half the cost, then go straight to university in Moscow.