In the real past, the past that had taken place, she had not entered his room. She had stood at the door, clutching the notes. She had stood at the door because it was the proper thing to do, because she had promised her mother, because his mother was there in the background and even though she had said to her, ‘Go in, my dear. Amir is still running a fever, he’s not eating, do go in,’ she would judge her if she did so. She could hold it against her in the future and Salma wasn’t stupid enough to fall into such a trap. So, she had stood at the door and when he saw her, he jumped out of bed, completely taken by surprise, dishevelled and sweaty in his pyjamas. Handsome, she had thought, and she was flooded with dread, thinking, oh no, oh no, what if he did not have influenza as his mother said but one of those deadly diseases they had been studying.

In the real past, she had giggled and not returned his hug. She had averted her face and said, as primly as she could, ‘Do you want to pass on your flu?’ In the past she had behaved as one behaves when there is everything to be gained. But now this was not the true past, the past that had happened, it was only an echo of it, a mirage to dip in and out of, her chest constricted, her body knowing full well that it did not belong in this fantasy, that it could not last long and soon she would pop back into the present. When the dead are brought back to life, they are not brought back to live. When the dead are brought back to life, they do not linger. The miracle is in the resurrection; it is not a reversal of destiny.

Now, Salma the woman entered Amir’s room. She did not hesitate, she did not giggle. Like the diver and the mountain climber, she knew that her time in these depths and these heights was limited. She must make her mark and leave, there was no time for preamble, no time for shyness or playing hard to get. She would not avert her face, she would not be prim. But the bed was empty and that came as a shock. He was not here. He had led her that far, all the way to his bedroom, and then he was not here. The anger made it even more difficult to breathe, the gasp of disappointment an unyielding attempt to suck air in. She must back out, to search for him elsewhere, in another version of the past.