I nodded. “The mosque he goes to, yesterday’s papers said they carry literature on how Zionism is responsible for the World Trade Center, and Jews make Purim cakes out of Muslim children’s blood. I hate to think I’m protecting someone who wants to kill my friends.”

He grunted. “Best I can tell you is, I grew up in the Catholic Church

hearing same kinds of stories. Jews killed Jesus, made matzo out of Christian babies’ blood. Grew up, learned different, learned better, hope this kid can do the same. How’s the girl?”

“Healing nicely. She’ll come home from the hospital today. To a showdown between her father and her grandmother. The father has the legal rights, but my money is on Granny … Can I talk to Benji for a minute?”

Father Lou looked at his clock. “Should be in the kitchen. Seems able to look after himself. I think he’s a good boy. Shy, but eager to respond to people.”

I walked down the unlit hallways to the kitchen, where Benji was washing dishes in the old zinc sink. He looked up nervously at my entrance, but relaxed when he recognized me.

I put a piece of bread in the toaster. “I saw Catherine yesterday. She’s doing well: she got hit in the upper arm but not badly, and they’re sending her home from the hospital today.”

“That is very well, that news. You telling her where I am?”

I nodded. “She’ll be in touch when she knows it won’t put you in any danger for her to visit you. Benji-what do you want to do in the long run, if we can sort out your problems? Do you want to stay in Chicago, or go back to Cairo?”

He started drying the plates he’d washed, carefully, as if they were Sevres china instead of industrial pottery. “Sort out my problems? You are saying what? End my problems?”

“Yes. Solve them.”

“For my family, is good I am here. I send money and my sisters and my littlest brother, they go to school, they study. For me, always hiding is no good. Is unhealthy, is-” He made an expressive gesture, comprehending humiliation and anger. “And also when I hiding I cannot working. Cannot work. I cannot work when I am hiding always. This Christian priest is what you saying, he is good man, and he is helping with learning English, but still I cannot work, I cannot go mosque, I cannot see my people.”

“So I need to figure out how to let you stay here but keep you out of the FBI’s clutches.” I spread butter on the toast. “Benji, last Sunday a man died in the pond behind Larchmont Hall-the house where Catherine hid you, you know its name is `Larchmont Hall,’ right? I think someone put

this man in the pond; I think someone killed this man. When you were watching for Catherine, what did you see?”

“Nothing. I seeing nothing.” He dropped the plate he was holding. It landed with a bang on the tiles, breaking into large jagged chunks.