He walked a little ahead of me, tapping his staff against the ground, finding his way. We passed through the courtyard, another hallway, and entered a smaller courtyard. The many doors around the courtyard were open, revealing empty rooms. One of the rooms did not have a roof and a twisted tree had grown inside of it.

As we climbed some stairs, it occurred to me how silent we had been and I asked, “Is she here?”

“She was here just before.” There was a dryness in his tone as though he had forgotten the surprise of my presence.

The room had white-washed walls, cracked in one place, and its only furnishings were several faded rugs. I noticed a woman sleeping on a mattress in a corner. She lay there, old, fat, her skin unnaturally sallow, her fingers and feet bloated.

“Banoo, Banoo, get up,” my uncle said and my mother sat up abruptly, her bloodshot eyes focused on him, then on me, uncomprehendingly.

I knew this was a moment that I should savor, a moment that would never repeat itself. And I knew there was a right emotion that I must feel, a right gesture I could make. But I stood there motionless, feeling nothing but a weight within me.

“You’d never believe it,” my uncle said to her. “This is Feri.”

“Feri?” my mother said, not making the slightest movement of recognition.

“Feri, your daughter,” my uncle said, and now he had that lingering smile on his face again, a smile that did not seem connected with anything.

“Feri!” I heard my mother’s voice echo this time as though it were coming from a much farther distance than the few feet between us. “My God, Feri!”

“I was away … then I heard about you ….”

She had gotten up and her face was flushed, her eyes fully focused on me with some kind of delirium. “I couldn’t sleep well last night. I was full of strange dreams that would wake me up, frightening dreams that I’d forget instantly.”

“Maybe somewhere inside you there was an inkling of her coming,” my uncle said. “I felt an expectation in me also. That’s why I was sitting there by the door waiting instead of going to the Square. I was not completely surprised when she appeared there, telling me she’s Feri.”

I reached out and embraced my mother, hiding my face on her chest. Then, when I could no longer see her, but could feel her chest and hear her heartbeats, I had a sudden sensation that I was years back in time with no space in between, no incident to mask the startling clarity. This was my mother with the same touch, the same voice.

We sat on a rug in the courtyard and talked while waiting for lunch which was cooking in a blackened pot on a portable stove. My uncle had filled the pot with water from the pool faucet and my mother had added beans, vegetables, and homemade noodles, taking them out of small sacks. The air was extraordinarily clear and smelled of the soup cooking and spearmint growing somewhere in the courtyard.