We touched, but mechanically. All the sensations of being close to him were there—the warmth of his skin, his breath, the curve of his thighs, but something was missing at the core of it all. I thought of Mahmood Majid, the abortive physical contact between us, leading to nothing. Perhaps he would be an adequate substitute for whatever it was I yearned for if he were with me in bed instead of Tony.

Tony pulled away from me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Your attitude bothers me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, like a child trying to hide her guilt.

“You just lie there passively and expect me to do everything.”

“I’m sorry. Shall we try again?”

“Never mind. I can wait.” He turned around, facing the wall.

“I guess I’m just not myself,” I said, putting my arm around him.

He turned to me again. “Do you want to do it?”

“O.K.”

The sex, all the way through, was as mechanical as our preliminary touches.

Again I stayed awake and he fell asleep immediately.

After a while I got out of bed, went into the courtyard and sat on the steps leading up to the porch. The clouds moved over the moon but there was no wind. Some of the pomegranates had cracked open, revealing the glistening seeds inside. A black cat with bright yellow eyes jumped down from a doorway and stared at me. Then I became aware of a shadow, coming closer. I turned around—it was my father.

“You had a hard time sleeping too?” he asked. “You were always like this, restless.”

“I know.”

“Remember how you used to crawl into my bed for comfort?”

“Yes.”

We were both whispering.

“Tell me,” he said. “Do you think you’re doing the right thing rushing back?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Stay a little longer. We’ll try not to bother you.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I said hesitantly.

He shook his head.

“How was your mother?” he asked, at last.

“She was fine, I guess.”

His eyes were on me, wide-open, hurt. His shadow fell starkly against the ground. It seemed to me that once long ago we had stood in this same spot in the dark and talked.

“Don’t you understand the disgrace she brought on me? For a long time after she left me I went around with my head bent, afraid to see anyone. Faces seemed to come out of the walls, laughing at me, shouting, ‘You fool!’ And I had given her no reason for that. I had always indulged her.” His voice failed him for an instant. Then he went on. “I wonder if she wasn’t possessed by something beyond her will, beyond common sense, that made her destroy herself and all those around her.”

“I know how you must have felt,” I said. “In a way I felt the same when she left.”

“You would have grown up differently if she hadn’t left. You’d be proud of your country, your family.” He breathed heavily and then he went on. “You wouldn’t get that awful stomach wound you have.”