Mourad picked her up at work every so often, so that the fiction of their couplehood, in the event they were being followed, could look more real. When he did, he often brought a carnation. He thought this would be a good touch. When he gave it to her, he kissed her on the cheek. Mourad also suggested that they go to the movies, like couples do. He decided to leave the choice of movie up to her, because he had observed on television that it was often the woman of the couple who made the plans for things like dinner or guests or vacations or movies.

Heather actually liked the movie suggestion. It was good to get out of the apartment. It was good to stop watching television. It was good to be certain no one was listening to them. Who could see you in a movie theater? If only Ghazi were there, he would know what to do. But he wasn’t. And that made her remember the whole mess, and she felt cornered, and she decided it was easier to just do what Mourad wanted.

Ghazi lived in the Montreal YMCA. It was thick with Algerians. He went cautiously, pretending he was Italian. Since they thought he had no Arabic, their talking at night was unthinking. There were, he could gather, a thousand ways to steal. There was the government dole, which was far better than anyone could ever hope to have in Algeria. There were the women, who, even if they were the lowest-paid of the lowest, made more than anyone in Algeria. They could be bedded and lived off, and during the day, when at work, there were other women and other things. There were also the ways to make money from spies, because Algerian spies were everywhere in Montreal. They had taken the trouble to come here! It astonished Ghazi. It seemed that one was listening to another who was listening to another who was listening to the first one. To find out what? This was not said. Were they talking in intrigues to make the dull of cold Canada seem less? He knew one thing. He wanted, badly, to return to the border agent. He felt, perhaps, this was the time he was in love.