But Antar thought Aziz was Nazzar. As long as he did, Aziz’s family was safe. But Nazzar’s family, by Aziz’s escape, would be killed. This had been enough to keep Aziz from trying. Then came the woman and the shovel. Nazzar had wanted to join men who killed so. His family created him, so they made such killing. But such thinking made Aziz like Antar. Kill the families of patriots if you can’t find the patriots. If Nazzar can’t be killed, kill his mother and father. Widen the circle of guilt if the guilty are too clever to find or, in Nazzar’s case, already dead.

Such thinking, such renouncing of killing Nazzar’s parents, nonetheless left Aziz stuck with Antar and a killer, not of Nazzar’s family but of many other families. So his thoughts rearranged. Escape might lead to Antar killing Nazzar’s family. Perhaps Nazzar’s parents had died years ago in a plane crash. Perhaps Nazzar had no brothers or sisters. Perhaps the family had moved some years ago to Tunisia, or Italy, or even Malaysia. Perhaps, if they were still in Algeria, there was a chance they would be smart enough to escape the irhabiya of Antar. It did happen. Didn’t he believe he could escape them?

He thought of Soumeya. He hoped she could wait. When their fathers arranged the marriage, Aziz’s tour of duty was soon to start. The plan was to marry in two years when he completed his service. Soumeya’s father owned great orchards in the Mitidja, but he had only daughters—six of them—and he needed men, greatly, to run what he could no longer run alone. But it was far from Arzew, and Aziz was not sure. So before his father said yes, he showed Aziz her picture. The day he left for training, his father gave him the photograph to keep. In the desert, it stayed in his boot, wrapped in paper and foil. When he was certain he was alone, which was almost never, he took it out and studied her.