“I did not count.”

“I talked to Benane.”

Aziz waited. He could not trust himself to speak. The turn from here was hard to see.

“Tahar got the wrong message. His men thought they were to kill the ones who were not wearing a barnous. That they were to kill the ones in the leather jackets. Wearing Adidas.”

Aziz let out a stream of air between his lips. “Not good,” he said.

“Not good,” Sellami repeated. He took another swig.

“I told Benane you were flawless,” Sellami added.

Aziz shook his head.

“No,” Sellami said. “You were. It was almost a year, and you never fucked up. They fucked up.”

They were quiet. Aziz willed the man with the lamb to come quickly. He could not think his way into this conversation. It called for closeness. They had spent months killing together, engaged in an elaborate delusion about which Sellami no doubt had countless questions to ask and reminiscences to share. There was still much Aziz did not grasp. His left hand, on the unbroken arm, quivered. He tried to lean it on the chair.

Sellami pushed a button, Aziz did not see where. “Get the food here. Bring kebab, anything,” Sellami said. “Fuck the chops.”

“I am fine.”

“You are shaking.”

“It is nothing.”

“I always crack up when the game is over. Always. Or I used to,” Sellami said. He took another swallow of vodka. “I mean you are there, you are doing it, you start to believe you are what you play. And when it ends, when you are you, it can be too much. And Nazzar, you have never done it before.”

Aziz was relieved to hear this. He was a novice. Allowances would be made.

“You must want to talk to your parents.”

“My parents?” Aziz’s relief evaporated.

“I am sorry. I meant your mother.”

Aziz tried to construe what this meant, and as he did the dark man appeared carrying a tray of platters, and behind him was another person, a boy. He had bowls of water and towels. They were to wash their hands. But the boy knelt and washed Aziz’s hands for him, perhaps because of his sling. Sellami rubbed his hands in the water and the boy handed him a towel. The food was spread on a series of tables the boy brought in from the hallway and covered in white tablecloths.

When he was done eating, Sellami was on another drink. Aziz decided it was important to join him.

“I want whiskey.”

“Good. That helps. It will turn off your nerves.”

“I am better now.”

“Can you believe Antar? There he is in the barnous, and he starts firing, and no one goes after him. Who did they think he was? Me?”

“It was dark.”