The guards each had an arm of Rafik. They were bitter, lips pressed tight, while the Saudi said something to Rafik with utmost urgency, close to his face, hands and body in great disturbance. He was a boy, and look what he could do. The ostrich still had her hand over her mouth, but she was sitting back down.

It was then that the Djara leaned her head against the Saudi’s forearm. Aziz felt it was intentional; she did it in a way that was tired but gratified, as if they were brother and sister, which of course they were not. It was as if she was communicating to the Saudi that this kind of scene often happened, and by her familiar way of putting her head on his arm she was reminding him of its ordinariness. Don’t get excited, she was saying without saying it. As if by magic, or because he felt something resting on his forearm, the Saudi looked down at her, and when he did, the guards loosened Rafik’s arms a bit so that they could follow the Saudi’s gaze. Rafik turned to her too, and so he did not angrily pull out of the guards’ grasp but just relaxed his arms. By her gentle forwardness with a man she did not know, this woman had changed the temperature not just of the Saudi but of all of them. Aziz let out a breath, amazed. They were now standing as if in a family photograph, arms linked, smiling for the ostrich’s camera.

She did not have one. But someone else did. A flash popped at a table. Then another flash. It was someone famous. Someone Aziz did not know. Or a birthday. People were knotted around a table, raising their glasses.

The Saudi somehow had put his hand under the Djara’s chin, tilting her face so he could see her. It was clear that he had not noticed her before, Aziz felt, because the full force of seeing her made the Saudi lose his footing by a degree. Aziz could see her perfectly from where he sat.

Her civilizing effect was not yet over. The Saudi began making introductions, bowing a little, as did Rafik, and the guards—they too were made affable. They pulled up an empty table, they politely asked around for chairs, a round of drinks was ordered, and soon there were four men and four women at a pair of round tables. Aziz knew this was his cue to slip out. It was late; he had to get up at five to get to work. Rafik could spend the entire night at these places. How he got up and went to work, Aziz did not know or ask. It would stop when his brother arrived. They would get a place, the two of them, and he would be done with Rafik. He had not come here to fall in with him.

Chapter 9

9