Ghazi was talking. He was explaining how his intended told him the uncle was sending money to the mother in France. Aziz could not quite follow why this mattered. “And a friend from university comes into Arzew,” Ghazi was saying. “He has a bride he has come to claim, and he says to me, ‘So, my friend, when will your bride be yours?’ And I say, ‘My bride is soon to come, she is Djamila.’ And this one, he says, ‘Djamila Yasin?’

“And I say, ‘Yes, it is that same Djamila.’ And he pulls my head to his head, and he says, ‘On my mother’s grave, and by God I swear, that Djamila has been with your brother.’ And as if he knew I would hit him, he takes my hands like this and holds them here, and I know, in that holding, that he is sure.”

Aziz made a sound. He could not help it. Ghazi seemed flat, almost automatic.

“She had been with him before my father settled on me,” Ghazi said. “I do not know if my father knew about Djamila and my brother. If he did not, still, my brother said nothing when my father—”

“He let your father make this for you.”

“Yes.”

Aziz looked at the bowls, chicken to the brims. Ghazi had stopped chopping.

“I find out, soon, that her mother is not sick. I find that this mother is not in France. I find that her father is not dead, he is in Turkey. My brother knew all this. I tell my father; they call me liar, my brother innocent. It has been that way, uncle, I swear to you, from when I was born.

“I prepare. I get clothes, plastic bags, American dollars. I watch the tankers, I ask the routes, I find Rafik’s number, and the night before the wedding, I pay one I have known since soccer days to hide me on board. When the ship leaves that morning, I am in it, thinking of Djamila waiting, hour by slow hour, for me who will never appear.”

Chapter 15

15

They took cover in the desert. No one hid land mines in blowing sand. Aziz’s unit was camped south of Biskra. They were forbidden to leave at night without written instruction. Another unit had been called up to defuse the mines, but they had been attacked on the way. CONSIGNÉ À TOUT LE PERSONNEL MILITAIRE: Ne sortir sous aucun prétexte. État d’alerte. Communiquez toutes infractions à cet ordre. Aziz had seen the bulletin himself, because he was trying to find Ramdane Benane: Benane, who served under the intelligence chief Zahaf. Benane reported to Zahaf, but it was said that he was not Zahaf’s man. To catch sight of Benane, Aziz had poured tea for the officers all afternoon. If only Benane, if only Benane . . . was the song in his head.