He looked confused, then nodded. “I’d forgotten how late you wean in al-Remal.”

“Bring him something sweet, if you can. He eats solid food, too, you know.” He came back in twenty minutes with bread, cheese, kabobs, and a thermos of coffee. There was a cup of honeyed yogurt for Karim. “Maku,” said Philippe. “Do you know what it means?” “How would I?”

“The story goes that in ancient times a general had to move his army by night. They marched by moonlight until they came to this place, where the mountains, that cliff there, blocked the sky. The army was stumbling around, disintegrating, in pitch blackness, and the general cried out, Maku? Maku?’. It means ‘Where is the moon?’”

“Where did you hear this?”

“It’s well known among civilized people everywhere—although it obviously hasn’t reached al-Remal yet.” He grinned. “Actually, I’ve been here before, here and across the border, in Turkey. Long ago, when I was very idealistic, fresh from medical school. It was the usual horror: an earthquake followed by an epidemic. I was here for the epidemic.” He gazed into the distance. “Death isn’t the enemy,” he said unexpectedly. “Death will always be there. What wears one down is the weight of ignorance, as massive as that mountain above us. Cholera everywhere: ‘What measures have you taken?’ ‘Oh, we’re eating garlic.’ A child wasting away with diarrhea: ‘I put a charred peach pit in his navel, Your Honor, but he doesn’t get better, by God’s will.’ I’m sure it hasn’t changed a centime’s worth all these years later.”

“Neither have you, my friend. You’re still the idealist. And still young,” she added, because in the growing light, his weary face did not look young at all.

“Hah! So young that I’m going to need another of these to get me to the border.” He took out a pill and swallowed it with coffee. “We’re only half an hour away. Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen. They may ask me some routine questions, but they rarely question women. Don’t worry about Karim, either. If he calls me Uncle Philippe, no one at the border will know it doesn’t mean ‘Daddy’ in French.” He started the Land Rover and winked at her. “Allons-y.”

As they came out of the valley, a high mountain capped with snow came into view, bright as a bride in the sunrise.

“Ararat,” said Philippe. “Noah’s Ark.”

Amira nodded. She was familiar with the story.