“I think he’s considered several candidates. He drops little hints now and then—praise of this one, criticism of that one, to see how I’ll react, I suppose. But he’s said nothing outright.”

Malik had the odd sensation that time had slipped. It was impossible that he should be talking with Amira about her marriage. Only yesterday, she’d been the vexatious little sister rushing in to kick the soccer ball he and his cousins were passing—right over there, two date palms for goalposts.

“Well, it’s early yet,” he muttered, trying to remember what a brother’s role was supposed to be in all this. “You’re still very young.” But that was his year in France talking, he knew. Here in al-Remal, their father might choose a husband for Amira tomorrow.

“I don’t want to marry,” said Amira, “but I must. I don’t want to leave this house, but I do. I want to go to school in Europe, but I can’t.” In her voice, Malik heard the rebellious girl who had disguised herself in order to drive a car, but in the moonlight, silver-bright now, tears glinted on her cheeks. “I won’t marry someone I don’t want,” she said. ‘‘I won’t be like Mother. I won’t be like Laila. I won’t!”

“Of course not, Little Sister,” he comforted her, though the mention of Laila cut deep. “God willing, when the time comes, there’ll be someone wonderful, and you’ll have a wonderful life together.” He felt like a fool saying it, but what else was there to say?

Amira was silent for a moment. Then, as if they had been chatting about old times all along, she said, “Did I tell you that I see Um Salih often these days? She helped with Yusef ’s birth. Of course, that was my doing. But now Um Yusef worships her. She’ll be on the list for Ramadan money from now on.”

“In other words,” said Malik, glad that the subject had changed, “Father’s paying her, and I’m paying her. That old woman will own al-Remal before she’s through.”

“It’s possible. I’ve never known anyone like her. She’s a force of nature.” Now she was smiling.

The quickness with which a woman’s mood could change, Malik told himself, was a thing he would never understand.

“Listen,” Amira went on. “Farid’s plan is a good one. Are you going to do it?”

“I’m going to talk with Mahir Najjar, but Farid says the man won’t agree to it.”