“Only God could tell you that.” Jihan smiled thinly. “But if it had happened, where would you and Malik be? Let me rest a little, my heart. I’m tired.” Suddenly, for no reason at all, she thought of the Muntaza, the royal palace at Alexandria. On the grounds was a pool with water lilies. It was said that Farouk liked to watch very young women, as many as a dozen at a time, swim naked among the lilies. Thinking of that, she drifted to sleep, and before her dreaming eyes, the lily pond was replaced by the shining desert …

O

“I know you have responsibilities there, and that it may be difficult, but if you can possibly come home, even for a few days, please, Brother, come soon.” Amira signed the letter and gave it to Bahia to mail. She hoped she had conveyed the urgency of the situation without sounding hysterical. It was as if their mother was slipping away a piece at a time. In the last few days, Jihan’s mind had begun to wander, like that of an old woman on her deathbed. Just yesterday, she had stared into empty space and said, “Why, Malik! Where have you been? How did you get so dirty?”

Amira was frightened. “Malik’s not here, Mother. You know he’s in France.”

Jihan’s smile faded. “Of course. I must have been daydreaming. But I saw him so clearly, just as he used to be.”

Perhaps Malik could help. Nothing else seemed to.

When had it all started? How? Was it that night when Amira had shamed her parents? Was she to blame?

It was two years ago, just after Omar had announced his intention to take another wife, a few months before the horror of Laila’s execution. Amira had just moved into a room of her own, and she was awake late, trying to finish one more chapter in a history book Malik had sent her. From her mother’s room came muffled sounds—she recognized her father’s deep rumble but could not make out his words. Then Jihan’s voice was raised in a pleading tone Amira had never heard her use: “Please, Omar, you know how I feel. Please just leave me alone!”

Amira did not know why she did it, she knew it was wrong, but she slipped from her bed and went down the hall. Jihan’s door stood slightly ajar.

“You know that this is sinful,” Omar was saying. He sounded half bewildered, half angry. “You live under my roof. You accept my protection. You are my wife, and you will be my wife.”

“No! Please!”

As if she were someone else watching from a distance, Amira saw herself open the door.

Jihan was huddled on the bed, Omar leaning over her. Amira had never entered on such a scene. She knew immediately that she had made a terrible mistake. Yet, she could not turn away.