In spite of the heat, Aunt Najla settled into the fine leather upholstery with a sigh of contentment. Shopping was a highlight of her aunt’s day, Amira knew, for she could remember when only men and servants ventured into the market. But in keeping with his concessions to modernization, Omar allowed the women under his protection to shop outside the home—as long as they were driven by a man, according to law.

Along the single-lane road, the powerful car moved slowly, its progress retarded by an old man atop an aged donkey. The driver honked. When both his vehicle and his impatience were ignored, he sighed deeply, lit a cigarette, and resigned himself to the will of the Almighty.

In time, car and passengers reached the open market, which consisted of a dozen rickety wooden stalls wreathed in a cloud of dust.

The aroma of fresh fruit intermingled with the metallic odor of fresh- killed lamb. “Buy my melons, as sweet as sugar,” called the fruit seller. “Pistachios fit for a king,” beckoned the nut vendor. “Not a piaster more if my life depended on it,” shouted a customer in the last throes of bargaining.

Aunt Najla led the way to the butcher, Abu Taif, a lean, stringy fellow wearing a bloodstained apron over his thobe. Standing beside the dozen or so lamb carcasses that hung in front of his stall, he bowed and smiled, showing the two gold teeth that reflected his prosperity.

Wordlessly nodding a greeting, Aunt Najla went to work, poking and probing and sniffing one leg of lamb after another.

“Madam, I implore you,” Abu Taif pleaded, “all the meat is excellent and fresh, tender and without blemish. Choose any piece, without looking, and I swear on my honor it will please you.”

Aunt Najla ignored both pleas and promises, continuing her inspection for another moment or two. Then she pointed to her choice: “Three kilos. For saleeq, so leave the meat on the bone.”

“At your service, madam.” The butcher bowed again, quickly producing a cleaver and two saber-sharp knives. Wiping them ceremoniously on his apron, he went to work, first hacking away the choice leg portion from the lamb, then weighing it. After trimming the fat, Abu Taif cut the meat into fist-sized chunks and wrapped it in coarse brown paper. He noted the purchase in his smudged and stained ledger (Omar would pay the account at the end of the month) and handed the package to Aunt Najla with a flourish.

Next door, at the greengrocer’s stall, she quickly selected a dozen tomatoes bursting with juice, a large bunch of parsley, potatoes, onions, and three heads of lettuce.

The two women hurried past the coffeehouse, where old men lounged, sipping dark, thick coffee flavored with cardamom, listening to the plaintive melodies of Um Kalthoum. Here and there, dark shapes much like Amira and her aunt darted in and out of stalls, hurrying about their business lest they be thought immodest.