The next stop was the spice shop in the covered arcade. As Amira inhaled the heady bouquet of cumin and cinnamon and allspice and nutmeg and coriander, her aunt fired off her order: “Two hundred grams of allspice. Some hab hale (cardoman) and some dried mint. Make sure it’s good, mind you. None of that flavorless stuff with the bugs in it that you gave me last time.”

“I humbly beg your pardon, madam,” said the shopkeeper, Abu Tarek, with elaborate courtesy. “I assure you that will never happen again.” He turned and smiled at Amira, whom he’d known since she was a little girl, taking a liberty he would soon take no more.

Once served, the women moved on to Hafiz’s perfumery in the covered arcade. The air here was rich with essences and oils from Damascus and Teheran and Baghdad—ingredients old Hafiz could blend in a thousand and one combi- nations. His wife, Fadila, known for her skills in casting horoscopes and reading the stars (a talent that was strictly forbidden yet eagerly sought), often acted as adviser to the shop’s clientele; discreetly, she would suggest jasmine oil to please a beloved, or perhaps a rose fragrance to revive a husband’s waning ardor.

Aunt Najla ordered her usual gardenia and heliotrope blend. Though there was no beloved to savor it, the powerful fragrance did serve to signal her impending arrival in a room.

The last stop was the fabric store, where bolts of Damascene silk and Belgian lace were displayed in every color and hue. Here, too, Aunt Najla would be faithful to what she always wore: dark blue with occasional accents of white lace. No sooner had they entered the shop than the proprietor snapped his fingers, summoning one of the legion of small boys who ran errands for a piaster or two. Coffee was ordered, sweetened tea for Amira. As Aunt Najla settled into a deeply cushioned chair, the proprietor began, without being told, to unfurl bolt after bolt of navy blue fabric: silk, chiffon, crepe de chine, and taffeta, for linings that rustled.

Suddenly, Amira felt as if all the air had left the room. She tried to breathe deeply, but the feeling grew stronger, till she was forced to flee the tiny shop. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the stall, trying to imagine the dark, cool vastness of the desert at night. She stood there for a long time until Aunt Najla came outside and shook her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Niece? Is it your time of the month? That’s no excuse for acting peculiar, you know. A loving family will forgive you such nonsense, but a husband, well, a husband expects his home to be run in an orderly and normal fashion. Do you understand?”