At the internet café, Mr. N flinched when the tiny trickle of natural light coming through the front door was suddenly blocked. The shadow fell upon the back of the Egyptian employee, making him jump up from his desk. All the young men present ceased their typing and chatting to call out a greeting. Then a smothering stillness settled over the room as the new presence made itself felt. Mr. N could hear nothing now but the sound of the ceiling fans, their metal blades turning upon their axles, trying to encourage the café’s air to become a breeze.

Luqman had arrived early that day.

———

When Sa’id came in and greeted him, Mr. N’s hair was still wet, and he was still wearing his white, short-sleeved undershirt. Miss Zahra let Sa’id in after knocking lightly on the door and leading the way. Once inside, she hung a large plastic garment bag in Mr. N’s wardrobe. She was still wearing Thurayya’s scent, thought Mr. N, and for the first time, he felt a kind of hatred for her, a violent desire to kick her and push her out of the room. But she quickly withdrew without such encouragement, which was a good thing.

Sa’id was as tall as ever. He kissed his brother’s head from above and remained standing over Mr. N, frowning. His face was wan and stubbly, which was unusual for him. He looked around at the room and put his hands into his pockets. “I hope being here is making you happy,” he said. “Do they treat you well? You know your stay is costing me a considerable sum.”

Mr. N nodded and was about to reply, “Which you’re paying out of our father’s estate!” But he checked himself. Oh well. Let Sa’id flex his muscles to show how important and influential he was.

“You’ll have to get dressed,” Sa’id went on. “I brought your suit from the apartment. I hope it still fits.”

What did he mean? Get dressed for what? Didn’t he know that Mr. N refused to leave the hotel these days? And that he hadn’t done so for a long time now? Whenever Sa’id came by, he offered to take Mr. N out to lunch or dinner, and Mr. N refused the invitation just as consistently as it was offered. Sa’id didn’t insist, and Mr. N didn’t need to repeat his refusal. It happened once a year at most. Whenever Sa’id came to visit, he would never stay longer than an hour. The two of them spent half their time together watching television; the other half Mr. N spent listening to Sa’id talk about himself.

Mr. N blinked his eyes at his brother a few times before saying, “You know I don’t go out. Why do you insist on inviting me somewhere every time you’re here?”

Sa’id said, “Thurayya … She died the day before yesterday, and I’ve come to bury her.”