“No, we won’t eat here tonight. Dinner’s on me.”

She looked me over, confused. “Why?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Have you decided to leave?”

I laughed as I took her face in my hands and shook it left and right. “No, you crazy fool! Just the opposite.”

I went to the bed and took out a big bag I’d hidden underneath. From it I drew a red dress, black shoes, and a small purse. I slowly placed it all on the bed. Then I made her sit beside me and asked her permission to proceed. I took off her shoes, then her clothes. I loosened her hair and let it fall onto her shoulders. I got something to wipe off her makeup and the polish on her fingernails and toenails, which I cut very short. Without offering the least resistance, she remained frozen on the bed.

Next I took her hand and led her to the bathroom, where I sat her on the seat in the shower. I turned on the water and slowly began washing her, as though I had a lifetime to wash off all her stains. Through it all, she remained silent, submissive, her eyes closed, as though the water might pass through her skin to wash her heart, her soul, and each of her organs. I finished rinsing off the soap. Then I dried her with a big towel and carried her back to the bedroom. I dressed her in her underwear and the new dress. Last, the shoes. I brushed her hair and pulled it back tight, braiding it into a single plait that hung to the middle of her back. I finished by spraying her with a light, gardenia-scented perfume.

Shaygha sat down. Like one of those lenticular cards that show different images when you turn them, she was a woman whose identity wavered between child and lady. Innocence shone on her skin, only to transform into the alluring brown gleam that she carried from her distant country. Her dress had a simple cut that hugged her body and her small, rock-like breasts, as well as the curve of her legs. I didn’t feel any sense of arousal toward her, nor was I struck by the desire I usually felt whenever I touched her. I had separated her from me—and from herself—by what I had done to her, so that I might be able, just this once, to see her from a sufficient distance. Just like that, on her own. Independent of me, and in an ideal light. In that condition, Shaygha possessed some of Thurayya’s remoteness, some of Neda’s indifference, some of Mary’s purity. I did it all to confirm my decision, which I made entirely on my own, to make her part of my life.