Yes, in her meagerness and her weakness, Shaygha had returned my soul to me. She had restored something of my manhood and my self-worth. Shaygha, the little Nepalese sorceress, had fed me the magical bean pods that straightened my spine and revived my strength. My heart jolted into rhythm. My head got right. Indeed, it occurred to me that I might even reconcile with my writing—if only for her, so she could be proud of me in front of others and know that she did not have a homeless failure for her spouse. I wanted to surprise her with my home, my social status, my ability to protect her and care for her. That’s all I wanted, and for once my wish came true, when that bastard Mr. Joe made things easy by sending her home early.

I took out my phone and sent a brief text to the taxi driver: “Wait for me at the corner in thirty minutes. Don’t be late!”

———

When I got out of the car, I felt I was in another country: one I was visiting for the first time, or perhaps a place I was returning to after many years. Even though it had been only two months since I had abandoned my apartment, I forgot who and what was in my own neighborhood. A strange combination of familiarity and newness gripped me—as did Shaygha’s hand, which clung to one arm like a tote bag, while my other hand pulled her small suitcase. Shaygha asked which part of the city we were in, and what was there. “We’ve arrived!” I said, avoiding the question.

We entered Al Dente Restaurant in the Albergo Hotel. I was a local and a regular customer, and the maître d’ with protruding eyes, Saleem, hurried up to receive me. “Mr. N, it’s been so long!” he said. “Thank God for your safe return!”

Then he turned to Shaygha, her arm passed through mine, and he greeted her with a courteous bow of his head, being uncertain about which language to use in addressing her. No doubt he thought I had taken some trip, and here I was, coming home bearing the kind of spoils that travel on two feet. He put the small suitcase I was carrying in the corner behind the door and said, “A table for two?” I nodded with the unaccustomed feeling of someone returning to his family home after a long absence and finding it just as it had been, with nothing changed: the lights, the smells, the green chairs, the orange wooden doors, the large bronze chandelier hanging in the center of the room. The scene was perfect, without the least thing to offend a sense of taste or harm the mood. A cozy place that invited you to let yourself go and sink in.