I have seen the big building where Amir spends half of his life, and the people in it. I know their habits. I know who has kids and who doesn’t, and whether the problem is with the man or the woman. I know who is a Turk and who is Isfahani, who is stingy and who is generous, who is complicated and who is naïve and simple.

Amir quotes someone and I know whose mouth those words came out of. He tells a joke, and I can guess who told that joke and who laughed the hardest.

Amir analyzes people’s lives and I quietly follow him. Today, Amir is talking about Hosseini and has a new story for me.

“Hosseini’s wife is cheating on him.”

“Manijeh?” I choke on a sugar cube. “No, I don’t believe it.”

“When he believes it, who are you not to believe it?”

“He is imagining things.”

“I told him the same thing. You know what he said?”

He turns off the lights.

“Well, tell me.”

“The big guy turned red. Got all choked up and said he wished he was imagining things.” Amir turns to me. “What do you think is the matter with Hosseini?”

“How come?”

“Well, you women must understand each other well, two beautiful daughters, a nice house, and poor Hosseini has dedicated all his life to his home and family. Then his stupid wife . . .”

I am a little bit confused. I don’t say anything.

He says, “Do you know what is the first thing he does every morning? He picks up the phone and starts dialing as soon as he gets to work. I kept thinking he is calling an office or something. He does this several times in a matter of a few minutes. Today I finally figured out why the poor guy lights up a cigarette each time after he dials.”

“Well?”

“Don’t you get it? Well, the poor guy calls home and it’s busy.”

I say, “Is that all?”

“Is that not enough?”

“A busy phone does not mean anything.” And I think of Manijeh, usually quiet and depressed.

“Hosseini is almost sure that the foolish woman is cheating on him.”