“I need to open the wound and clean the infection…but if the infection has entered his blood, he won’t survive,” the old woman explains to Tirad who doesn’t know what to answer.

“What if we cut off his leg? Could we save his life then?” Dalia asks but the woman grins, pointing at the wound.

“It’s right beneath his hip. If we cut off his leg, he would never be able to walk, not even with a cane. If it was me, I would rather die than become crippled like that,” she replies. But Dalia wouldn’t have it. She argues with the old woman saying she has no right to decide whether it is best for him to live or die and keeping Narivan alive is what matters to her, whatever the cost.

“The wound is right under his hip! The hipbone is probably infected. Let me clean the wound first and see… If he lives through it, we will cut off his leg,” she answers. Dalia sighs and Tirad sees the tears that roll down her cheeks. Tirad doesn’t understand Dalia’s emotional longing to this man, even though he owes his life to Narivan and has grown fond of him. But Dalia seems too sad for a man he had known only for a week. Dalia had told him Narivan was her mother’s first husband having looked for Asin for sixteen years. And just as he had finally found Asin, he had given her up to help Dalia. Maybe she feels responsible. Tirad wanted to know more about Narivan and Asin but whenever he was lucid enough to talk, they had to ask him about the directions and the routes, not having enough time for such a conversation. He had given some details about his Paradise Island and his oud, but that was it, nothing much about Asin. The old healer woman sends off Dalia and Tirad with a young girl, telling the girl to come back and help her when the guests are settled. The girl leads them to a cabin at the end of the corridor.

“This is the guest cabin. You can find whatever you need here… There’s the bed with clean blankets, the bucket of water and the bucket for toilet…” she explains and points to everything she names. Tirad and Dalia look at the things she points at. The girl goes out saying she will bring them food. Dalia goes to the bucket of water and wets her scalp and her body. Tirad also washes himself and lies on the bed next to Dalia, waiting. Tirad feels uneasy and anxious and wants to talk but Dalia has closed her eyes and takes deep, slow breaths. She has fallen asleep! Tirad sits and looks at her long legs and her breast that become flat when she lies in a supine position. She still doesn’t look beautiful in Tirad’s eye but ever more desirable. He had owned her body last night, all the shiny and slippery surfaces of her skin, yet he still feels like a stranger, curious to discover and conquer her body and mind. He takes out a paper and a charcoal and starts sketching her. She has finally taken shape in his mind. The silhouette of her figure can only be sketched with thick, faded lines. He draws more lines, outlining her pale full lips, her bony nose and her eyes…such moist eyes that have larger iris than anyone he has seen and seems to be as deep as the most profound sorrows and solitudes ever possible. Tirad knows he is not yet capable of drawing her eyes; he is not even close enough to understand them.