Hagos kept his gaze on the ceiling. I wish I knew what you are thinking about, Saba said. She turned her face towards his, attempting to deduce an answer from it. As her eyes dwelt on him, Saba imagined him many years from now. Still alone. Time, though, moved on. The athlete and Samhiya married. With children. All the while, Hagos lay still in this camp, in this hut, on this blanket. Wrinkles had formed on his cheeks. And underneath his long eyelashes and kohled eyes, lines of exhaustion and of fatigue crammed together, clogging up his sight. He smelt of neglect, of years gone by untouched. An old, sexless, loveless, lonely Hagos trailing the youthful athlete who had taken a different path to old age, with frequent stops at several oases to replenish his soul in the arms of lovers.

Saba looked away from the scene in her mind to find Hagos’s head on her shoulder. As she stroked his hair, she closed her eyes. They fell asleep like this.

Then the door opened. Its bump against the wall sent Saba jolting from her sleep. The midwife stood still, her hand holding the doorknob, their mother behind her.

Hagos turned around and continued his nap.

Do they sleep in the same blanket together?

Their mother nodded. A smile shadowed her creased lips as she said: What can we do, we didn’t bring enough blankets and Saba, as you know, is a bad sleeper. My whole body aches, and I can’t take extra pain from her.

The midwife shook her head. I know you are illiterate, she said to their mother. But bringing up children is not like looking after sheep. Your problem is that whatever I say goes in one ear and out the other.

The mother lowered her head, her eyes blinking.

And you? The midwife’s green eyes widened at Saba. Don’t you know right from wrong? What kind of education did you have at that school you loved so much?

Hagos snored. Saba envied his peace of mind. He could sleep without delay and right through the night. Even on the night the war came, he seemed unperturbed. As he was when their mother told them that she had decided they had to leave their home. He’d simply started packing straight away.

They should no longer share a bed, the midwife said, vowing that she would look for an extra blanket around the camp.

After the women left, Saba sat back on the blanket next to Hagos. When she thought of their pending separation, at her brother’s loneliness by day extending to night, tears stung behind her eyelids.

That same evening, Saba went to see Samhiya. She sat on the bare wooden-framed bed held together with leather straps outside Samhiya’s hut and watched as the city girl prepared tea. Saba believed Hagos was as infatuated with her friend as the rest of the men in the camp, but because of his disability she was out of his reach. Now, Hagos’s perceived obsession became hers. Saba shuffled on her stool as Samhiya bent to pour water into a pot which she had placed on top of the open furnace. Her cleavage strained the neckline of her dress and fired Saba’s imagination. It was as if Saba had left her body and swarmed over Samhiya, absorbing details of the city girl from all angles, so that when Hagos would look into Saba’s eyes later, he would see sketches of this desirable girl there to keep as his. Samhiya blew into the charcoals until they flared glowing red and her lips smouldered.