Saba was born into his universe of silence. Hagos was simple, everyone told her. Innocent and without mystery. Like everyone else, she didn’t want to pretend otherwise and disturb the peace that he brought into her life. She had trusted her body with him because of his God-given innocence. Her legs lengthened, her breasts grew in front of this man who had the gullibility of a child.

And this Hagos, the Hagos she imagined him to be, the Hagos she constructed in her mind, could not be a lie. He was as real as she and everyone else made him to be. Shokor Hagos. But sweet Hagos wanted to write now. He stabbed the ground with the stick, inscribing fury instead of words.

Hagos, no, she said. No.

He jabbed the ground with his stick again. The whipped-up sand filled Saba’s throat. She coughed.

Hagos turned around and leaned against the wall. He dropped his head between his knees.

Saba scrawled letters in the sand, hoping the wind would not blow. Come, she said, holding his hand. Come, let’s begin. We will both learn a new language. First, I’ll teach you the little I know. We will both start at the same level. No one better than the other.

She read and reread every letter of the English alphabet out loud as she scribbled it in the sand. Hagos stared at the letters, then at Saba’s lips, then back at the letters on the moonlit ground. Saba put Hagos’s hand in hers. She guided her older brother to write his first word. First phrase. Register his footprint in the soil of the camp in English, a language that would be his first, as good as the tongue that abandoned him. Together they wrote their names:

H A G O S

S A B A

The businessman emerged from the crowded square. He stood in front of the siblings.

When the mother came out of the hut and saw Eyob, she embraced him. The businessman clasped his hands and said to Saba’s mother: The midwife came to see me, but I think there is a misunderstanding.

He unwrapped the gabi from around his neck. He sighed and took the mother’s hand. Please understand, he said, kissing the back of her hand again and again. Saba is still young and despite what you heard, it was never my intention to marry her.

People gasped. Why then did you befriend the mute? the athlete asked, drawing himself out of the crowd.

Mr Eyob, her mother said, her voice audible to all. Mr Eyob, but you also need to understand that people have been talking. They see you come here every evening, bringing gifts, and they wonder why a middle-aged man, who is rich and from Asmara, would befriend a young man who is a poor countryside boy and mute.

Eyob brought his hands together in front of his chest again. I am sorry if I gave you and everyone else in this camp the wrong impression. But–