I hadn’t seen a single familiar face since the night of the attack. I decided to make a list of all the people I knew. The soldier had said I had no family left. But even if that were true, there were other people. I had teachers and neighbors. There was the seamstress who took in my mother’s dresses. If I could get to one of them—

That’s where I hit a wall. Tahera had looked at me as if I were a live grenade. What if Shair was right and I was a danger to others too?

I rested my throbbing head on a pillow.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, the room was silent and Tilly was gone. An empty teacup sat on the coffee table. The thought of being alone in this apartment brought me no comfort. I stepped quietly, slowly, to peer into the bedroom. A yellow quilt covered the bed. There was a single photograph on the dresser, a black-and-white of Antonia, standing in the backseat of an open jeep with her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted back in laughter. The jeep was surrounded by untamed shrubs and a few trees. Antonia wasn’t looking at the camera. She was looking at the two men to the right of her, men with dark skin and loudly patterned shawls covering their torsos. One held a large water jug over his shoulder, and both looked quite pleased to be having their picture taken. There was a second photograph of Antonia shaking hands with a man in a suit. They stood in front of a simple palace with tall columns and an American flag flying from the center of its roof.

I walked down the narrow hallway. The bathroom was empty. Two meters away, I saw a set of steps. I tiptoed toward them and saw that the stairs led up to a half-open door through which sunlight fell.

I followed the light, hungry for fresh air and the sun’s warmth on my face. I pushed the door open and saw Tilly sitting on a vinyl folding chair. She had her back to the door and her feet propped up on a stack of books and magazines. She’d pulled up her wide pant legs and was sunning the crepelike skin of her thighs. A plume of white smoke drifted upward from her head.

I walked toward her and saw that she held a stumpy cigarette between two fingers of her right hand. She greeted me with a languid smile.

“Isn’t this an amazing sky,” she said, stretching her arms out as if to embrace the air around her. Tilly’s silver hair and pale green eyes reminded me of a watercolor painting. She touched the tip of her cigarette to the arm of the chair to extinguish it. She held out a plate with wafers.