In a few minutes, Tilly fell asleep in the folding chair. She slept often and deeply, probably because she moved with the energy of a twister while she was awake. She groaned softly in her sleep, her neck at an awkward angle. I took the fuchsia shawl off her lap, balled it up, and placed it under her head.

I walked to the edge of the roof. I saw mountains in the distance, saw the staggered rooftops of the next block. I resented the throngs of people who moved through the day as if what had transpired three weeks ago had been nothing more than a movie. Voices, taut with sorrow, floated over from a nearby apartment.

“His mother takes food to the prison every day. They won’t even tell her if he’s dead or alive.”

“Doesn’t your husband know someone in the army? Can’t he ask him?”

“And what if he tells his superiors that I’ve asked? These animals will disappear him in the middle of the—”

“Shh!”

A window slammed shut. Maybe people weren’t as unaffected as I thought. Kabul was turning into a city of eavesdroppers, liars, and skeptics. People spied on people they believed to be spies.

I opened the door to return to the living room. Antonia had her back to me, the telephone receiver pressed to her ear. On the dining table was a short stack of manila folders. She didn’t notice that I’d entered.

“With all due respect, please don’t ask me what my women’s intuition is telling me,” Antonia said, throwing a hand in the air with exasperation. “I work off information, not intuition. We’ve got files on most of the new people in charge. We need to establish relationships with them now. Moscow has wanted everyone else out of their way for a long time.”

Her voice softened then, becoming the assuaging tone she used with me.

“I know he was your friend, sir. I know you lost many friends that night. We all did. But at this time, we’ve got to separate our personal feelings from our professional obligations. We can’t make emotional decisions.”

I walked to the couch and lifted the corner pillow. I found the pale green tin Antonia had given me to hold the ring. I didn’t want to take it off, but she warned me that it was too fragile to be worn. She stuffed a handkerchief in the canister and watched as I placed the ring inside. I checked on the ring often, as if it might suddenly vanish.

Antonia spun around, suddenly aware of my presence. She bit her lip and pressed her hand to her forehead.

“Maybe it’s best we discuss this in person,” she said when her eyes met mine.

Nia said goodbye and cradled the receiver. She offered a thin smile and beckoned for me to join her.