Years later, I understood why Zana let Halim talk as much as he wanted. She waited with her head half bowed, her face serene, and then spoke, in perfect control, once only, the words coming out in a torrent, with all the confidence of a fortune-teller. She had been like this since she was fifteen. She was possessed by a silent, brooding stubbornness, a slow-burning determination; armed with a powerful sense of conviction, she let the blow fall suddenly, and decided everything, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. That’s what she did now. Alone, within four walls, entranced by Abbas’s gazals, Zana went to talk to her father. She had already decided to marry Halim, but they would have to live at home, in this house, and sleep in her room. She demanded this of Halim in front of her father. What was more, they must be married at the altar of Our Lady of Lebanon, and in the presence of every Maronite and Catholic woman in Manaus.

Galib invited some friends from the Catraia harbor, from the steps of Remédios Square: fishermen and fishmongers who supplied the Biblos, and his cronies from the lakes on Careiro Island and the Cambixe branch of the river. There were all kinds of people, with varied languages, origins, clothes, and appearances. They came together in the church of Our Lady of Remédios, and listened to Father Zoraier’s homily. It was already nightfall when Abbas and Cid Tannus turned up, accompanied by two female singers from a cabaret in the Praça Pedro II. They didn’t go into the church, but were photographed beside the couple and joined the dinner at the Biblos, which ended in a big party, accompanied by the hoarse voice of one of the singers and crates of French wine presented by Tannus.

Halim showed me the wedding album, and took out a photograph he was fond of; himself, elegantly dressed, kissing the dark-haired girl, both of them surrounded by white orchids: the kiss he’d waited for, for all to see, and no concessions to fanatical women or to Father Zoraier: Halim’s lips glued to Zana’s, and she, taken aback, her eyes wide open, not expecting such a ravenous kiss at the altar. “It was a greedy kiss, to get my own back,” Halim told me. “I silenced those rattling tongues, and every one of Abbas’s gazals was in that kiss.”

So that was the way it was: Zana’s word was law in the house, ruling over the maid and the children. He was all patience, a passionate, ardent Job, and he swallowed everything, always doing anything she wanted, and pampering her even in old age, “playing my flute just for her,” as he used to say.