He came down early, had breakfast, and began reading an engineering textbook, about the building of “large structures”; when Rânia showed him the framed photographs, he shut the books and admired these images of himself. Rânia had gotten thinner, and prettier, with her large, almond-shaped eyes, long neck, and face like her mother’s, almost completely smooth. She would grow old like that, hostile to men, revealing as each year passed the remains of a beauty that never ceased to have its effect on me. She spoiled the twins and let herself be caressed by them, as on that morning when Yaqub took her onto his lap. Her legs, dark-skinned and firm, brushed against her brother’s; she caressed his face with the tips of her fingers, and Yaqub, enraptured, began to look less serious. How sensual she became in her brother’s presence! They made a promising couple, whether she was with him or the other one.

During the four days of his visit she dolled herself up as never before, and all her sensuality, held back for so long, seemed to be suddenly bursting forth for the visitor. Rânia, and not her mother, got the best presents from him: a pearl necklace and a silver bracelet, which she never wore in our presence.

It was still raining hard when I saw her go up the stairs, holding hands with Yaqub; they went into her room, someone shut the door, and then my imagination ran riot. They only came down to eat.

They had lunch with their parents, and Talib and his two daughters. Yaqub was almost formal in his behavior; his attitude to the neighbors was humble, friendly without being effusive. He smoked with a cigarette holder, and was annoyed when Zana filled up his plate again with lentils and slices of leg of lamb. He blew out a cloud of smoke and left the table without touching the food.

They had coffee under the rubber tree in the garden, and he said nothing about engineering, or his own feats. There was no need: everything in his life went so smoothly that the upsets and the purgatory of daily existence only happened to other people. “Other people” meant us: us and the rest of humanity.

Then the unexpected happened: Talib, with a heavy, thundering voice, put his finger on the wound:

“Don’t you miss Lebanon?”

Yaqub went pale and took some time to answer. He didn’t answer, he asked:

“What Lebanon?”

Halim took another sip of coffee and frowned, looking gravely at his son. Zana bit her lip, Rânia searched for the song of a red oriole, on a branch of the rubber tree near me, until she found it.

“As far as I know, there’s only one Lebanon,” Talib replied. “Or rather, there are many, and one of them is here inside.” He pointed to his heart.

Zahia got up, Talib gestured, and she quietly sat down again. Nahda didn’t know where to look, and nobody knew what to say.