When I found out he was coming, I had a strange sensation, and got quite agitated. The image they gave of him was of a perfect being, or someone in search of perfection. I thought about this: if he’s my father, then I’m the son of an almost perfect man. I was never worried by his expertise, or felt threatened by it. I thought of him as a determined man, respected at home, even praised by his father, who had no idea what his son was aiming for. Once, Halim told me Yaqub could hide everything: he was a man who would never lay himself bare; there were no chinks in his armor. You can expect anything of a son like that, his father said. Omar, on the other hand, laid himself completely open, and this was Zana’s greatest weapon. I tried to find out which of the two had attracted my mother. I could see Domingas got nervous when Omar called me in arrogant tones and sent me with a message to the other end of the city. He even took advantage of Zana’s protection to raise his voice, but when Halim was around he didn’t dare, which was a relief for my mother. Now, with Yaqub’s visit, she never let me out of her sight. When Yaqub saw me in the garden, holding hands with Domingas, he looked embarrassed, and didn’t know who to embrace first. I was as happy as I was surprised. He embraced my mother, and I felt her hand sweaty and trembling, gripping my fingers. I had a vague memory of his voice, because he used to come into my mother’s room and say things, words I didn’t understand. What I do remember, very well, is the question Domingas asked him when she learned he was going to São Paulo. “Are you going to take that girl with you?” my mother asked several times. He didn’t answer, and left the room without saying anything. Years later, my mother revealed who the girl was and told me Omar had cut his brother’s face because of her.

Now I recognized the voice I had heard when I was four or five. He said he’d brought books for me. He didn’t seem like a stranger—rather someone who couldn’t feel at ease in the house where he’d been born.

Zana asked him why his wife hadn’t come to Manaus, and he merely looked scornfully at his mother, knowing he could irritate her with his silence.

“You mean I’m not going to meet my daughter-in-law?” Zana insisted. “Is she afraid of the heat, or does she think we’re animals?”

“Your other son’ll give you a daughter-in-law, and then some,” Yaqub said, drily. “Someone ideal, just like himself.”

Zana preferred not to answer.