Allam pondered the sewing of the pockets and said, “The action suited the situation.” And held her tightly because she was shaking; her entire body was shaking. He instinctively knew that they should speak of other things while she allowed herself the realization of having shared a part of her story—never before told.

“When I am walking in this town,” he told her, “I walk sometimes at night and hear the sound of Canada from the skies. In September, October, even to late November, from the dark sky comes the sound of geese in migration. For me, this is Canada’s sound. If a window is open in my daughter’s house, I hear and go out and stand in the yard to listen while geese are calling. Sometimes I cannot see them in the dark. And why do I go out and stare up at the night sky? Because for me, this is important in my new life. The sound is a symbol of something. Freedom? Beauty? I do not yet know.”

“But you miss your own country.” Gwen was feeling only relief. I can speak of ordinary things to this man, she told herself. Maybe we will be able to say anything to each other. Talk and listen. Listen and talk.

Even so, she spoke softly, as if a third presence in the room was also listening.

“Yes, I miss,” Allam told her. “I miss my mother, who is in Beirut; I miss my cousins, my aunts, my uncles who are still alive in Syria. I miss the pomegranate tree in a special garden near the place where I lived. I miss the souk, the barter and confusion and colour. I miss the spices, the coffee house where I met friends many days and played chess. I miss the stories of my friends. I miss the dry and dusty street, the broken cobblestone beside my door that my foot tripped over every day. What I must understand and admit is that much of my city, once beautiful and ancient and full of history, is now white stone, rubble, a tragedy in this world. Many things are gone from me, Gwendo-leen-ah, but I am finding ways to live this new life. Also, to live in a colder climate is not easy, but this can be done. Where I lived in Syria could be cold some of the time, but not like here. Not thirty-five degrees below zero, not forty below some days. But we come here and see Canadians living in winter, playing in winter. We say to each other, ‘We can do the same.’ Especially when we know so many Syrians are living in shelters with no heat at all.”

Gwen considered what she was missing. Her twins. Her two granddaughters. She wanted to be part of their lives. She would definitely contact her sons and make arrangements to visit them in Texas. Maybe next summer their families would agree to come to Wilna Creek. They could stay at her house. She would find room for everyone. She had two spare rooms. She had a basement room that could be painted and furnished. She could introduce her sons to Allam. She wanted them all to meet.