Yassim nods. ‘I want us to meet again. But I’m going to Aleppo tomorrow for a couple of days and coming back in the middle of the week. And that’s how it will be. Just so you understand. You can’t talk about this. I can’t be your boyfriend; I have to be kind of like a ghost.’

He smiles a little, and Jacob sits up and takes his face in his hands, kisses him gently.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I understand. You can be my ghost.’

*

Later, Jacob is sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to Yassim’s now heavy and rhythmic breathing, until Yassim rolls over onto his side, curls up like a child, all the while still holding Jacob’s hand.

Cautiously, Jacob pulls his hand free and stands up. The room is silent as he tiptoes over the floor, except for the quiet buzz of the air conditioner.

The corridor and living room are just as empty as they were a couple of hours ago, and the light from the city falls through the huge windows. He looks for the door, momentarily disoriented. There’s the table with the computer, the open kitchen. His glance falls on the painting that’s leaning against one of the walls, still with its back side facing out.

Why did Yassim come out of the bedroom with the painting? Why did he leave it here? Doesn’t he want Jacob to see it, or was he planning to show him later?

He goes over to the painting, hesitates for a moment, listening for Yassim before turning it around.

It’s an enlarged photograph, almost a metre wide and half as high. The light in the room is so dim that he has to lean the picture against the wall and hold up his cell phone with the flashlight on. The bright light falls onto the photograph, and he takes a step back to get an overview. But it takes a moment for him to make sense of what he’s looking at.

The photo is taken from above, blurry and out of focus, not something you’d expect to see framed. Nor is its subject, he realizes as his eyes adjust to it.

The photograph shows a courtyard at a large country house, a farm where some wealthy family probably lived for generations. But the inner courtyard and the buildings around it are in ruins, as if a bomb has exploded in the middle of it. As he leans closer and lets the light fall in different angles, he starts to understand that’s exactly what happened. In the gravel and the pits of the farm you can make out what could only be dead bodies, or parts of bodies.