"Two minutes," she said still embroiled in her preparations. "Be seated please." The scent of roasting garlic and onions spiced the air. She brought it right from the oven to the table in a red clay tray.

"Zohra you shouldn't have," Samas said when he saw it.

"It smells delicious, what is it?" I asked.

"Roasted rabbits and guinea fowl with couscous. Samas' favorite."

"Indeed," he bellowed. "But that's enough talk. Let's eat," he said, starting on a rabbit. I imitated him and smiled at her. She brought out rice, unleavened bread, yogurt, and mint tea while we ate. Samas had finished the first rabbit and started on a guinea by the time she joined us. His vocalizations and gestures were as pronounced as before in Zurich.

"It's delicious," I said to her. Samas mumbled something to the same effect. I ate quietly, unsure of what to talk about, and about what I could say in front of her. "What is the dominant religion around here?" I asked, not caring which one answered.

She looked at Samas. A morsel of meat crept out of the corner of his full mouth. She took it upon herself to answer. "Islam. The folk religion of the Berbers survives in the countryside and there are a few Jewish enclaves in the cities."

"What are your religious beliefs? If I might be so bold."

"I am Sunni Muslim,” she answered with a small measure of pride.

"I lived in a Muslim society for a few years. It was interesting."

"Where was this?" she asked.

"Istanbul."

"Ah, I've played there."

"Played?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm a cellist. I was with the Calais Repertory Company then."

"First chair too," Samas chimed in between bites.

"Was your stay in Turkey in a previous life?" she asked. I was unprepared for her question, for her knowing. I looked at Samas who nodded subtly as he chewed.

"Yes, it was."

"How long ago? If I might be so bold."

I smiled. "Not that long ago. 1948 to 1969."

"Have you been back since then?"

"No, not yet. I want to though."

"What has prevented you?" she asked.

"Lack of money."

"Hmm," she mused and looked around as if she couldn't think of anything to say.

I took another rabbit and turned my attention to Samas. "What are your religious beliefs?"

He looked at me as if I'd said something in a language he didn't understand. "You're not serious? Religion is predicated on faith. You and I don't have faith, we have knowledge and experience. We have proof. The rules and tenets of religion do not apply to us. We have philosophy instead, of which I'm an Epicure."

"What's that?"

"A follower of Epicurus' teachings. In ancient Greece, he professed that life is to be lived and that living for pleasure is the ultimate good.

"Do you remember anything between when you died both times and when you were born? They will ask you that at some point," he said.

"No, nothing."