“When are you expecting your visitor?”

“I may find that no visitor comes.”

She studied him closely, wanting him to say more.

He stood there. That was enough.

“Balay?” he finally said.

“Balay,” she said.

The supervisor used the toilet just before lunch. As Hoseyn saw the paper come under the door, he hoped his co-conspirator had the sense to keep the other maid out of the plot. He opened the door a fraction. His maid was standing just outside.

“Now,” she said. “Don’t wait.”

He looked left and right down the humid hall. It was empty and perfect. Sometimes a miracle could be achieved through no effort at all. They moved silently to the next room’s door, and she opened it with a single key hanging from a belt loop at her waist. She joined him inside.

“There is a switch for the hall cameras,” she told him. “I turned them off. But I must hurry and turn them back on.”

He hadn’t worried about them, counting on the front-desk employees’ being too incompetent to watch them in this dilapidation of an establishment, but he was flooded with affection for this girl soldier he’d found.

“It is a hotel with foreigners,” she added.

“Yes, you’re right about that,” he said.

“So they watch,” she said.

“They want you to think that,” he said, trying not to sound harsh or knowing. What did he know? He almost laughed. He had an adolescent maid helping him conduct a crap-assed experiment for finding a granule of truth.

Now she was looking disappointed. She had imagined an importance to her chores in these halls and rooms. Being watched might have been the only thing that could have conferred it on her. He almost wanted to comfort her.

“You cannot turn on the television,” she said.

“I know,” he said.

“The supervisor might hear you. She does walk by.”

“Yes, the doors hide nothing,” he said.

“How long … do you want this, this arrangement?” she asked. “For the night?”

“Yes.” He wanted to tell her he would be leaving in the morning, but it wasn’t necessary. He felt a sensation like heartache for her; he was sorry to see this excitement, his appearance in her life, drain away without a sincere leavetaking.

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it to be his goodbye to her.

She hesitated.

“If there is something wrong, if something … I will put the paper under the door. With writing,” she said, fumbling her words. He didn’t want her near the rooms.

“Not safe,” he said.

He could feel her wanting to know more, but he looked impatient, and she left.

•  •  •