How simple it had been that night on the beach by the fishing boats. You are still stubbornly attached to a memory that has long disappeared without a trace, like the waves. Karima represents not only love but also a magic potion that alleviates the agonies of this fruitless search and the whirlpool of anxieties stirred by Elham.

“You’re not yourself,” he said one night.

“Do you sometimes find me different?” she asked with the naïveté of a child. The cunning devil. Had she forgotten her passionate confessions of love for him? He remembered his mother on one occasion. A man had come to “visit” her, and she had thrown him out furiously; then, when he left, she had broken down, hysterically weeping. Such was the way of women.

Casually he said, “I thought you were not feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” she said simply. And he detected a challenge in her voice.

“I’m glad.”

She caressed his cheek, saying softly, “Don’t you see that you mean everything to me?”

Meaningless words. “You are everything to me as well, and more,” he said slyly, “and that explains my sadness at my impending departure.”

“You are talking of leaving?”

“Not talking about it doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

“We’ll postpone it as long as possible. Unfortunately, the money instinct is strongly ingrained in men.”

“There’s no other solution.”

“He can help when necessary.”

“Is he careful about financial matters?”

“Very. He doesn’t care about money so much as how it’s spent.”

“Is he jealous?”

“Beyond belief. We’ve come to an arrangement about this matter. I must keep to my bargain or I lose everything. But you, what about you? Have you nothing to do but wait for a phone call?”

“A phone call could solve everything.”

“My father never meant much to me.”

“Well, mine means everything.”

“How did you lose him?”

“It’s ancient history. I’ll tell you about it one day.”

“Why doesn’t he contact you?”

That’s the question. The cause of his torture. So many possibilities. What will happen to you if you don’t find him? Disaster, calamity, a life without hope, him, or work.

“How did you manage before?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“I owned thousands, once; now only tens remain.”

“What work did you do?”

“No work.”

“Why don’t you look for work?”

“Any work I do must come through my father. It’s worthless otherwise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Believe me.”

“Go into business.”

“No capital or experience.”

“A job?”

“No qualifications.” Then, after a pause, he said bitterly, “I’m not fit for any job.”

“Only love,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.

He smiled. “I wonder what the future holds in store for us.”

“Matters are complicated, and I can’t depend on my husband.”

“But he’s so old!”