He felt a tightness in his chest at her innocent attempts to capture him. He felt annoyed at the nightly defeats Elham suffered at the hands of her powerful enemy. “I’m glad to hear that. Me, too, I think of nothing else.”

“Tell me, then,” she said coyly.

“I think of work, and marriage.”

“So you’re finally convinced by my suggestion?”

“Yes, but first I must finish my mission here, one way or the other; then I’ll leave and make arrangements with my father.” He despised himself for his lies. How he wished he could confess all, come what may. The dilemma was something totally novel to him, a constant torment. “Let’s go to the cinema,” he said almost desperately.

They held hands in the dark. Always in the dark. But he felt at peace and kissed her hand; the gentle, intoxicating whiff of her perfume stirred his passions. He remembered the torture that lay in store for him at night. Karima. Desperately he tried to obliterate the thoughts.

“How cruel,” whispered Elham, referring to the scene from the film.

He wasn’t following, so he quickly said, “One moment away from you is far more cruel.”

He watched the scene unfolding on the screen. A man was abusing a girl. The dialogue to him was disjointed and meaningless. Just like watching people’s lives out of context, detached, disinterested. We laugh when tears are called for and cry when we are supposed to laugh. Your search for your father, for example, must appear amusing to people reading the advertisement. Will Karima come tonight? Is it going to be another night of agony and torture? He watched Elham’s face; she was following the film intently. He tried slipping his hand out of hers, but she clung tightly to it.

They walked to the bus stop; she got on, and he stood for a moment watching the bus disappear around the corner. He walked to the grocer next to the hotel, ordered a sardine and pastrami sandwich, and washed it down with half a bottle of brandy. The vigil in his room began shortly after midnight. Oh, the humiliation he suffered. Never before had he felt like this. A hungry fear, fear of futile search, fear of fear itself. The night passed slowly and no Karima.