The man catches sight of me, the woman looks in my direction, and their gazes are neither affectionate nor even cordial. I raise my hand in greeting to Karam, but he ignores it. “Tariq Ramadan!” he rasps. “What brings you here?” Hardly expecting a better reception, I pay no attention to his brusqueness. She jumps to her feet, then immediately sits down again on her straw-bottomed chair. “The first visit we’ve had since our return to the face of the earth!” she says coldly. Her features still clutch at some memory of beauty and he seems to have his wits about him in spite of what he’s been through—this pair who have engendered the criminal author.

Feeling that I should say something to soften the situation, I remark that the world is full of trouble and that I am merely one of the lost.

“You’re like a nightmare,” says Karam.

“I’m no worse than anyone else.” Since neither invites me to sit down in the shop, I have to stand there like a customer, which makes me more determined to stick to the purpose of my visit.

“Well?” Karam barks at me.

“I have bad news.”

“Bad news doesn’t mean a thing to us,” says Halima.

“Even if it’s about Mr. Abbas Younis?”

Her eyes become apprehensive. “You’ll always be his enemy,” she spits at me, “right to the end!”

“He’s a devoted son. When I refused to return to my old job at the theater, he set us up in this little shop.”

“And his play’s been accepted,” Halima adds proudly.

“It was read to us yesterday.”

“I am sure it’s a marvelous piece of work.”

“It’s horrible. Do you know anything about it?”

“Nothing.”

“He couldn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Why?! Because his play takes place in this house of yours! It tells exactly what went on inside. He exposes a crime. And it throws new light on everything that’s happened!”

Karam is suddenly concerned. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’ll see yourselves in it, just as the rest of us do. He shows everything. Everything! Don’t you want to hear about it?”

“Even prison?”

“Even prison—and Tahiya’s death. It shows who betrayed you to the police, and it shows that Tahiya didn’t just die. She was murdered.”

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

“It’s Abbas, or the one who represents him in the play, who kills her.”

“What do you mean?” Halima screeches in sudden fury. “You hate Abbas!”

“I’m one of his victims, and so are you.”

“Isn’t it just a play?” says Karam.

“It leaves no doubt about who squealed on you or who the murderer is.”

“Nonsense!”

“Abbas can explain everything,” Halima says.

“Go see the play for yourselves.”

“You crazy fool! You’ve been blinded by hate!”

“Not by hate. By the crime.”