the wall presently disappeared, and on the ceiling the yellow circles from the lamps grew brighter. A mosquito cried, lethargic with someone’s blood, and carried its legs to rest on the wall by the bed.
“Thank you for your letter,” said a voice.
A hand smacked, and a streak of blood emerged from the plaster.
Midhat did not need to look around for the speaker. He could sense her beside him. He felt a glow of excitement.
“Oh, yes, the letter,” he said. “You are most welcome. Really. It was my pleasure. I have to say”—he chuckled—“I am relieved that it reached you.”
He twisted round to look at her face. How extraordinary. Far more precise than he had ever remembered her. She smiled, and little soft creases appeared in the skin under her eyes. He reached out and touched her shoulder, and gasped at the familiar pressure of her body under his hand. All his anger was gone.
“When you left,” said Jeannette. She looked down, struggling for the words. “The warmth of the house followed after you.” She smiled. “I was useless as a nurse, but they needed help even with the cleaning.”
“I’m sure you were better than you think you were.”
She touched his hand, and her cold dry fingers sent another flutter to his chest. He inhaled, feeling the heat from her body. This was really happening.
“It has been four years since you left us in Montpellier,” she said. “Four years! I cannot believe it.”
“Nor can I. Your voice …” He shook his head. “I missed your voice.”
“I wish that what has happened might not be final.”
Puckers of anguish travelled over Jeannette’s forehead, her cheeks, slid down from the corners of her eyes.
“For a long time I was in pain,” she said.
“I know.”
That face! How often he had tried to picture it, and grasped only a thin residue of associations. He fastened his grip on her shoulder, felt the hard bone, with his other hand touched his finger under her chin, felt the miraculous cold soft of her cheek, and a rush of sensation met his ears, nose, and palate—sunlight on a lawn, the crystal of a chandelier, a tree through a window—the echo of a high dark church, the smell of must, voices clattering off walls—and he felt a burning in his stomach, a heat ascending to his neck. There was a high ringing sound.
“I wish I could see your face,” said Jeannette.
He reached for her hands and pressed them together.
“But I’m here,” he said.
The panic was starting to rise.
“Sometimes I think I feel you in my breath.”
“I wish I could be in the clinic in Jerusalem,” said Henryk.
Midhat looked round. Henryk was sitting up in his bed, rubbing his eyes.
“I heard they have treatments there that send you into a coma. I am so tired of being awake.”
“Jeannette?” said Midhat.
“Who is Jeannette?”
Midhat held out his hands. He felt the air.
“Well, why did you not go to Jerusalem, then!”
“It was too expensive,” said Henryk. He sounded offended.
Midhat looked over and saw Henryk draw his hand under the cover and pull it out again. In his palm lay a gold disc. He rubbed his thumb along the edge. It was a pocket watch. He popped the clasp to reveal the face and began to wind the tiny crown. Midhat stared. The mechanism rasped and ticked. He could see the numerals from here—they were written in Arabic. His heart pummelled against his lungs.
Slowly, he said: “Where did you get that?”
“Get what?”
“That.” He pointed. “That watch.”
“Oh, this?” said Henryk. “This was a gift.”
“Who gave it to you?”
The surprised expression on Henryk’s face was mixed with something else. Interest. He was looking at Midhat with interest.
“Why do you ask?” he said. “It was a gift from a friend.” His pompous mouth hung much further open than was necessary.
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
Midhat waited a moment. Then: “Please.”
“Why would I give it to you?” said Henryk. “I don’t want you to take it.”
Midhat’s entire body propelled round in his covers until he was facing Henryk fully. “What was your friend’s name?”
“Serena.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“You are manic,” said Henryk. He looked delighted.
In a much cooler tone, as if it had just occurred to him, Midhat repeated: “Who gave you that watch?” But the ruse was sabotaged by the hand that now reached out uncontrollably from his bed. “Let me see it. Let me see it.”
“It’s mine.” Henryk laughed. “You can’t have it. You think I would give something as precious as this to a mad Arab? Are you out of