pockets, arms very straight, as if he were cold. Midhat reached for his elbow.
“Of course it’s wretched,” said Laurent. “But we knew it was going to happen. I’ll be working as a doctor, actually, or something medical, which is … I mean, it means I won’t be on the front line. I worry about Xavier. You know”—he turned—“I feel guilty. They need doctors, but I can’t help feeling … but nothing is perfect, is it? It will be sad to say goodbye to you, dear Midhat.” He gripped Midhat’s shoulder, and shook it a little. “It has been wonderful. Oh, please don’t be like that. I’m supposed to be pleased.”
“My friend,” said Midhat, stricken.
“Yes.”
“Wait. Wait. I have a gift. Please wait, just here.”
Laurent closed his eyes on a half smile and nodded. Midhat climbed the stairs, keeping his eyes on Laurent’s blond head, watching as he shifted the pile of coats on the chaise longue and made a space to sit down. Around Laurent’s head Midhat drew a careful, stumbling circle, holding the banister. He grabbed the gold watch from his bedside and cradled it back down in two hands.
“Laurent. Please.”
“Oh no, Midhat. That’s too much.”
“You must. Please take it. I am ashamed of myself.” He sat on the coats. “Open it. It’s Turkish, but it does tell the time. Laurent. Oh, Laurent.”
Laurent ran a finger around the clock face. “It’s very beautiful.”
Midhat leaned back and looked at the ceiling, streaked yellow by the lamps. He closed his eyes, but the spinning dark was intolerable, and he opened them again.
“You know, there was a drunk in Nablus. They called him al-Musamam, the poisoned one. He lived on the outskirts. He was always wandering around in the daytime, begging, and collecting vegetable crates. And he stacked these crates where he lived on the outskirts. And one day I was with my friend, and we walked past al-Musamam. And my friend was bold, he was my cousin actually, and he asked al-Musamam why he collected the crates and stacked them. And the poisoned one replied: I am building a tower to reach the moon. But, said my cousin, if you reach the moon, you will go blind. It is better up there, where it is, and we can all see the town by its light.”
He heard the sounds of the party again, as though they had been switched back on.
“I am so grateful for your friendship,” said Laurent. “God willing I will return before long. I thank you, many times over. I am very moved.” He held his hair back as he looked down at the watch. “I think I should leave now. I don’t think I can bear the party anymore.”
Nor could Midhat bear it. He kissed Laurent on both cheeks. Laurent smiled and put on his coat, saluting as he stepped into the sharp night.
Midhat shut the front door and returned upstairs. He was drunk, he needed to go to bed. He hauled himself up by the balustrade. At the gallery, a noise caused him to halt, and he held on, straining through his murky ears to discover the direction it came from. He had no idea what he was going to say to Jeannette, but he knew that they must speak. A scraping sound, and the high murmur of a woman’s voice came from further down the hall. He passed the doors of the Molineu bedrooms, and saw, beyond the bathroom in the corner, two bodies standing against the wall: a man and a woman. His heart jumped into his mouth. The corridor did not admit much light from the window but the pair were clearly embracing—the man’s head moved and Midhat caught his oiled hair. Sylvain Leclair. He stepped left to see the woman, and the floorboard cracked. Both faces turned. It was the maid, Georgine. Her red mouth fell open.
“Oh. Pardon me,” he said.
He hurried back. The door of his bedroom slammed much harder than he meant it to, and the bed rose to meet him. He pulled at his tie, closing his eyes, and saw Sylvain talking to Jeannette, accompanied by a violent surge of feeling, as he had felt in the salon against Laurent but directed now, in a drunken, zigzagging fashion, at Sylvain; he listened, dazed, to the laughter and chatter dampened by the floorboards. He thought of Jeannette smiling at him, and his body softened. He undressed chaotically, lay on top of the covers, and was quickly asleep.