Fuad looked horrified. “You wouldn’t let them do anything like that to me, would you, Marid?”

I shrugged. “ ‘As for the thief, both male and female, cut off their hands. It is the reward of their own deeds, an exemplary punishment from Allah. Allah is Mighty, Wise.’ That’s right from the blessed Qur’an. You could look it up.”

Fuad clutched the box to his sunken chest. “You wait till you need something from me, Marid!” he cried. Then he stumbled toward the door, knocking over a chair and bumping into Pualani on the way.

“He’ll get over it,” I said to Kmuzu. “He’ll be back in here tomorrow. Won’t even remember what you told him.”

“That’s too bad,” said Kmuzu gravely. “Someday he’ll try to sell one of those chains to the wrong person. He may regret it for the rest of his life.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes him Fuad. Anyway, I need to talk to Indihar before the shift changes. You mind if I leave you alone for a couple of minutes?”

“Not at all, yaa Sidi.” He stared at me blankly for a moment. It always unsettled me when he did that.

“I’ll have somebody bring you another iced tea,” I said. Then I got up and went to the bar.

Indihar was rinsing glasses. I’d told her that she didn’t have to come into work until she felt better, but she said she’d rather work than sit home with her kids and feel bad. She needed to make money to pay the babysitter, and she still had a lot of expenses from the funeral. All the girls were tiptoeing around her, not knowing what to say to her or how to act. It made for a pretty glum ambience in the club.

“Need something, Marid?” she said. Her eyes were red and sunken. She looked away from me, back at the glasses in the sink.

“Another iced tea for Kmuzu, that’s all,” I said.

“All right.” She bent to the refrigerator under the bar and brought up a pitcher of iced tea. She poured a glassful and continued to pay no attention to me.

I looked down the bar. There were three new girls working the day shift. I could only remember one of their names. “Brandi,” I said, “take this to that tall guy in the back.”

“You mean that kaffir?” she said. She was short, with fat arms and plump thighs, with large breast implants and brushy hair whose blondness had been artificially encouraged. She had tattoos on both arms, above her right breast, on her left shoulder blade, peeking out of her G-string, on both ankles, and on her ass. I think she was embarrassed by them, because she always wore a fringy black shawl when she sat with customers at the bar, and when she danced she wore bright red platform shoes and high white socks. “Want me to collect from him?”

I shook my head. “He’s my driver. He drinks for free.”

Brandi nodded and carried the iced tea away. I stayed at the bar, idly spinning one of the round cork coasters. “Indihar,” I said at last.

She gave me a weary look. “I said I didn’t want to hear you say you were sorry.”

I raised a hand. “I’m not gonna say that. I just think you should accept some help now. For your kids’ sake, if not your own. I would’ve been happy to pay for a tomb in your in-laws’ cemetery. Chiri’d be glad to lend you all the money—”

Indihar let out an exasperated breath and wiped her hands on a bar towel. “That’s something else I don’t want to hear. Jirji and I never borrowed money. I’m not gonna start now.”

“Sure, okay, but the situation is different. How much pension are you getting from the police department?”

She threw the towel down disgustedly. “A third of Jirji’s salary. That’s all. And they’re giving me some kind of song and dance about a delay. They don’t think I can start collecting the pension for at least six months. We were barely keeping our noses above water before. I don’t know how I’ll make it now. I guess I’ll have to look for someplace cheaper to live.”

My first thought was that any place cheaper than the apartment in Haffe al-Khala wouldn’t be fit to raise children in. “Maybe,” I said. “Look, Indihar, I think you’ve earned a paid vacation. Why don’t you just let me pay you for two or three weeks in advance, and you can stay home with Zahra and Hakim and Little Jirji. Or you could use the time to make some extra money, maybe—”

Brandi came back to the bar and plopped down beside me with a contemptuous look on her face. “Motherfucker didn’t give me a tip,” she said.

I looked at her. She probably wasn’t any smarter than Fuad. “I told you, Kmuzu drinks for free. I don’t want you hustling him.”

“Who is he, your special friend?” Brandi asked with a crooked smile.

I looked at Indihar. “How badly you want this bitch to keep working here?” I said.

Brandi hopped off the stool and headed toward the dressing room. “All right, all right,” she said, “forget I said anything.”

“Marid,” said Indihar in a low, carefully controlled voice, “leave me alone. No loans, no deals, no presents. Okay? Just have enough respect for me to let me work everything out my own way.”

I couldn’t argue with her anymore. “Whatever you want,” I said. I turned away and went back to Kmuzu’s table. I truly wished Indihar had let me help her somehow. I’d gained a tremendous amount of admiration for her. She was a fine, intelligent woman, and kind of on the beautiful side too.

I had a couple of drinks and killed some time, and then it was eight o’clock. Chiri and the night crew came in, and I watched Indihar count out the register, pay the day shift girls, and leave without saying another word to anyone. I went to the bar to say hello to Chiri. “I think Indihar’s trying too hard to be brave,” I told her.

She sat on her stool behind the bar and surveyed the seven or eight customers. “Yesterday she was telling me about her twelfth birthday,” Chiri said in a distant voice. “She said she’d known Jirji all her life. They both grew up in the same little village. She always liked Jirji, and when her parents told her that they’d arranged with the Shaknahyis for the two kids to be married, Indihar was happy.”

Chiri leaned down and brought out her private bottle fof tende. She poured herself half a glassful and tasted it.

“Indihar had a traditional childhood,” she said. “Her folks were very old-fashioned and superstitious. She grew up in Egypt, where there’s this old wives’ tale that girls who drink the water of the Nile grow up too passionate. They exhaust their poor husbands. So it’s the custom for the girls to be circumcised before their weddings.” “Lots of country Muslims still do that,” I said.

Chiri nodded. “The village midwife cut Indihar and put onions and salt on the wound. Indihar stayed in bed for seven days afterward, and her mother fed her lots of chicken and pomegranates. When she finally got up again, her mother gave her a new dress she’d just finished making. Indihar’s clitoris was sewn up in the lining. Together the two of them took the dress and threw it into the river.”

I shuddered. “Why you telling me all this?”

Chiri swallowed some more tende. “So you’ll understand how much Jirji meant to Indihar. She told me the circumcision was very painful, but she was glad to have it done. It meant she was finally a grown woman, and she could marry Jirji with the blessings of her family and friends.”

“I suppose it’s none of my business,” I said.

“I’ll tell you what’s none of your business: badgering her about her financial situation. Leave her alone, Marid. Your intentions are good, and it was right to offer help after Jirji was killed. But Indihar’s said she doesn’t want our money, and you’re making her feel worse by bringing it up all the time.”

I let my shoulders sag. “I guess I didn’t realize it,” I said. “All right, thanks for letting me know.”

“She’ll be fine. And if she runs into trouble, she’ll let us know. Now, I want you to put in a good word with Kmuzu. I like the way that honey looks.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “You just trying to make me jealous? Kmuzu? He’s not a party kind of guy, you know. You’d eat him alive.”