“Right now, Marîd,” Yasmin said.

“All right, Yasmin.” I said to the boy, “Enjoy the party. May it be pleasant to you.”

He said, “All who see you, live, O Shaykh. Maybe we can talk again later.” I had no trouble reading his expression, and I understood that talking was very low on the list of things he’d like to do with me later.

Yasmin and I took seats at the bar. “What is it?” I asked.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Yasmin said. “I just thought you needed someone to rescue you from that American slut. I didn’t think you were a chicken hawk, Marîd.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

I was amazed. “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She tilted her head and looked at me for a few seconds. “You forget that I know you, honey. I think you’d jam anything that held still long enough. In the right situation.”

“He’s pretty, Yasmin, but he’s too young and he belongs to the Half-Hajj.”

“Tell that to Saied, if you can get his attention away from that trick he brought in here.”

I got up from the stool. “You should listen to yourself. You’re jumping to all kinds of wrong conclusions.”

“What I said, Marîd.” She stood up and headed toward the plate of fried chicken.

The party lurched on toward midnight. I got pretty drunk despite the daddy I was wearing. More people came in, and I was very gracious and charming. At least, that’s how I remember it. I greeted Frenchy Benoit, who ran his own club on the Street, and Frenchy’s friendly barmaid, Dalia; we had a drink together.

Heidi, the beautiful blue-eyed German barmaid from the Silver Palm came in and wished me well; we had a drink together. Old Ibrahim, who owned the Cafe Solace, and Monsieur Gargotier, who owned the Fee Blanche, each had a drink with me. They stayed just long enough to mutter a few words in my ear and load up on free food. I thought Ferrari, who lived above his club, the Blue Parrot, might come by, but either he didn’t or he arrived after I’d stopped remembering things.

Safiyya the Lamb Lady dropped by for a little while. She was what other people on the Street called a “character.” She was harmless, though, as long as you didn’t threaten her imaginary lamb. She didn’t even realize there was a party going on. I gave her some food and a glass of beer, and she thanked me. She was the only person in Chiri’s all night long who thanked me for anything.

I do recall Kenneth being there for part of the evening. He was a tall, slender European with wire-rimmed spectacles. He had thin lips, always pressed tightly together; his expression showed that he was cursed to go through life surrounded by people and objects he dreaded to touch. The most notable thing about Kenneth, however, was that he was Shaykh Reda Abu Adil’s lieutenant and current fuck-buddy. Just as Abu Adil hated Friedlander Bey, so Kenneth hated me. The feeling was mutual.

“Shaykh Reda sent me,” Kenneth said. “He wanted me to convey his best wishes to you and to Friedlander Bey for your journey to Makkah.”

“Thank Shaykh Reda for me,” I said. I stared at him. I wasn’t going to say anything more. I wanted to see what he was really up to.

He stared back at me, and the silence got longer and more ridiculous. “I will have a glass of beer,” he said at last.

“Knock yourself out, Kenny,” I said.

His mouth twisted, but he didn’t say anything. A couple of minutes later I saw him, holding his glass of beer, in some kind of intense conference with Mahmoud. I didn’t know what they were discussing, but whatever it was it wouldn’t be good news for Papa and me.

Things began to get blurry soon after that. I have a vague memory of dropping my glass and spilling liquor and ice cubes on the floor. The glass shattered, and when I bent down clumsily, I overturned my plateful of couscous and meze on somebody. The American kid helped me to a chair at a table, and I sat down heavily. The room was making sickening circles with me at its center, and I told myself it might be a good idea to skip a couple of drinks until I was steady again.

Then Baby and Kitty were bending down, kissing me goodbye. The way I was feeling, it was too much effort to raise my eyes to their faces. Instead, I just stared at their remarkable tits. I gathered that Baby and Kitty were abandoning the bearded black man because he’d stopped spending money on them. Sure, okay. I guess they went to another club. The large gentleman himself called out to Rocky to bring him another cup of coffee.

I crossed my arms on the table and put my head down. The room spun even faster. I knew that if I did anything drastic, such as move or breathe, I was in danger of throwing up. I didn’t move or breathe.

The next thing I remember was someone shaking me by the shoulder. I supposed it was Abdul-Hassan, until I opened my eyes. I was wrong. It was Sulome, the working girl from Damascus. She was not supposed to be there. As drunk as I was, I knew that for a fact. “What?” I said. I hoped she understood what I meant, because I didn’t think I could say it any more plainly than that.

Sulome laughed. “This is the Marîd Audran I remember,” she said. She dragged another chair to my table and sat down. “Are you still promising everybody that you’re going to give up getting wasted?”

“Sulome?” I said. What I actually wanted to say was much more comprehensive than that, but I heard myself speak just the one word.

“So this is your bar. It’s okay, I guess. Some of these girls aren’t girls, Marîd, but I suppose you know that, and it probably doesn’t make any difference to you. Listen, I can see you’re not in very good shape right now. I’ll just get myself something to munch on. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“Sulome?” I said. I sat up a little straighter. I was not happy to see her in Chiri’s. Nobody was supposed to know that she was even in town, and nobody was ever supposed to know that she and I knew each other. I didn’t want anything to spoil my scheme to get even with Fuad.

I saw her walk to the bar and fill a plate with fried dumplings. I admired how well she walked; I used to be able to walk just that easily, but that was many ounces of gin and bingara ago. I was about to find out how well I could navigate in this condition. I stood up — no problem, although I had to lean on my chair for a moment until my head stopped reeling. Then I set out on a generally northwesterly course, tacking across the floor in the hope of intersecting Sulome’s path somewhere.

Lily stopped me. “Listen, Marîd,” she said, “you’re in pretty bad shape. You really ought to go sleep it off. Rocky can close up here for you. Why don’t you let me take you home? I don’t live very far from here. I know you have to get up early tomorrow to go to the hospital. Just — “

I raised a hand, hoping Lily would understand what the gesture meant. I brushed by her, still following Sulome.

Then it was Jacques. “Marîd, is it my imagination, or is that moddy Saied’s wearing making him behave just a little on the nelly side of nice, know what I mean? If he could see and hear himself, he’d rip that moddy out and stomp it into tiny plastic pieces.”

I raised my hand again and kept moving. Sulome seemed to be getting farther away. I didn’t understand how that could be.

Frenchy grabbed me by the arm. “Listen, cap,” he said, “before you leave town — “

I raised my hand.

I’d almost caught up to Sulome. She was collecting a triple Johnny Walker Red with a Coke back from Rocky. I was too drunk to be aware of much that was going on around me, but somehow I can remember what she was drinking. Don’t ask me why. Anyway, she couldn’t have been more than six feet away. I took a step, then another. I reached out toward her.

Yasmin put herself between us. “This time I’ve had it, you noraf son of a bitch.” I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.