"Surely the words of one's father are nothing to be ashamed of," said Daoud.
Barakat trembled. "My father said he said that Shahin's mother's loins were cursed, she'd been possessed by a spirit-a djinn. He said Shahin carried the curse too. The dowry had been obtained deceitfully."
"A djinn."
"Yes, one of my old aunts is a kodia-she confirmed it."
"Did this aunt ever try to chase out the djinnj Did she beat the tin barrel?"
"No, no, it was too late. She said the possession was too strong, agreed with my father that sending Shahin away was the honorable thing to do-as a daughter, she, too, was afflicted. The fruit of a rotten tree."
"Of course," said Daoud. "That makes sense."
"We were never told of the djinn before the wedding," said Barakat. "We were cheated, my father says. Victimized."
"Your father is a wise businessman," said Daoud. "He knows the proper value of a commodity."
Daniel heard sarcasm in the remark, wondered if Barakat would pick it up too. But the young man only nodded. Pleased that someone understood.
"My father wanted to go to the waqf," he said. "To demand judgment and reclaim the dowry from the mother. But he knew it was useless. The crone no longer owns anything-she's too far gone."
"Far gone?"
"Up here." Barakat tapped his forehead. "The djinn has affected her up here as well as in her loins." He scowled, sat up higher, square-shouldered and confident, the guilt-ridden slump suddenly vanished. Reaching out, he took a drink from the water glass that, till then, had gone untouched.
Watching the change come over him, Daniel thought: Plastering over the rot and mildew of sorrow with a layer of indignation. Temporary patchwork.
"The mother is mad?" asked Daoud.
"Completely. She drools, stumbles, is unable to clean herself. She occupies a cell in some asylum!"
"Where is this asylum?"
"I don't know. Some foul place on the outskirts of Nablus."
"Shahin never visited her?"
"No, I forbade it. The contagion-one defect was bad enough. The entire line is cursed. The dowry was obtained deceitfully!"
Daoud nodded in agreement, offered Barakat more water. When the young man had finished drinking, Daoud resumed his questioning, searching for a link to Shahin's whereabouts after her expulsion, inquiring about friends or acquaintances who might have taken her in.
"No, there were no friends," said Barakat. "Shahin shuttered herself in the house all day, refused to have anything to do with other women."
"Why was that?"
"Their children bothered her."
"She didn't like children?"
"At first she did. Then she changed."
"In what way?"
"They reminded her of her defect. It sharpened her tongue. Even the children of my brothers made her angry. She said they were ill-trained-a plague of insects, crawling all over her."
An angry, isolated woman, thought Daniel, no friends, no family. Stripped of the security of marriage, she'd have been as helpless as Fatma, as rootless as Juliet.
Picking off the weak ones.
But where had the herd grazed?
"Let's go back to Monday," said Daoud. "The last time you saw her, what time was it?"
"I don't know."
"Approximately."
"In the morning."
"Early in the morning?"
Barakat tapped his tooth with a fingernail and thought. "I left for work at eight. She was still there " The sentence died in his throat. All at once he was crying again, convulsively.
"She was still there what, Abdin?"
"Oh, oh, Allah help me! I didn't know. Had I known, I never "
"What was she doing when you left for work?" Daoud pressed softly but insistently.
Barakat kept crying. Daoud took hold of his shoulders, shook him gently.
"Come, come."
Barakat quieted.
"Now, tell me what she was doing the last time you saw her, Abdin."
Barakat muttered something unintelligible.
Daoud leaned closer. "What's that?"
"She was Oh, merciful Allah! She was cleaning up!"
"Cleaning what up, Abdin?"
Sobs.
"The kitchen. My dishes. My breakfast dishes."
After that. Barakat became withdrawn again, more mannequin than man. Answering Daoud's questions but perfunctorily, employing grunts, shrugs, nods, and shakes of the head whenever they could substitute for words, muttered monosyllables when speech was necessary. Pulling the information out of him was a frustrating process, but Daoud never flagged, taking the husband over the same territory time and time again, returning eventually to the issue that had driven a wedge between him and Shahin.
"Did she ever take steps to correct her defect?" Phrasing it so that all the responsibility rested on the woman's shoulders.
Nod.
"What kind of steps?"
"Prayer."
"She prayed, herself?"
Nod.
"Where?"
"Al Aqsa."
"Did others pray for her as well?"
Nod.
"Who?"
"My father petitioned the waqf. They appointed righteous old men."
"To pray for Shahin?"
Nod. "And "
"And what?"
Barakat started to cry again.
"What is it, Abdin?"
"I-prayed for her too. I recited every surah in the Quran in one long night. I chanted the zikr until I fainted. Allah shut his ears to me. I am unworthy."
"It was a strong djinn," said Daoud. Playing his part well, thought Daniel. He knew what Christians thought of Muslim spirits.
Barakat hung his head.
Daoud looked at his watch. "More water, Abdin? Or something to eat?'
Shake of the head.
"Did Shahin ever consult a doctor?"
Nod.
"Which doctor?"
"A herbalist."
"When?"
"A year ago."
"Not more recently?"
Shake of the head.
"What's the herbalist's name?"
"Professor Mehdi."
"The Professor Mehdi on Ibn Sina Street?"
Nod.
Daoud frowned, as did Daniel, behind the glass. Mehdi was a quack and illegal abortionist who'd been busted several times for fraud and released when the magistrates took seriously his lawyer's claims of ethnic harassment.
"What did Professor Mehdi advise?"
Shrug.
"You don't know?"
Shake of the head.
"She never told you?"