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years for him to grow into those eyes. His sister’s eyes were dark, too, but less
spooky, more at home in her face. A pair of silver hoop earrings emphasized
her righteous dowager side, yet the sleeves of her sweatshirt hung sloppily
over her hands like any little girl.
“You’re very old, aren’t you?” Zack told her. “How old?”
“Ten,” said Mina.
“A good age. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
She shook a hand from her sleeve and counted off fingers. “A young
woman, a mother, an old woman, a corpse.”
Zack smiled uneasily. He hoped this was a nursery rhyme translated from
Farsi or Russian.
“I cannot reach,” Osh announced. “I must sit in your chair. No!” he com-
manded. “You stay.” And Osh climbed into Zack’s lap, dragged the paper
over, and resumed coloring. Zack was flattered that the boy trusted him
enough to use him as a seat, even though the little bird-boned butt jabbed his
crotch.
Like father, like son, thought Zack. The Rohani men were the physically
affectionate ones, the women wary and careful.
The evening had been pleasant, the food good—a spicy lamb stew that
could be either French or Uzbek—the conversation harmless. Zack forgot
how the presence of young children simplified emotional life, reducing it to
crude outlines: emotions could only be indicated without getting fully ex-
pressed. But the family seemed content, the dark apartment felt warm and
cozy. A fire burned in the fireplace, dishes clattered in the kitchen.
He looked over Osh’s shoulder at the picture taking shape: a house like a
tent under a green mass of threatening clouds. There was a family of four: two
parents, two children, all with red faces. Did the red indicate blood or shame
or racial difference? The four figures were all touching each other. They were
connected and smiling. The green cloud turned into a great sheltering tree.
The family looked safe. Whatever was happening in the strange world of
grown-ups did not appear to worry the boy.
“Give them a dog,” said Mina, pointing to a blank spot.
“We have no dog,” said Osh.
“But we want one.”
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Osh took a purple crayon and drew a dog with five legs. Or was the fifth
leg his tail?
Zack was sorry he hadn’t brought Jocko.
Elena came out of the kitchen, drying her hands and tugging the sleeves of
her cashmere blouse back down. She was not dressed like a housewife
tonight. “C’est l’heure de coucher,” she said, clapping her hands. “Both of you.
Your father is not here to overrule me. I want a rest from my many, many ex-
cellent hours with you. Say good night to Dr. Knowles.”
“They can call me Zack,” said Zack.
“Not Uncle Zack?” said Elena.
“Uh, sure.” Was she being sarcastic?
“Good night, Uncle Zack,” sang Osh.
“Good night, Dr. Knowles,” said Mina.
Elena herded the children up the stairs—they were surprisingly obedient
despite the presence of a guest. “Don’t go yet,” she told Zack. “I will be back.”
He lingered at the table, examining Osh’s drawing, then got up and went
over to the fireplace—the notorious fireplace. He knew only Daniel’s version
of the babysitter’s story. It was hard to imagine this elegant mother behaving
like that. Yet Elena was full of surprises. Zack wasn’t entirely sure why he had
come tonight, what he had expected to find. He had come mostly for himself,
of course, for company. Part of him thought Elena might need help, but Elena
seemed fine. They all seemed fine.
He looked around the big downstairs room, with its white plaster walls,
dark oak trim, and drab college furniture. The chief personal notes here were
the children’s toys and Abbas’s paintings. The ethereal blue canvas that Zack
remembered from his first visit still stood over the fireplace with its dense pat-
tern of geometric fish and sea monsters. Propped in front were several small
framed pencil sketches of Mina and Osh. They looked sweetly old-fashioned
against the abstract painting; family life brought out the realist in Abbas. The
pencil strokes were light and delicate, as if blown upon the paper like breaths.
Osh looked lively and impish, Mina soulful and regal. Zack noticed no pic-
tures of Elena.
Elena came back down the stairs. “Coffee or wine?” she said. “I will be
having wine.”
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“Wine sounds good,” said Zack.
Elena went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of burgundy.