jacket and tossed it onto the bare mattress. That drew a snarl from Ramesh, who was still muttering darkly from the opposite bunk. One of the men eating dinner turned and snarled back at him, and for a moment Ramesh looked genuinely chastened. He then curled into a ball and rolled onto his side, facing away from the others, toward the wall. Thank goodness that was settled, at least for now.
Sam still had no appetite, but figured he had better buy supplies and cook something if he was going to have any energy the following day. Charbak had already departed, so he offered his question to the room at large.
“Can someone tell me where the food store is?”
One of the men on the floor eyed him carefully, then nodded.
“Go left from the blockhouse,” he said quietly. His English was perfect. “Four hundred meters. The Al Madina market. You will see it.”
“Thank you.”
The man resumed eating without another word.
The Al Madina was tiny and crowded, every aisle jammed with men. To Sam’s surprise there was an abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables. He didn’t know if the prices were decent or not. He piled eggplant, green peppers, bananas, oranges, flatbread, and cooking oil into a basket, along with a two-kilogram bag of rice. Fresh meat was for sale, but at seemingly outrageous rates, so he turned to the freezer. He avoided the frozen carp and some buffalo product labeled as “Bobby Veal,” settling instead on chicken parts. Then he bought soap, a towel, a toothbrush, and a set of sheets. The only ones for sale had a wildly colorful pattern of bright green palm trees against an orange beach.
To his surprise, there were a few other shops as well—a small pharmacy, a narrow restaurant selling rotisserie chicken and kebabs, a jeweler, a cell phone dealer, and a small photography store where you could develop film or buy a disposable camera. He supposed there must be a market for sending pictures home, especially for family members who had been away for years. There was also a lottery kiosk that seemed to be doing a brisk business— the great, faint hope of the world’s dispossessed.
When he returned to the room, Ramesh was still sulking with his back to the others. Sam tried to make as little fuss as possible while making his bed. He put his perishables into one of several small refrigerators set on the floor between the beds. No one had labeled anything, so he supposed there was an honor system.
He took a few pieces of chicken and one of the peppers and chopped them on a table outside. He had to wait half an hour for one of the burners to become available, and it gave him time to work up an appetite. It was only when he was almost finished cooking that he realized he had no plate or utensils. That’s when he noticed the fellow from his room who spoke English hovering nearby.
“Here,” the young man said, handing over the large bowl he had just washed, along with a clean spoon.
“Thanks,” Sam said.
“The bed you are in. It belonged to Ramesh’s friend, Sanjay. They came here together, from the same village. That is why he is angry.”
“Tell him that Sanjay can have his bed back, as long as I have somewhere else to sleep.”
“Sanjay is dead. He fell last week from the twenty-seventh story. He was standing at the edge, and the wind came.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ramesh has been a little crazy since then. He believes that a demon was responsible. When he saw your white face taking Sanjay’s bed, he said you were the demon, and had come to disturb his soul. Ramesh has been here eleven years. Too long.”
“Sounds like it. How long have you been here?”
“Three years. It is only this year that I no longer owe money to the people who brought me.”
“How long will you stay, then?”
The young man shook his head, as if those sorts of questions weren’t even remotely answerable.
“I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Vikram.” He didn’t offer a last name. Sam had yet to hear anyone mention one.
“You should hurry,” Vikram said. “Lights-out in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.”
“And take care around Ramesh. When you are working, I mean. If he thinks you are a demon, well …”
“Yes. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So why do you come here?”
He considered offering his own demons as an excuse, but figured the sarcasm would be misunderstood, perhaps even resented. So he offered what he hoped was a safe approximation of the truth.
“I have been having troubles in the city. A friend thought this would be a good place for me to stay until things are better. What time will they wake us in the morning?”
“Five. Before the sun. You must be waiting for the bus at five twenty, or it will leave without you, and you will not be paid.”
Vikram turned to go before Sam could ask more. He ate hastily and washed out the bowl and spoon at an outdoor spigot. There wasn’t time to shower, so he scrubbed his hands and face, and brushed his teeth at the same spigot. When he returned to the room all the other bunks were occupied. A few men were reading magazines or newspapers. Two were playing cards. Vikram was writing a letter. Four snapshots of children were arrayed beside him on the bed. Ramesh was still facing the wall, either asleep or brooding. Someone had switched on the air conditioner, which droned and rattled, and gave off a whiff of mildew.
It was then that he remembered Laleh’s note. He retrieved it from his pocket as he was undressing for bed,
