'What's your name, my friend?'
Straining neck cords, a moment's delay, then: 'Ahmed.' Muddily.
'Your family name, Ahmed.'
'Nsif.'
'Nasif?'
Smiles and nods.
'Hello, Mr. Ahmed Nasif.'
'H'lo.'
The effort of speaking made the boy's body go tense. Words were accompanied by the flapping of hands, the strange finger flutters.
This is more than just deaf, thought Daoud. Some sort of spastic condition. And mentally defective, just as he'd first thought. Speak to him as if to a child.
'I am Sergeant Daoud. I am a policeman.'
More smiles. The crude pantomime of shooting a gun. 'Boom boom.' The boy laughed, and drool trickled down a corner of his mouth.
'That's right, Ahmed. Boom, boom. Would you like to look at a picture?'
'Boom, boom!'
Daoud pulled the photo out of the envelope, held it close enough for the sheep-eyes to see, not so close that the flapping hands could grab out and maul it.
'I'm looking for this girl, Ahmed. Do you know her?'
An emphatic nod. Eager to please.
'You do?'
'Did, dirl!'
'Yes, a girl. Does she live here in Silwan, Ahmed?'
The boy said 'dirl' again, the word preceded by something Daoud couldn't make out.
'Say that again, Ahmed.'.
The boy pawed at the photo. Daoud pulled it back.
More pawing, as if he were trying to hit the picture.
'What's her name, Ahmed?'
'Badirl!'
'She's a bad girl?'
'Badirl!'
'Why is she a bad girl, Ahmed?'
'Badirl!'
'What had she done wrong?'
'Badirl!'
'Do you know her name, Ahmed?'
'Badirl!'
'All right, Ahmed. She's a bad girl. Now tell me her name, please.'
'Badirl!'
'Where does she live, Ahmed?'
'Badirl!'
Sighing, Daoud put the picture away and started leaving. Ahmed gave a loud shriek and came after him, putting a padded hand on his shoulder.
Daoud reacted swiftly, turning and pushing the boy away. Ahmed stumbled and landed in the dirt. He looked up at Daoud, pouted and burst into loud sobs. Daoud felt like a child abuser.
'Come on, Ahmed. Settle down.'
The door to the house opened and a small woman stepped out, bosom drooping, round dark face emerging like a hickory nut from within the folds of her melaya.
'What is it?' she said in a high, sharp voice.
'Mama, Mama, Mama!' wailed the boy.
She looked at the fruit of her loins, then over at Daoud with a combination of sadness and muted anger. A look that said she'd been through this many times before.
The boy reached his hands out, cried 'Mama.' Daoud felt like apologizing but knew it was the wrong
