“I don't know him. The cinema's been closed for many years.”
“Maybe there's someone there who might know him, someone—” “There is no one.”
Mariam closed her eyes. “Please, brother. There are children involved. Small children.”
A long sigh. “Maybe someone there—” “There's a groundskeeper here. I think he's lived here all of his life.”
“Yes, ask him, please.” “Call back tomorrow.” Mariam said she couldn't.
“I have this phone for five minutes only. I don't—” There was a click at the other end, and Mariam thought he had hung up.
But she could hear footsteps, and voices, a distant car horn, and some mechanical humming punctuated by clicks, maybe an electric fan.
She switched the phone to her other ear, closed her eyes. She pictured Jalil smiling, reaching into his pocket.
“Ah. Of course. Well. Here then. Without further ado... A leaf shaped pendant, tiny coins etched with moons and stars hanging from it.”
Try it on, Mariam jo. What do you think? I think you look like a queen.”
A few minutes passed. Then footsteps, a creaking sound, and a click.
“He does know him.” “He does?” “It's what he says.” “Where is he?” Mariam said.
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