Lewis sat on the cushion beside Mr. Abdullah. Mr. Adbullah turned away. His lips trembled. His shoulders shook. Lewis pulled a metal cigarette case from his pocket and lit an unfiltered Brazilian cigarette before holding it out to Mr. Abdullah. After long seconds, Mr. Abdullah took it in his lips. Lewis lit one for himself. Perry stood beside Mr.Abdullah’s wife. She made nervous little fists with her hands. Perry held his breath, learning.
A cloud of grey smoke grew around them. Tears leaked from Mr. Abdullah’s eyes. Lewis put his arm around him and took his cigarette to dash off the ash. He left the cigarettes in the ashtray.
“You are a great man,” Lewis said in Arabic.
Abdullah shook his head.
“You have a big heart,” Lewis insisted, “and I’ve come to help you.” Choking sobs burst from Mr. Abdullah. His shoulders trembled.
“Tell me why you cut off your arm,” Lewis whispered.
Abdullah’s browned lips pressed into a damp line.
Lewis sighed. “Show me your arm.”
Abdullah turned his head sharply away.
“These marks are a sign,” Lewis said, “nothing more. Show me.”
Abdullah shook his head, but Lewis held him and lowered the blanket slowly. Mr. Abdullah’s wife squeaked and turned away. The edge of the blanket revealed a dog’s paw, furred in brown, with black pads under the foot, hugged close to Mr. Abdullah’s chest. Lewis gently pulled at the paw. He stroked the fur.
“We can fix all this,” Lewis said.
Abdullah’s plump lip trembled.
“I love her,” he finally said. His voice cracked.
“This isn’t your fault,” Lewis said, “but it’s your responsibility to fix this.” Abdullah sobbed. “She’s my little girl.”
Lewis shook his head. “She’s a woman now. No father should pay for the sins of his child. Any more than a child should pay for yours.”
Lewis held the paw higher, between them. “This is not a price you can pay like a dowry,” Lewis said gently. “This is a reminder of what has to be done.”
Abdullah wiped at his tears with the bandaged stump of his right arm. “I can’t do it,” Abdullah said. “Not my little Amirra.”
“Look here,” Lewis whispered, stroking the fur of the paw again, in front of Abdullah’s eyes. “This shame is not just yours. It is not just your daughter, your son, and your wife who have to bear this with you.” Lewis swung his arm expansively. “All of Parim bears this shame with you. All your neighbours feel this shame. Each one of them waits for you to make this right. You do not have to face this alone.”
“Amirra is my little girl,” Abdullah moaned.
Lewis pulled the paw in front on Abdullah’s face. Adbullah turned away.
“What shame will your daughter bring on Parim next? Will your wife wake up with a goat’s hoof for a foot? What will you say to your neighbour when his son has a sheep’s head? What restitution could you possibly offer to make that better? Would you offer to shake his hand with this?” Lewis shook the paw.
“Once the stain spreads, it is harder to clean. It has stricken you twice. The behaviour of your daughter has brought you to hiding in your house, unable to light your own cigarettes.”
Abdullah cried. His shoulders hunched.
Lewis released the offending paw, but Abdullah would not bring it close, even to hide it. It trembled before him. Lewis put his arm over the man’s shoulders and pulled the blanket back up over the paw.
“Let us work with your neighbours to fix this. No man should have to bear this alone.”
They breathed together. Perry held his breath. Abdullah’s wife sobbed beside him.
Mr. Abdullah’s tears dripped onto the blanket in fat drops. Finally, he nodded.
Perry’s heart thumped. A bitter happiness rose in him. He despaired of ever being able to manage people the way Lewis could.
Lewis held the man until he stopped crying and the cigarettes burned themselves out in the ashtray. Then, he rose, said a quiet word to Abdullah’s wife and opened the door. The stark, baking sunlight fell at his feet. Perry followed him out.
The driver opened the door for Lewis. Perry went to the other side and opened the door.
Lewis turned his blue eyes on Perry. “Organize a rectification ceremony for a week from today,” Lewis said. “Make sure the press is here. Talk with the town elders in case Abdullah changes his mind. We’ll come back next week. Write me speaking notes and sound bites.”
“Yes, Mr. Lewis,” Perry said. Lewis turned back to the scenery. Perry pulled out a small notepad and jotted all he’d need to do. He’d never written any speaking notes.
The laws, judges, and police were usually a thicket of obstacles to progress in any country. The Democratic Republic of Hadhramaut was fourth from the bottom of the United Nation’s Corruption Index and the fifth poorest country in the world. Neither ranking made work easier. As part of Perry’s training as a development officer, Lewis had sent him to intervene with the authorities on a case.
The Hadhramaut Public Security Forces, Capital District, Barracks Four, squatted between a Western Union office and a station that received a weekly train from Yemen. Steel bars over the windows bulged like insect eyes.
Perry’s diplomatic ID got him through the reception and into the detention office. Major Ibn Ghassan, the Barracks Commander, met him there. Ibn Ghassan had caramel skin, sleek black hair, and a grey camouflage uniform. He shook Perry’s hand assertively.
“I thought you or your Lewis might come,” Ibn Ghassan said in Arabic.
Perry opened his hands disingenuously.
“Well, I don’t think either of you are going to work your magic on this one,” Ibn Ghassan said. “This is murder pure and simple. I’m going to give it to the public prosecutor this week.”
“Major, let’s not be hasty about anything,” Perry said.
“Don’t be hasty?” Ibn Ghassan said. “Come see the evidence.”
He pivoted in his polished boots and Perry had to stretch his steps to keep up with him. The Major unlocked a door and stepped through. The sweet, greying smell of death hit Perry. His eyes watered and he gagged.
The corpse of a teenage girl curled on a blocky wooden table. Dirt crusted her cheeks. She’d lost her hijab and a sandal. Her long abaya bunched at her waist, showing dirt-dusted pants. Conical piles of dirt rested on the table under the corner of her mouth and under her nose. Her ears were packed into shapelessness with dirt.
Ibn Ghassan regarded him from the other side of the table. Fighting not to retch, Perry stepped forward. He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell. It soaked in through his pores.
“This is sixteen-year-old Jasmine Malik,” Ibn Ghassan said. “She disappeared nine days ago. Her teachers reported it. We found the body under a new cement deck in front of her house.” He crisply pulled a pen from his chest pocket, pointing first at the girl’s hands, which were behind her back, and then her feet. “She’d been bound and buried alive. Her stomach and lungs are filled with dirt.”
“I heard that you aren’t even considering bail for her family,” Perry said.
“Murder is murder,” Ibn Ghassan said.
“Major,” Perry said, “I think we can agree that extenuating circumstances are at play here.”
“I have no evidence of that.”
“Fourteen witnesses from three families saw Ms. Malik talking with boys on a number of occasions.” Perry didn’t feel diplomatic. Lewis would have known how hard to push.