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great sensation; she is full and empty at the same time. Her head lets air in, and the air acts as a kind of fan that refreshes the inside of her mind. She becomes aware of the pulse of her existence. It beats in her weak stomach, pauses for a while in her kidneys, which have never given her trouble. It is a simple, quiet journey. She feels like a rather undemanding tourist, lacking all curiosity. There is nothing she doesn’t already know in there; nothing new to discover.
    She runs her hand through her short, thick hair. Her shower that morning has softened it. Lila had urged her to use the conditioner after the shampoo and she had obeyed. She had even quipped something stupid like, ‘You’re already on a mission to civilize your cousin,’ which had annoyed Lila. ‘Don’t start that crazy stuff,’ Lila had answered. Hana had laughed.
    Here you are. That’s how they say it. Here you are. Her first American solitude. Her first night in this suburb, so like the films.
    It feels like centuries since she left Rrnajë. She feels the shoulders and then the collar of her shirt. Lila’s washer and dryer have already washed the smell of the mountains away.
    She feels as though she is not herself; her name isn’t Hana, her name isn’t Mark. This feels like someone else’s journey. She is watching the performance of a surreal dream.
    So we go as we came,
    goodbye, my brother sea.
    There is no going back. She’s been saying it for a year. If she leaves, there is no going back. At times, it sounds like a threat. At others, like a joke.
    â€˜Show them who you are, Mark Doda,’ she had said out loud, on her own in the kulla that ‌ was slowly going to ruin. 5 ‘Show them you have the balls.’ The metaphor had made her laugh. But since then she had repeated it over and over. Show them who you are.
    She is trying with all her strength. All she has to do now is work out how to go on.
    One step at a time. First talk to Jonida, and see how it goes. Then talk to Lila, and see how it goes. She listens to the night; it’s past three. There’s no cock crowing. There are no mountains. Just night.
    Back at Rrnajë, the Rrokajs’ mad calf had started imitating the cock’s crow every morning, at three on the dot, driving everyone crazy. Its translucent hide was dazzlingly white and it had two red patches on its face and one on its belly; it was the kind of animal that justified the expression ‘good looking and stupid.’ Soon after it was born, it had tried to suck milk from a goat. The village children laughed their hearts out. The goat kicked the calf away.
    â€˜What now?’ Hana asks the night. She can see dawn coming reticently, hesitant on the horizon. She stubs out her second cigarette, decides she’s had enough of these foolish thoughts and that now she can go to bed. She hears the balcony door open suddenly.
    â€˜You’re not tired?’ Shtjefën asks her. ‘I’m off to work soon. So if you go to bed now, I’ll be disturbing you for the next half hour before I leave.’
    â€˜No problem,’ Hana whispers. ‘I can sleep through anything.’
    Shtjefën makes room on the balcony for Hana to go back in. He goes towards the bathroom. Hana closes the kitchen door, takes her pants and shirt off quickly and puts her light flannel pajamas on. She doesn’t have time to fold her clothes; she thinks Shtjefën might come out of the bathroom before she’s done. But he takes his time. She hears the shower running. She pulls the comforter up around her shoulders. Then she decides that tomorrow she’ll talk straight to Lila about the division of labor in the house, and falls asleep.
    The next day it’s raining gently. This doesn’t seem to pacify the hysterical traffic and the regular wail of fire sirens. The water lands on the sidewalk and trickles away in dirty brown rivulets. The flirtation