The Mirage: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

All-Merciful” was code for “God the Head-Basher.” He worried, as well, about his father’s declining faculties. Sometimes when Abu Mustafa went out these days, he had trouble finding his way home. He blamed his confusion on mysterious changes to the city—once-familiar landmarks that had been altered, or that weren’t where they were supposed to be. No doubt some of this was due to new construction, but when Abu Mustafa began talking about the streets being laid out differently, Mustafa knew something more was going on.
    Abu Mustafa dismissed any suggestion that he move to a quieter, “less confusing” neighborhood, so the family had come up with an alternate plan. Mustafa’s uncle Tamir and aunt Rana took an apartment in the same building. They had eight children, so there was always a spare niece or nephew available to keep an eye on Abu Mustafa. Mustafa himself, after protracted negotiations, moved into his father’s spare bedroom. The face-saving cover story was that this was for Mustafa’s convenience, to shorten his commute to work.
    Mustafa and his father got on OK, as long as Mustafa was careful not to be overly protective. It wasn’t always easy. Recently, Abu Mustafa had developed an animus towards air-conditioning. At first Mustafa thought it was the sound that bothered him, and he offered to pay to have the apartment refitted with a quieter system. But Abu Mustafa said it wasn’t the noise; the problem was that the air-conditioning was wrong.
    “What do you mean, wrong? You think it’s a sin to be comfortable?”
    “I didn’t say sin!” Abu Mustafa grew flustered. “It’s not immoral, it’s just . . . wrong.”
    Two or three times a week now—invariably on the hottest nights—Mustafa would wake up sweating because his father had shut off the AC. Then, last week, there’d been a new development: Mustafa had awakened to find the air-conditioning still running, but his father’s bedroom empty. After a frantic search, he discovered that Abu Mustafa had taken a mattress pad and gone up to the apartment building roof to sleep in the open air—the way Baghdadis had used to do, long ago, before the city was electrified.
    “What’s the matter?” Abu Mustafa asked, puzzled by Mustafa’s concern. “You think I’m going to fall off?”
    “In your sleep, anything is possible,” Mustafa said. “It’s not safe up here.”
    “God willing, it’s as safe as anywhere in the city. And I like it up here. Even with the city lights, you can still see the stars. The stars are as they should be.”
    Talking to Farouk from his hospital bed, Mustafa had been embarrassed, but he didn’t feel true shame until he saw his father in the hospital waiting room. As Abu Mustafa embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks, Mustafa felt his eyes welling up, and he apologized through tears for his carelessness in nearly getting himself killed. Of course, Abu Mustafa forgave him; but he knew he’d be reminded of it the next time he told Abu Mustafa to be careful. So for that, as much as for his own sake, Mustafa resolved to be less foolish in the future.
    It was not the first time in his life he had made that particular pledge.
    Mustafa spent the next day resting at home, but he asked Samir and Amal to come by and update him on the investigation.
    It was Amal’s first time at the apartment, and like many first-time visitors, she was drawn to the bookshelves that covered every free centimeter of wall space. While Samir went into the kitchen to help Abu Mustafa make tea, and Mustafa relaxed on a couch by the window, Amal stayed on her feet, moving from shelf to shelf.
    “How many languages does your father know?” Amal asked.
    “Half a dozen well, and another half dozen well enough to muddle through. Which sounds impressive, unless you’d met my mother.”
    “What was she, a translator?”
    “Restless,” Mustafa said. “She always wanted to travel around the world, but North Africa on holiday was as far