My Friends

by Hisham Matar

Only then I realized I was alone again, the only one who did not remember the famous poem she had been quoting from, or the one she had merged her words with, one familiar to the gathering, for now they too began to murmur along with her the lines. And because I, the one who had been away, was the only one who could not join in, I blushed a little, and therefore came to seem as though I were the subject of Malak’s words. And then I want him to return to me, to prosper by my side. I want to take him to the clearest stream, one only I know the way to, and there quench his thirst. I want him to look at me sometimes as if he does not know who I am. But I want to be forever recognized by him, come what may, to point me out in a crowd when, after the passage, we are reunited. I want him to see me when I cannot see myself. All exploded with cheers. Several clapped. Mother pulled Malak to her and kissed her, tears now streaming from Mother’s eyes. “Gorgeous,” she said, and repeated the word three times.