For he has no language, even with a translator by his side, to explain how, ever since he was a boy, he has been pulled by a ghost river, a flow so strong it doesn’t let him rest or take root. The current that carries him along is stronger than matters of the heart—or so he believes. Still unsure how to respond, Arthur pivots on his heel, sensing a movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone has entered the room. “That’s my adopted daughter,” says the sheikh. “Women do not join evening conversations—but she is different. She is a faqra.”
