"Eight months ago."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why so long ago?"
He shifted in his seat. "She…she and my father had a falling out. Maryam had fallen in love with a man, a Christian from a neighboring village. We are Muslims. My father forbade her to see him. She refused to obey him. I begged her to see reason, told her that besides being a non-Muslim, the man had a reputation as a seducer of young women, but she wouldn't listen. Said she would marry this man, leave our faith, and convert to Christianity to be with him."
"What is the name of this man?"
"He's not important. He's not a suspect."
"Why?"
"He's dead."
"How did he die?"
"My older brothers found him." Jamalka's jaw tightened. "He had taken her honor, you see. It was as I had thought. He was not planning to marry her. He simply used her."
"Is that also part of the way you do things?" I asked.
He looked at me for a moment. Then he simply said, "Yes. That is also part of it."
"And Maryam? Had she not brought shame upon your family? Is killing her part of the way you do things as well?"
Color seeped into his cheeks and his scar burned scarlet. He didn't look gentle any longer. Now he looked like a man who could kill you without losing a moment of sleep. "Don't dare judge our ways, Jew. Is it not your way to mourn a family member who has left the faith as if she were dead?"
"The very religious among us may do so," I allowed, "but it is make-believe. No one actually goes out and kills anyone. There is a difference there. Perhaps it is best for you and your family that the police are not pursuing this as hard as they should."
We stared at each other across the table. There was anger in his eyes, the hatred of the defeated. Israel's War of Independence was not long over, and the wounds of the vanquished and those of the victors were far from healed. But along with the hatred and anger, there was also shame. I was right about his culture's acceptance of honor killings, and he knew it. It was a tense moment, and I thought he might get up and leave. But then his shoulders loosened, and he let out a slow exhalation.
"My brothers did not kill Maryam."
"Are you sure about that? You say that they have killed before and that they wouldn't have a moral inhibition against killing your sister."
"I asked them about it directly. They told me they didn't. And I don't think they would hide this from me."
"You were close to your sister," I said.
"Yes."
"Closer than your older brothers were."
"Yes. They are my half brothers. Born from my father's first and second wives. Maryam and I are the only offspring of his third. Our mother died delivering Maryam. She and I were like a small family within the larger family of my father. That is why we were so close."
"Then maybe your brothers lied to you."
He shook his head. "They wouldn't. They would have killed her if they knew where to find her. And had they killed her, they would have boasted about it. Especially to me. You see, they suspect I helped Maryam run away after they killed her lover."
"And did you?"
"No. I wish I had, but the truth is I did nothing. She came to me for help, but I turned her away. As for my brothers, I am quite confident they did not kill her. And I must insist that you not speak to them, nor to anyone of my family. No one in my family had any contact with Maryam since she left. Not even me. And no one knows I am here talking to you today."
"That's not the way I generally do things," I said.
"Well, this is how you must do things in this case, or are you going to tell me to take my business elsewhere for the third time?"
I smiled and said, "All right. You're the client. I'll do it your way. If I run into a dead end because of your constraints, I'll let you know, and you'll decide how to proceed. Agreed?"
"Agreed. I'll take that coffee now."
I got us each a fresh cup, and he rolled himself a cigarette, which he lit, and one for me, which I laid aside for later.
I asked him a few more questions and noted the relevant answers in my notebook. Maryam was seventeen when she began the affair with the Christian man—now dead—which led to her expulsion from her father's household. She was eighteen when she died. What her life was like or how she'd sustained herself during the intervening eight months was unknown to her brother.
He talked a great deal about Maryam, showering me with useless information. She liked horses and flowers and had a beautiful singing voice. She baked the best bread in their village and was smart and funny. Up to her late teens she was also quite devout. He cursed the man who had seduced her. He loved his sister a great deal. His heart broke when she ran away from home, and shattered when she was found dead. He also blamed himself for rejecting her when she asked for his help and for not making a greater effort to remain in her life. He had chosen his role as a dutiful son to his father over that of a loving brother to his young sister. And now he was tormented to the point where he came to me, a Jew, for help.
