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"Some passion drove her, but I can recall no evidence of passion in my sister. None!"
    "None confided, at least," Othman remarked.
    An awkward silence took hold. No one looked at Othman, and the brothers seemed to draw into themselves.
    Nayir was inclined to agree with Othman's assessment. Of course Nouf had passions; they just didn't know what those were. He felt no empathy for brothers who had only the vaguest, most superficial impression of their sisters. Certainly women had their own concerns. They lived in a different manner, in other parts of the house. He imagined that their lives barely intersected except during meals, holidays, excursions. But there was no taboo against talking to a sister. A sister, he imagined, should be the most comforting of women—an accessible female with whom one could speak openly, who could explain sensitive things where others might shy from trying. Nayir had no siblings, but he had longed for a sister his entire life. To have seven and no knowledge of them! Did the brothers simply ignore their sisters? Impossible. One of them must have spoken to Nouf
sometime.
They must have taken at least a passing interest in her schooling, hobbies, her taste in shoes.
    He studied them. Tahsin, with a wife and nine children and his enormous work responsibilities: he was probably too busy, or acted as if he was. Fahad too worked all the time. He and his wife had three young girls, but they didn't live on the island anymore; they had a house in the city and probably didn't see Nouf very often. Only Othman would have seen her regularly. He still lived at home. But on the phone he'd been unable to tell Nayir anything. Perhaps he'd been in shock.
    It wasn't odd that the brothers were being so reserved—they kept their feelings buried, or shared among themselves—and on any other occasion he would have thought nothing of it. But as the minutes ticked by, questions sprang forcefully into his mind. If Nouf had seemed so happy at home, wasn't it still likely that she'd been kidnapped? The kidnapper could have stolen the camel to make it look like she'd run away. Had she ever talked about leaving? If not to her brothers, then to her sisters or a friend? And, most important, did they know about the pregnancy before she ran away? He couldn't find a way to raise his concerns; he couldn't even come up with a subject for idle chatter. He studied each of them in the hope that they would speak, but their silence was heavy and conscientious. It wasn't his place to force the issue. Would any among them ask the difficult question: what had happened to Nouf ? Would anyone take responsibility for, if not her death, then at least the circumstances leading up to it?
    A servant came in with a lighted hookah and set it down beside Tahsin. With a cloth at his waist, the servant wiped the hookah's nozzle and handed it to Tahsin, who accepted it sternly. The servant bowed and left.
    Tahsin held the hookah to his mouth. Everyone stared at him, waiting for the first inhalation. Nayir found himself longing for the comforting slap of water as it bubbled in the pipe, the soft crackle of charcoal lighting the tobacco, any sound to break the silence. Tahsin finally took a drag, and it seemed for a moment that his long exhalation of sweet-smelling smoke was matched by the relieved exhalations of everyone.
    Slowly the hookah made its way around the circuit. One of the cousins praised the tobacco and asked where it was from, which started a light conversation. Nayir realized that the brothers were done talking about Nouf. He leaned back against the wall. The disappointment of his failed search still troubled him. Why hadn't he sent a team to check out the family's campsite to make sure they knew what they were doing? Accident or not, her death had been preventable. He felt determined to find out what had happened to her.
Allah, am I prying? Am I doing this to satisfy my own sickening curiosity?
No, he thought. It was the right thing to do,