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sister-in-law Masudah had a pleasant heart-shaped face and big round cheeks that were always red like apples. Masudah had four living children and had buried another four. In Masudah’s house, I was put on a pallet with her daughter, two-year-old curly-headed Remelia. Masudah kissed me when tucking me into bed, and then laughed and said, “By morning you will be engaged, little one.”
    I sat up, wide-eyed, “What do you mean?”
    â€œDidn’t you see? Your mother sunk her claws into that boy the moment he walked into the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are already betrothed; after all, your uncle doesn’t know about the bad luck you bring.” My face must have fallen. “Silly girl”—Masudah kissed my nose—“your mother is wise enough to act quickly. She knows she must put forth a proposal before your uncle recovers and hears what they say on the streets of Qaraah.”
    Little Remelia shoved her pudgy hand into mine and fell asleep curled against me. I was awake for a long time. In my other hand, I held the amulet Asaf had given me. I wondered again which of Elohim’s many names or which angel’s name was written on the parchment. I wondered if he had made the amulet himself, or if it had been given to him. And if it had been given to him, by whom? When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed that he had been on the escarpment with me, and that together we found the amulet peeking out of the sand.
    Masudah was right. My mother put forth a proposal that very night. First, she convinced my uncle that he was still dying, even though his arm was almost completely healed. She paid the tea seller to pretend he was a doctor and to come and pronounce my uncle’s wound so infected as to lead to sure putrefaction. The tea seller was a hunched-over little man who could tell the weight of tea leaves to the half gram withouta scale. He examined Uncle Zecharia’s arm and then told him that he had only days to live. He told my uncle that though the flesh had healed over, the bone was dead inside the arm. He pressed so hard on the red angry scar that my uncle screamed and cursed and even whimpered. When the tea seller was gone, my mother came to Uncle Zecharia’s side and delicately broached the matter of an engagement. Uncle Zecharia was a cautious man, and was in his right mind enough to lift up his head and say, “Sister-in-law, don’t talk marriage to a dying man.”
    â€œWell, if you are dying, all the more reason to protect the boy from the Imam.”
    Uncle Zecharia, not having been back north in over a decade, did not know about the severity or heartlessness with which the Orphans Decree was enforced. My mother explained everything to Uncle Zecharia, though she neglected to tell him that I had an unfortunate habit of losing grooms. No, my mother judiciously kept this information to herself.
    Uncle Zecharia nursed his wounded arm, and listened to her impassioned oratory. And then there was the banging on the door.
    â€œOh, what is that? Is someone there?” My mother ran to the door and made a great show of speaking to someone outside. Her voice rose in angry tones and in the end she slammed the door and walked back inside with a huff.
    Masudah later explained, “Your mother very convincingly pretended that it was the Confiscator himself, come to collect the boy before your uncle was even dead in his grave. But really, it was the lampmaker’s wife, speaking in a gruff voice and banging on the door with her clenched fists. With that, your Uncle Zecharia almost begged your mother to fetch the scribe that very night to write up the engagement contract. By the time you woke the next morning, you were already a bride, and Asaf was your groom. They made a solemn bargain over a cup of arak and signed the contract in a week’s time.”
    *  *  *
    It didn’t take long for Uncle Zecharia to realize that he’d been