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away,” he urges, kissing my throat, gentle. Moth wing kisses, as if he has been thinking of my throat for a long time.
    “Run away? From Mbarek? What would I do for the rest of my life? Make paper flowers?”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “Would you come with me?” I ask.
    He sighs and raises up on his elbow. “You shouldn’t fall in love with me.”
    This is funny. “This is a fine time to tell me.”
    “No,” he says, “it is true.” He counts on his fine fingers, “One, I’m a harni, not a human being, and I belong to someone else. Two, I have caused all of your problems; if I hadn’t been here, you wouldn’t have had all your troubles. Three, the reason it is wrong for a human to love a harni is because harni -human relationships are bad paradigms for human behavior, they lead to difficulty in dealing with human-to-human relationships-”
    “I don’t have any human-to-human relationships,” I interrupt.
    “You will, you’re still young.”
    I laugh at him. “Akhmim, you’re younger than I am. Prescripted wisdom.”
    “But wisdom nonetheless,” he says solemnly.
    “Then why did you kiss me?” I ask.
    He sighs. It is such a human thing, that sigh, full of frustration. “Because you’re sad.”
    “I’m not sad right now,” I say. “I’m happy because you are here.” I’m also nervous. Afraid. Because this is all strange and even though I keep telling myself that he’s human, I’m afraid that underneath he is really alien, more unknowable than my brother. But I want him to stay with me. And I’m happy. Afraid but happy.
    My lover. “I want you to be my lover,” I say.
    “No.” He sits up. He’s beautiful, even disheveled. I can imagine what I look like. Maybe he doesn’t even like me, maybe he has to act this way because I want it. He runs his fingers through his hair and his earring gleams in the light from the street.
    “Do harni fall in love?” I ask.
    “I have to go,” he says. “We’ve crushed your flowers.” He picks up a lily, whose long petals have become twisted and crumpled, and tries to straighten it out.
    “I can make more. Do you have to do this because I want you to?”
    “No,” he says very quietly. Then more clearly, like a recitation, “ Harni don’t have feelings, not in the sense that humans do. We are loyal, flexible, and affectionate.”
    “That makes you sound like a smart dog,” I say, irritated.
    “Yes,” he says, “that is what I am, a smart dog, a very smart dog. Good night, Hariba.”
    When he opens the door, the breeze draws and the flowers rustle and some tumble off the bed, trying to follow him.
     
    * * *
     
    “Daughter,” Mbarek says, “I’m not sure that this is the best situation for you.” He looks at me kindly. I wish Mbarek did not think that he had to be my father.
    “Mbarek-salah?” I say. “I don’t understand, has my work been unsatisfactory?” Of course my work has been unsatisfactory-the mistress hates me. But I’m afraid they have somehow realized what is between Akhmim and me-although I don’t know how they could. Akhmim is avoiding me again.
    “No, no” -he waves his hand airily-“your accounts are in order, you have been a good frugal girl. It’s not your fault.”
    “I…I’m aware that I have been clumsy, that perhaps I have not always understood what the mistress wished, but, Mbarek-salah, I’m improving!” I’m getting better at ignoring her, I mean. I don’t want him to feel inadequate. Sitting here, I realize the trouble I’ve caused him. He hates having to deal with the household in any but the most perfunctory way. I’m jessed to this man, his feelings matter to me. Rejection of my services is painful. This has been a good job. I’ve been able to save some of my side money so that when I’m old I won’t be like my mother, forced to struggle and hope that her children will be able to support her when she can’t work anymore.
    Mbarek is uncomfortable. The part of me that is not