She won’t let me come in here and talk to you… but she’s always talking to you.” She is about to sit down next to him when she is stopped by a cry from her sister, squeezed into the half-open doorway. “Be quiet!” she shouts, mimicking her mother’s voice, and runs up to the little one. “Come on!” She takes her by the hand and pulls her toward their father. After a moment’s hesitation, the younger girl climbs onto her father’s chest and starts yanking at his beard. The other shouts heartily, “Come on, Daddy, talk!” She leans toward his mouth and touches the tube. “Take out this thing. Talk!” She pulls away the tube, hoping to hear him say something. But no. Nothing but breathing. Slow, deep breaths. She stares at her father’s half-open mouth. Her curious little hand dives in and pulls out the fly. “A fly!” she cries and, disgusted, throws it on the floor. The younger girl laughs, and rests her chapped cheek on her father’s chest.

The mother comes in. “What are you doing?” she screams in horror. She rushes toward the children, grabbing them by the arms. “Get out! Come with me!”

“A fly! Daddy’s eating a fly!” shriek the girls, almost in concert. “Be quiet!” orders their mother.

They leave the room.

The fly struggles on the kilim, drowning in saliva.

***

The woman comes back into the room. Before reinserting the tube into the man’s mouth she looks around, anxious and intrigued. “What fly?” Noticing nothing, she replaces the tube and leaves.

Later, she comes back to pour sugar-salt solution into the drip bag, and eyedrops into the man’s eyes.

Her tasks complete, she does not remain with her man.

She no longer puts her right hand on her man’s chest.