“There’s no need for you to translate, Abu Ramiz,” the woman said. “I’m a teacher of English.”

Cree and Wallender smiled with appreciation. “Where do you teach?” Wallender asked.

“Sometimes at the same UN school where Eyad teaches. I give lessons to the local children here, too.” She turned to the woman beside her. “This is my friend, Umm Rateb. She works at the university as secretary to the president.”

The chubby woman smiled, showing big teeth along the wide mouth, and looked a long time at Omar Yussef with an expression of amused curiosity.

“Eyad was arrested because of something that happened at the university, not because of his work at the UN school,” Masharawi’s wife said.

“Why do you say that, Missus Masharawi?” Cree asked.

The woman paused. That form of address must have sounded as odd to her as it did to Omar Yussef. “I am Salwa Masharawi. You are welcome to call me Umm Naji-the mother of Naji. This is Naji, my eldest boy.” She gestured to the lanky kid, folded on the armchair in the corner.

Cree nodded, with a hint of impatience.

“Fourteen armed men came to our house very early this morning, when everyone was asleep,” Salwa said.

“Israeli soldiers?” Wallender asked.

“Palestinian security agents.”

“What did they want?” Wallender took out a small notebook and a pen.

“The agents asked my husband for his papers.”

“His identity papers?”

“No, his papers from the university. There have been exams at the university recently and he kept the test papers here.” Salwa pointed at the bookcase in the corner. “They took all the papers from that empty shelf.”

“Why did they want these papers?”

“There has been trouble at the university, Mister Wallender.” Salwa closed her eyes and touched her forehead. “Well, at least, Eyad has done things which, as I believe one says in English, are asking for trouble.”